Carving for Miss Coventry by Deborah M. Hathaway

Chapter Six

Marianne was not one for dramatics, but staying away from the library the following morning was one of the most difficult tasks she’d ever had to accomplish.

Very well, she was one for dramatics. But not going had been extremely challenging. She’d tried reading in the orangery, the drawing room, and then in the rose garden, but she missed the scents of the wood and the books mingling together like old friends, and she longed for the soft way in which the light from the library windows illuminated her pages.

She was well aware of how ridiculously she was behaving, but nothing had disrupted her schedule this way in months, apart from when they were in Bath.

She sighed deeply as she lay in bed that night. How she longed to return to the city. She’d been kept indoors for the most part while there, too, but at least her family had been together more often.

It had almost felt the way things had once been. The four of them together at home. Father reading to them at night as Mother brushed the girls’ hair before a warm fire, Beatrice and Marianne giggling over the silly voices Father used.

But those days were gone and had been for some time. Now, Father spent most nights in his study, poring over ledgers, Mother was busy running her large household, and Beatrice pottered off to her friend Miss Clark’s home multiple times a week.

If only Marianne was allowed the same freedom. If only Beatrice would choose a spouse so Marianne could…

She pressed her hands to her face. This was precisely why she stuck to her schedule. Not doing so allowed her mind to wander too greatly.

The next day, she threw herself devotedly into her daily routine, walking for two hours instead of reading to avoid the dilemma altogether.

But then another issue arose. As she wandered on her walk, so did her eyes wander toward the library windows. She couldn’t make out much with the overcast skies glaring off the glass, but she could just imagine the woodcarver, Mr. Steele, creating grooves in the wood with his tools, his sleeves rolled up and his dark hair falling over his brow.

She was daft to have continued spying on him, and speaking to him had been an even worse decision. It was only a matter of time before Father discovered her poor behavior.

Although, if she carried out her plan, she just might convince Mr. Steele to do otherwise.

After her walk, a light meal, a ride around the estate, and adding to her landscape painting of the view from the parlor window, she set about her plan.

She was supposed to be practicing her needlework that hour, but for her own well-being, she abandoned adding a few white roses onto her handkerchief and headed down to the kitchen.

A few moments later, she returned upstairs with her newly acquired stash in a small basket. She swung it lightly in her hands, traipsing across the entryway with a grin. There was no possible way this Mr. Steele would not accept her bribery. She had an inkling that he had a sweet tooth as unquenchable as hers.

She’d nearly made it to the stairs when the front door clicked open. Swiftly, she jerked the basket behind her back and faced whoever was entering Daffley Park.

“Beatrice?”

Her sister looked up, her smile disappearing and surprise rounding her eyes. “Marianne.” She looked away, unbuttoning her spencer. “Where are you off to?”

Marianne tightened her hold on the basket behind her. “Oh, nowhere in particular. I was simply stretching my legs.”

“But it is only half past. I thought you would still be stitching.”

“I decided to finish early today.”

Beatrice removed her spencer and bonnet, handing them to a passing footman who accepted the outerwear then left the sisters alone in the entryway. “That hardly sounds like you, sister, changing your schedule in such a way.”

Perhaps Marianne had made it known to too many people how dutifully she repeated her routines. “I suppose it’s never too late to change.” She laughed guiltily. “Where were you?”

Beatrice looked away, her cheeks rosy. It must be quite cold out of doors today. “Only visiting Miss Clark. Mr. Henry Clark wished to give you his regards.”

Marianne nodded. Henry Clark, Miss Clark’s younger brother, was a kind man. He was only a few years older than Marianne and had always made an effort to include her and Beatrice both in conversation and greetings.

“I trust he is well,” Marianne said.

“I believe so.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Beatrice had never been one to speak much, but today she seemed remarkably quiet.

“Did you enjoy yourself with Miss Clark?”

“I did, thank you. Where is Mama?”

She was quick to change topics, too.

Marianne adjusted the basket she still hid. “She is planning the menu with Mrs. Roberts.”

“I will join her.” She walked the opposite direction from where Marianne had been headed then paused. “But first, I have a proposition.”

Marianne tipped her head to the side. “And what proposition would that be?”

“If you do not tell Mama that I was with Miss Clark this afternoon, I will not tell her that you’ve been sneaking Cook’s pastries again.”

Marianne’s mouth dropped open, and she pulled her basket from behind her back. She needed to stop sneaking. She really was terrible at it.

“I suppose I have no choice but to agree,” she said. Should Mama discover her indulging again, Marianne would certainly receive another stern scolding. But then… “Why do you not wish for Mother to know you were visiting with the Clarks?”

Beatrice hesitated, then she stretched her lips in a smile. “I was supposed to be practicing the pianoforte.”

“Oh, I see.” But Marianne was not fully convinced. Beatrice was hiding something more. Then again, so was Marianne. “Very well. I accept your proposal.”

“Perfect.” Beatrice outstretched her hand, palm up as she wiggled her fingers. “Now you may compensate me for my excellent idea.”

Marianne huffed out an exaggerated sigh then slipped her hand beneath the cloth covering her basket. A moment later, she withdrew a cherry tart and extended it to Beatrice. “Here you are, madam. I do hope you will be satisfied.”

Beatrice took the tart and promptly bit into the pastry, backing away from Marianne. “I will never be satisfied with a single tart. Just like you.” Her eyes wrinkled slightly at the edges with her smile. “Now remember, not a word to Mother.”

Marianne nodded, watching her sister practically skip down the side corridor. That visit with Miss Clark had done wonders for Beatrice’s mood.

Now here was hoping Marianne’s tarts would do the very same for Mr. Steele.