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“That is precisely what I intend to do.”

She looked at him with a wary eye. “Are you certain you can manage?”

He raised a daring brow, then in a swift movement, he grasped her around the waist and promptly placed her atop the wall. She barely had time to gasp in response.

“I’ve lifted wooden tables, trunks, and chairs that were heavier than you, Miss Coventry,” he said.

There was that name again. How it taunted her. How she loved it on his lips.

He placed the flat of his hands on top of the wall next, then launched himself up, swiftly shifting around to land perfectly beside her. If only his sleeves had been rolled up. She wouldn’t have minded observing the muscles in his forearms that had no doubt flexed with his movements.

She blinked away the lingering image and stared out at the moody surroundings, thick clouds still covering the skies. “So what are we here to see, Mr. Steele?”

He looked down at her, their shoulders a few inches apart. “With any luck, something that will bring you joy once again.”

Hope knocked against her chest, begging to be let once more into her heart. But she was afraid, afraid to expect good things when her future looked so bleak. “But what is to be done if one cannot find joy?”

His smile faded away. “I know that notion all too well. When my father died, many months passed before I could even register the grief. It took a great deal of patience, but I was able to work through it, eventually finding joy in certain aspects of my life again.”

The sorrow in his brown eyes, the slight raising of his brow, spoke measures of his anguish. How she longed to reach out and soothe the ache that was still there.

Before she could, he motioned in front of them with a tip of his head. Marianne followed his gaze forward, and she breathed an airy sigh. The clouds parted for the sun to make its final sweep across the countryside, brilliant shafts of white light bursting through in every direction. From her view atop the stone wall, she could better see the long stretches of grey stone and the sheep bleating softly in the endless fields, their white, woolen coats shimmering with remnants of rain.

“It is beautiful,” she breathed. “How did you know such a sight would occur?”

He didn’t respond for a moment, his eyes focused on the sunset. Then he leaned toward her until their shoulders touched.

“Sometimes, the brightest sunsets shine only after the longest rains.”

Marianne did not know if his words or his proximity was what made her heart leap within her. But when she looked toward him again, his eyes already on her, her breathing became labored, and a strange sensation overcame her.

This. This was what she’d wanted all along. This was what she’d yearned for. A friend. Someone to speak to, someone with whom she felt heard. Someone with whom she felt seen.

How was it that this woodcarver from Bath whom she’d known for three weeks was the one to give her what she needed when her own family could not?

“Do not give up hope just yet, Miss Coventry,” he whispered, the light from the waning sun lighting half his face. “Speak with your sister, with your parents. Be honest with them. If they are even as remotely as kind and generous as you are, they will listen to you.”

Tears pricked the insides of her eyes, and the truth in his words filled her soul. She’d known all along that was what she’d needed to do, but the fear of being honest with her family, of facing possible rejection, had been too powerful.

But with Mr. Steele’s supportive words, surely she could be brave enough to speak her mind.

A moment ticked by, and Marianne tried to thank him. But as his eyes searched hers, ultimately dropping to her lips, her words froze. Time stuttered to a halt, her chest overflowing with a powerful stirring to—

He looked away, and the spell was broken. Good heavens. What had she been thinking?

“It’s growing dark,” he said.

Marianne nodded at once to prove she was as unruffled as he seemed. Somehow, the sun had set without her knowledge, and the clouds had closed the gaps in the sky, promising more rain that night.

Mr. Steele jumped down from the wall then helped her next, his hands encircling then releasing her waist so swiftly, she hardly had time to comprehend his touch.

“Will you allow me to walk you back to the house?”

She glanced over her shoulder, candles glowing from a few of the windows. “I think perhaps it is better if I go on alone. It is not far.”

He nodded his understanding, taking a few steps back and swinging his jacket over his shoulder. “Then I shall leave you. Goodnight, Miss Coventry.” He turned away, heading back in the direction of the beech tree and pond.

His foot kicked up a thick slab of a tree branch—about the length of his hand—that must have broken off during a recent storm. He paused a moment, bending down to retrieve the piece of wood then carried on. What was he to do with that?