Carving for Miss Coventry by Deborah M. Hathaway
Chapter Eight
Marianne looked forward to Sunday every week. She didn’t mind sitting on the hard pews in the freezing temperatures of winter nor the boiling heatwaves of summer. She didn’t mind listening to an hour-long sermon of scriptures she already knew by heart. She didn’t even mind when her legs begged to be stretched or her eyes began to droop.
Because on Sunday, Marianne was free. Well, as free as she could be. Without Father there, she was even more so.
When normally, she would patiently await the end of the sermon, today, she used every last ounce of her willpower to not leap from the pew and dart outside to speak with as many people as she could while Father was not present. Inwardly at times, she felt like a puppy free from her restraints for the first time, ready to lap at strangers simply because she was happy to see them. Outwardly, however, she was as calm and collected as Beatrice.
No, she could never be that calm. Beatrice hardly ever showed any emotion now, apart from boredom.
When the sermon finally did end, Marianne followed behind Beatrice and Mother as they moved to pay their respects to the vicar, Mr. Ellison, who stood just outside the church doors.
Once they’d moved on, Marianne lingered behind, taking any chance to speak with someone other than the members of her household.
She’d always liked the vicar and his wife. Mr. and Mrs. Ellison were some of the few individuals who did not treat her like a social recluse. Not that she blamed the rest of town for doing so. She was the only one of her age who was not yet out in Society, married, and having children of her own.
“Mr. Ellison,” she greeted. “Thank you for your sermon. Your words always carry me through each new week.”
The middle-aged man gave her a kind smile. “Miss Marianne, you truly are a light. There are many times I receive gratitude and compliments, but with you, I know they are always sincere.”
He patted her hand warmly, and she curtsied before returning to Mother and Beatrice, the two of them having continued down the path toward the carriages.
Marianne was not yet ready to leave her one social event of the week, however, so she slowed her pace and breathed in the fresh scent of the morning air. The rain had halted for a moment, and though the sun did not break through the clouds, nothing could mute the brilliant green of the grass nor the glorious pink of the rose bushes surrounding the churchyard. Birds chirped in the ash trees behind them, and the soft chatter of friends and family members greeting each other warmed her heart.
How she loved Sundays.
“Marianne?” Mother called from up ahead.
Marianne finished the final distance between them. “Yes?”
“We must pay our respects to the Abbotts.”
Marianne nearly groaned. Father insisted that they seek the approval of the Abbotts, the foremost family in Ashwick. But each time, the elderly couple ignored Marianne entirely and stared down their noses at everyone else. Indeed, they were the ones who’d encouraged Father to keep Marianne from Society until Beatrice married. Father had instantly agreed, not willing to risk anyone looking down on his family.
Marianne tried very hard to like everyone. But the Abbotts held a special place in the “strongly dislike” portion of Marianne’s acquaintances.
“Mama,” she began in a soft voice, “might I stay behind this time? I could greet the Clarks instead.”
Mother hesitated. She understood Marianne’s plight and was more willing to bend the rules of Society than Father was. She’d been the one to convince him that Marianne no longer needed a governess at eighteen.
But still, in this regard, she had her hands tied. Father had requested each of his family members to prove that they, the prior working class Coventrys, were worthy to mingle with gentlemen and ladies. Marianne hardly cared whom she mingled with, just so long as she got to speak with someone.
Except for the Abbotts, of course.
Mama pulled her lips to the side. “Very well. But not a word to your father about this, understood?”
Excitement’s broad doors opened wide inside Marianne’s chest, allowing even more light to enter. “Oh, thank you, Mother!”
She gave her a quick embrace then retreated toward Miss Clark nearby with a lilt in her step.
As she approached, Miss Clark greeted her with outstretched fingers. “Miss Marianne, it is so lovely to see you.”
Marianne smiled, taking her hands. Miss Clark had always been kind to her, though she was better friends with Beatrice, being closer in age and in similar circumstances. Well, they had been in similar circumstances. Now, Miss Clark removed her hands from Marianne’s and laced her arm tightly through her betrothed’s.
After the usual greetings, Marianne faced them both. “This was the second time the banns have been read, yes? You must both be eager for the coming week to be accomplished.”
“Indeed,” Miss Clark said, beaming up at her soon-to-be-husband. “Are we not, Mr. Morris?”
He grinned right back. “Absolutely.”
Marianne felt as if she was imposing, so long did their gaze last. She couldn’t blame the couple, of course. She would be just as excited, should she ever be in the same circumstances.
Mr. Henry Clark then came up to stand beside his sister, his usual happy smile taking up half his face. “Good morning, Miss Marianne.”
“Mr. Clark, how do you do?”
The man—having just returned from Oxford that year—was charming in a boyish sort of way.
“Are you enjoying being home again?” she asked.
His grin had yet to falter. “Very much so.”
“I’m terribly sorry we have not been to call in so very long, Miss Marianne,” Miss Clark said. So she was able to pry her eyes from Mr. Morris’s. “We’ve been so busy with our wedding preparations, you see.”
“Entirely viable excuse, of course. I fear I must apologize, as well, though. My sister calls upon you so often without my knowledge. I’ve not been able to send my regards.”
Miss Clark tipped her head. “Oh, but she has not called these last few weeks.”
Marianne narrowed her eyes. That couldn’t be right. “She told me she visited with you twice only this past week.”
Miss Clark looked to her brother. “Have I missed Miss Coventry’s calling?”
“I do not believe so. Though, she is more than welcome to call, of course.” He directed his grin once more at Marianne. “Or you are welcome to come on your own, if you wish, Miss Marianne.”
She shifted her feet uncomfortably. Miss Clark shook her head at her brother then gave Marianne a sympathetic look. Was Mr. Clark unaware that she was still not out in Society? It was true that most of Ashwick—excepting the Abbotts, most likely—had thought perhaps Father would allow Marianne out when she was twenty. Even Marianne herself had hoped that. All of her friends, and most of her friends’ younger siblings, had already married.
Obviously, Father had other plans.
She nodded an awkward thanks to Mr. Clark then turned back to Miss Clark. “You are certain Beatrice did not visit you this last week?”
“Yes, my dear. Quite certain. I’ve been occupied all week with Mr. Morris’s family who have just arrived for the wedding.”
Marianne stared off, revisiting the conversation she’d had with her sister. She was certain Beatrice had said she’d called on the Clarks. But then, Marianne had been distracted by her upcoming visit with Mr. Steele—and with hiding the pastries. Perhaps she’d heard wrong.
Unless, of course, Beatrice had made the agreement with Marianne to keep her location a secret from Mother because Beatrice had not, in fact, been at the Clarks.
Marianne inwardly shook her head. She was once again letting her imagination run wild. Beatrice had no reason to be untruthful.
A movement at the corner of her eye pulled her attention away from the Clarks. Mother and Beatrice waved her over to the gate leading toward the carriages.
Already? Her high spirits slipped from her grasp before she even had time to gather them.
With a half-hearted smile, she bade farewell to the Clarks—Mr. Clark’s grin also fading fast—and returned to her family’s side.
“Must we leave so soon?” she questioned.
“I’m afraid so, dear,” Mama said with a look of compassion. “Beatrice has the beginnings of a headache.”
Marianne looked to her sister, who winced. “If one more person interrogates me about whom I wish to marry, I fear I shall go mad. Why is it so difficult to believe I will marry for love, but that love is difficult to come by?” She walked toward the carriages. “I am sorry to cut your socializing short, Marianne. You may join me in visiting the Clarks this week.”
Any other day, that would have satisfied Marianne’s desires. But now, she could not help but think, would that visit really happen? She had a mind to confront Beatrice about her potential falsehood, but Marianne had promised not to tell Mama.
Together, the three of them made for the carriages, Marianne’s footsteps slow and heavy.
“Chin up, my dear,” Mother whispered, taking her arm in hers. “I’m certain things will change soon. Your obedience will bless you in the future.”
She wanted to believe Mother, but Marianne’s unending optimism faltered. Sundays kept her afloat, but what was she to do with her socialization cup veritably empty?
“Who is that man?” Mother asked under her breath.
Marianne looked up at the same time her heart dropped.
Mr. Steele was standing nearby with his eyes trained on them.