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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.