Carving for Miss Coventry by Deborah M. Hathaway
Chapter Five
Edward was settling into his new routine nicely. After four days, he’d finally found a way to receive a better night’s rest at the Blue Boar by avoiding the uneven lumps in the inn’s mattress. He’d also learned to leave the window open just a crack to ease the stale smell of the countless number of individuals who’d slept in the room before him.
Each day, after he completed his work, he would return to the village, have a drink at the inn, converse with a few local farmers, then spend the rest of the evening whittling, writing to Mother, or walking around the town. In the mornings, he frequented Mrs. Hill’s bakery, and rather than using his waning funds for a heartier morning meal, he spent the pennies buying discounted tarts, cakes, or biscuits and bringing them to Daffley Park to enjoy throughout his day of work.
He was also making steady progress in the library, having almost forgotten how greatly he preferred carving flowers, leaves, and curves rather than creating unembellished, old-fashioned furniture made of oak.
Among other things, he’d even learned to deal with the ghost of Daffley Park. Although, she was rather less like a ghost and more of an actual female with flesh and bones. A female who had taken to staring at him every day without fail at nine o’clock in the morning.
He had yet to catch a solid glimpse of her, but he’d seen the swish of her skirts as she darted away from the room every morning he tried to confront her for staring. She was no doubt a maid. Whether she was simply intrigued by what he was doing or was watching him for another reason, his patience was growing as thin as the metal of his smoothing chisel.
After receiving a tray of food one midday, Edward had asked the footman if he knew the maids for the east wing of the house.
“There’s one maid who cleans up here, sir,” he’d replied. “She does so on Mondays. Early morning, I believe.”
Edward had nodded, though his confusion had only grown, as well as his determination to confront the girl and end her stares once and for all. He was finished looking over his shoulder, having her gawk at him like he was a caged bear at the Royal Menagerie.
The next morning, he worked steadily, forcing his eyes to remain on the leaf-like design he was carving next. He took a bite of his pale Shrewsbury cake then continued with his work.
It was nearing nine o’clock. She would arrive any minute now.
Sure enough, only moments later, the girl’s footsteps stopped just outside the door. If he hadn’t come to expect her appearance, there was no way he would’ve heard her, her movements as quiet as a petal falling from its flower.
He drew in a steady breath. Every time he had called out to her or attempted a glance at where she stood half-hidden behind the doorframe, she had startled like a newborn fawn and swiftly fled.
This time, he’d attempt a different route.
Little by little, as he tapped his mallet against the chisel along the mahogany, she leaned farther around the door frame. He had to time this perfectly, wait for just the right moment or his plan would fail.
Finally, when half her shoulder was visible from the corner of his eye, he spoke. “Were you in need of something, miss?”
She gave an almost indiscernible gasp and pulled back.
He continued carving inch by inch, all the while listening for any retreating footsteps. Had he missed them, or was she being exceptionally bold that morning?
“I know you are there, miss,” he lied.
Still, she remained out of sight. He didn’t blame her for doing so—if she was, in fact, doing so.
“I will tell no one that you are shirking your duty,” he continued. Was he embarrassing himself now, speaking to an empty room and corridor? Or was she, in fact, listening to him? “Though, I highly doubt a maid ought to be neglecting her work every morning as you do.”
He watched the door expectantly, but she didn’t appear.
With a sigh of disappointment, he returned to his work. Then a movement flashed in the corner of his eye, and the girl stepped into the doorway.
Only, she wasn’t a girl.
“I am not a servant.”
Edward stared. Those stunning green eyes were unmistakable.
“You,” he said, his jaw slack. “You are the woman from the cricket match.”
She raised her chin, her hands held behind her. “Yes. But I am not a servant,” she repeated.
No, of course she wasn’t. She was a gentleman’s daughter, through and through. Except, what gentleman’s daughter would approach a perfect stranger and ask personal questions of him? No doubt the same gentleman’s daughter who would hide behind a wall and sneak stares at a woodcarver.
“I apologize for the mistake, Miss…” He stopped with a prompting for her name.
“Marianne Coventry,” she stated.
He swallowed. “You are Mr. Coventry’s daughter?”
“One of them, yes.”
Anxiousness grasped his chest and squeezed tightly. His employer’s daughter. He’d been hoping for a friend of the family or a distant relation. Never his daughter.
He couldn’t afford to be alone with this woman. It was too risky, too foolish, given the rumors already surrounding the Steele name. Suppose someone thought he was capable of…
He cleared his throat, the air between them as thick as the mahogany he should be carving right now. “It is a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”
He nodded and turned away, hoping his signal was obvious enough for her to leave but polite enough that she wouldn’t be offended.
Unfortunately, she didn’t move an inch. “I did not know who you were at the cricket match.”
“Pardon?”
“I did not know who you were when I spoke with you at the cricket match.”
He felt only slightly better. At least she hadn’t been spying on him then, too.
“In truth,” she continued, “I do not even know who you are now.”
That was the one question she hadn’t asked him before. “Edward Steele. Your father hired me to finish this room.”
“I gathered from the shavings.” She motioned to the shredded wood scattered about the floor and atop his boots.
Her tone was clipped, especially when compared to how cheerful she’d been at the match. She had good reason to be in a poorer mood, he supposed. She had just been mistaken for a servant.
He shook his boots back and forth to be rid of the shavings. “I apologize for mistaking you as a servant, ma’am. It will not happen again.”
Her eyes brightened as slowly as a sunrise. “I suppose I can hardly blame you. I haven’t been behaving very ladylike, have I? Asking imposing questions and staring unabashedly.” She ended in a soft, twittering laugh.
He watched her carefully, unsure of how to respond. There was not a single penitent wince or embarrassed blush on her face. Not even a flicker. How could she be perfectly fine with her behavior? She had to be one of the strangest women he’d ever met. Her twinkling eyes made her one of the prettiest women he’d ever met, too.
“I did have reasoning for my staring, though. You see, this is where I come to read every morning.” She pulled her hands out from behind her back, revealing a book.
He waited for her to explain further, but she looked at him expectantly, as if he was supposed to know the magnitude of her words already.
“I’m…sorry?” he said, ending in a question. She looked perplexed. Was he not the one who ought to be confused? “Is there, perhaps, another location where you might read?”
“But I always read here. From nine o’clock to ten o’clock.”
He stared. What did she expect him to do, stop working, leave the house, and come back when she was finished?
Her silence spoke measures. He should’ve known. All people who came from wealth were the same. “I suppose I could speak with your father to ask him if…”
She shook her head with wide eyes, ending his words. “Oh, heavens, no,” she blurted out.
Perhaps word of their conversation alone together would not reach her father then. That was a relief.
Checking her volume, she continued softer. “He wouldn’t understand my desire to read here. At any rate, he is still away on business.”
She looked longingly at the corner of the room, and he followed her gaze to the oversized chair he’d noticed on his first day, the crumbs no longer visible. Had she been the one to put them there?
Her continual stare in that direction answered his question.
He wiggled the tools in his hands. Every moment that ticked by increased the likelihood of them being discovered. Mr. Coventry may be absent, but that would not stop Mr. Morley or any other member of the household from telling him that the woodcarver was possibly fraternizing with his daughter.
She needed to leave. Now. “Ma’am?”
Miss Coventry blinked, withdrawing from her daze. “Do you, perhaps, know for how long you will be carving?”
Edward hesitated. If she was that attached to the library, how would she react to the truth? “I’m afraid my work here may take some time. A few months at least.”
Her shoulders fell. “I see.”
He certainly was not to be blamed for his presence there, but the disappointment on her face tugged at his conscience. He needed to help her. Especially given that one negative word to her father might persuade Mr. Coventry to send Edward home without a shilling.
“I leave before six o’clock every day. Perhaps you could read here then.”
“No, that is when I visit with my family, providing they’re not out.”
She certainly wasn’t making this easy on him. “I could take an hour’s long break in the afternoon if that will suffice? One o’clock, perhaps?”
She shook her head. “I am occupied all afternoon. And one o’clock is when I paint, not read.” She clicked her tongue in disappointment.
Edward wasn’t sure if the absurdity of the situation was getting to him or if he was simply attempting to cope with the strangeness of it all. Either way, a stitch of humor sidled through his defenses, and he fought hard to keep his smile at bay.
“I’m terribly sorry,” he responded.
She looked up at him, catching his eye and pausing for a moment without speaking. “Oh, that’s all right.”
He watched her expectantly, thinking she would finally excuse herself, but she remained.
“You must be an accomplished woodcarver for my father to have hired you. He is quite particular when it comes to whom he employs.”
Suddenly, Edward didn’t mind her lingering. “I’m humbled that he would use me, then.”
She nodded, her eyes searching his, then she abruptly curtsied and turned on her heel. “Good day, sir,” she murmured over her shoulder, then she was gone.
Edward stared at the empty doorway, blinking. That woman was just as odd as he’d remembered, and she would certainly prove to be a terrible distraction.
So how was he to keep her out of the library?