Carving for Miss Coventry by Deborah M. Hathaway

Chapter Twenty-Four

When the dance finally ended, Marianne expressed her gratitude to Mr. Robins, who left straight away to find another partner, then she turned to find Mr. Steele. After a moment, she spotted him standing by the refreshment table, raising his head above the crowd for her to see him.

Their eyes met, and his smile brightened.

She walked straight toward him, noticing only then that he spoke to another couple, a middle-aged man and woman with bright smiles of their own.

Her footing faltered. How could she keep up the façade that she and Mr. Steele were married?

“Mrs. Hickenbottom,” he greeted when she arrived at his side. He reached out toward her, his hand resting softly against the small of her back. “Allow me to introduce to you two new friends I’ve made. Mr. and Mrs. Parson, this is my lovely wife.”

The Parsons greeted her with a bow and a curtsy, which Marianne nearly forgot to return as she struggled to focus on anything beyond Mr. Steele’s hand at her back.

“Oh, Mrs. Hickenbottom,” Mrs. Parson said, “you are as lovely as your husband described you.”

Marianne glanced at Mr. Steele, who removed his hand and cleared his throat. Lovely? Mr. Steele thought she was lovely? He’d called her that word before, hadn’t he?

She smiled, her energy returning after the dance with Mr. Robins had almost sapped her dry. “How lovely it is to make your acquaintance.”

Mrs. Parson’s turban wrapped up nearly all of her dark brown hair. “Your husband was just telling us that you are visiting from Bath.”

Marianne nodded, unable to say anything for fear of contradicting whatever Mr. Steele had said before she’d arrived.

“What brings you to Wells?” Mr. Parson asked, his smile friendly.

Marianne blinked, looking to Mr. Steele. They hadn’t prepared for this—small conversations with others where they would be required to share falsehoods.

Mr. Steele merely smiled comfortably. “We enjoy public assemblies, so when we heard of the one here, we couldn’t pass on the opportunity to attend it. Isn’t that right, my dear?”

She smiled. He certainly hadn’t told a full lie.

“To travel so far, though, for a public assembly?” Mrs. Parson tapped on her chin and narrowed her eyes. “You two have only recently been married, I assume?”

Marianne’s cheeks burned.

“Very newly married, yes,” Mr. Steele replied.

“I knew it.” Mrs. Parson turned to her husband. “Did I not say such a thing, Mr. Parson? Yes, I knew the both of you were. For only young, newly marrieds would ever think of traveling such a distance for a simple dance.” She gave a laugh. “Do tell me how long you’ve been wedded.”

A day? Less than twelve hours?

“But a few weeks,” Mr. Steele replied much more sensibly.

Thank goodness for the man. Marianne was still tongue-tied from the fact that he’d called her ‘lovely.’

What did lovely mean, exactly? Attractive? Beautiful? A word to describe an aunt or a sister?

“Ah, to be young and in love,” Mrs. Parson said, looking up to her husband with a smile. “But I must confess, being older and in love is just as wonderful.” She turned back to Mr. Steele and Marianne. “You two will certainly discover that all too soon. Once children come, oh, your love will magnify tenfold—for each other, as well as for your children!”

Marianne smiled weakly. Her whole face was aflame. Love? Children? She longed to see Mr. Steele’s reaction, but her embarrassment prevented her from looking anywhere but the marked, wooden floor beneath her slippers.

“Well, we wouldn’t wish to take up any more of your time,” Mr. Parson said. “I am certain you are both eager to continue dancing.”

The couple moved on after a departing curtsy and bow, but Marianne felt a bit like she’d just experienced a torrential downpour and was now left to deal with the aftermath. How many more times could her mood shift?

“They seemed very kind,” she said, awkwardly attempting to start a conversation.

“Indeed.”

Obviously, Mr. Steele had been rendered just as uncomfortable as Marianne. She longed to ease his discomfiture. After all, it was unneeded. They both knew they were unavailable to each other. Marianne had to marry a gentleman, and Mr. Steele couldn’t afford to take on a wife.

“Shall we enter the dance hall again?” he suggested.

Her heart picked up as she anticipated him asking her once more. To partner twice with one’s husband would be terribly impolite, even if he was imaginary. But could she ever say no to such an opportunity?

“You ought to be where others can see you so they may ask you to dance,” he finished.

Her heart plummeted as swiftly as a fallen star. “I suppose that would be the wise thing to do.”

She took his arm, his other hand remaining at his side, rigid and stiff. Uncomfortable.

Of course he would feel such a way. He was affirming with no uncertainty that his being there that evening was out of duty and duty alone. He had to protect his employer’s daughter. He’d joined her that evening, had danced with her that evening, for no other reason.

The next two hours crept by. Even though she’d had a partner for nearly every other set, Mr. Steele did not dance with her again. He maintained his kind behavior, but Marianne was relieved when the time came to make ready for the coach—though the assembly continued on.

The two of them departed to their respective rooms to change and gather their belongings.

“Did you enjoy your evening, miss?” Jane asked as she helped Marianne into her habit.

“I did,” Marianne said, feigning a yawn, “but I am ready to sleep, I think.”

Fortunately, Jane had taken the hint and ended her questioning before it could really begin.

Once they were ready, they hid under their cloaks and slipped down the stairs and out of the inn, finding Mr. Steele awaiting them near the side of the building.

“Ready to return home?” he asked.

Marianne nodded, though she felt anything but ready. All day, she’d struggled to push from her mind their inevitable return home, the prospect of sneaking through Daffley Park not terribly appealing. But now, there was something more potent creating a yearning within her to prolong the day.

Reality was approaching, and she could not prevent it. Tomorrow, she would return to her schedule and her loneliness. Tomorrow, Mr. Steele would go back to carving for her father. Tomorrow, they would no longer be together.

As the stagecoach rattled closer, Marianne resigned herself to the fact that things were better this way. She needed to be away from Mr. Steele to stop her feelings from growing even stronger.

The stagecoach emptied of its few passengers, and the three of them were once again alone on their journey from Wells. Marianne’s thoughts continued to sprint so swiftly through her mind, she did not think she would ever fall asleep.

But moments later, when the carriage stopped, she jolted awake, her eyes flying open as she realized she had, indeed, fallen into a dreamless slumber.

She glanced around her in the darkness, confused. Jane still lay fast asleep against the side of the coach, her cloak fully covering her face.

“Have we arrived already?” Marianne asked in a groggy whisper, blinking as she stared out the coach’s window.

Mr. Steele’s response came from before her in the darkness. “No, this is Masbury, I believe. Ashwick is next.”

She blinked, eying his darkened profile as he stared out of the window. With a slow nod, she leaned her head back against the coach and stared through the glass herself.

A man walked by with a lantern, and she winced at the jarring light in the darkness. Blinking, she allowed her eyes to adjust, looking past the guard who stood at the side of the coach.

“Are those men approaching passengers?” Mr. Steele whispered.

Marianne had already seen the two men coming toward them. She narrowed her eyes. One looked like…No. No, she would not make that mistake again.

Yet, as he drew closer, her heart thumped painfully against her chest. “Mr. Barton,” she breathed. “That is one of Father’s business acquaintances. I’m certain this time.”

Mr. Steele was already nodding. “I recognize him from the Blue Boar.”

“Is he coming on the coach?” she asked, her mind spinning.

What was the man doing there so late at night? A distant memory of Father saying Mr. Barton’s place of residence was in Masbury flashed through her mind, but she could not be sure.

She pushed the thought aside as he drew closer with another man she did not recognize. She prayed they would walk straight past the coach, but as he continued forward, she knew the worst was to occur.

If they were discovered, he was sure to tell Father. Mr. Steele would lose his job, and Marianne would lose her father’s trust.

“They’re coming aboard,” Mr. Steele said. “Shift closer to Jane.”

“What?” she asked in a daze.

“Shift closer to Jane,” he commanded again.

He stood from his seat, hunched over beneath the shortened height of the carriage roof. Swiftly, she obeyed, sliding closer to Jane as Mr. Steele whirled around to sit beside Marianne.

He patted his shoulder. “Rest your head here.”

She stared at his shoulder in alarm. If they were found in that manner, surely…

“It will be easier for the two of us to hide together,” he explained with hurried words. “Quickly now. They are coming.”

With stilted breaths, she did as she was told, bending her neck at a rigid angle to rest the slightest of touches against his shoulder.

“You must be more convincing than that, Miss Coventry.”

He brought his hand against the side of her head, gently coaxing her closer until her cheek and temple rested fully against the side of his arm and lower shoulder. He reached over, pulling her cloak to cover her face, his fingertips brushing against her cheek in the process. “Can you breathe?”

No, no, she could not. But she nodded all the same.

Her heart beat wildly, though she was no longer sure it was because of Mr. Barton’s approach. Mr. Steele’s cologne tickled her nose, and his broad shoulder pressed hard against her temple.

He shifted once, then the door opened, and he grew still, steadying his breathing to feign sleep.

She attempted to do the same, squeezing her eyes closed, despite her face not being visible to others.

The coach shifted back and forth under the weight of the two gentlemen entering the carriage. Their voices were loud before they no doubt noticed the other three supposedly sleeping passengers, then their whispered tones followed.

Marianne was certain she had never prayed so greatly before in all her life. They could not be discovered. Not now, when they were so close to escape.

The door closed, the crack of the whip sounded, and the coach jerked forward. Before long, the gentlemen’s conversation ended, and a soft snoring exuded from the mouth of one.

Marianne attempted to count down the moments that ticked by, but in the slower-moving coach—due to the darkness of the night—it was impossible to measure. Not to mention the fact that she was utterly and thoroughly distracted by the man whose arm she lay against.

His breathing was steady, too steady to be feigned. Had he fallen asleep? Carefully, she leaned back and stole a glance at him. His hat covered most of his face, his hand resting against the brim of it to keep it up.

Thank goodness the coach was so dark. One large jostle and the hat would certainly slip from his grasp, revealing his presence to the gentlemen.

Despite the darkness, she could still see his chest rising and falling as he drew deep breaths. He was asleep, then.

The knowledge instantly soothed her concerns. Mr. Steele felt nothing for her. He’d done his best to inform her of such at the assembly. But now that he slept, Marianne could finally be at ease, for Mr. Steele would be entirely unaware of just how greatly she enjoyed their proximity.

With a slow sigh, her shoulders fell, and her head sank into his shoulder as if it were a feather pillow. The coach continued to jostle back and forth, seeming to hit every hole in the road, but Marianne hardly cared. With each bounce, her cloak slipped to reveal more of her face, but instead of pulling the hood closer around her, she nuzzled deeper into Mr. Steele’s arm, burying her face in the folds of his jacket.

She may as well take advantage of the opportunity she had to memorize his scent. It would certainly be the only time she’d ever be able to.

Despite that discouraging thought, she soon drifted off to sleep, and the smell of musky cologne and carved mahogany filled her senses.