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“So you will force her to wed a man she does not love?” came Mother’s quiet voice before him.

He exhaled once more. “Well, something must be done. She can wait no longer. Marianne must be allowed to wed, and she will not enter Society until Beatrice has married.”

The blow his words dealt to her hope was catastrophic, obliterating the pieces into shards smaller than shattered glass. There was her answer.

She stood, mumbling, “Excuse me,” before walking from the room without a glance back at her staring parents.

Beatrice would not change her mind, and Father would not yield.

So Marianne would take her future into her own hands. She was finished waiting for her sunset. She was finished with the rain.

She was ready to shine.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Edward woke at the crack of dawn. How he longed to stay in bed. No matter the lumps protruding into his spine, the mattress called his name in soothing whispers, beckoning him to receive more sleep.

The novelty of carving the bookshelves had worn off, his exhaustion stiffening his limbs and weighing down his mood, but he could not give up now. He needed to finish the library. He needed to return to Mother. He needed to receive word from Mr. Chapple. Would the man accept his request to postpone payment for longer? Or would Edward return to Bath to find an empty shop and no home?

Rolling out of bed, he made ready for the morning, tucking the small piece of beechwood he’d collected with Miss Coventry into his satchel. He brought the wood with him each day to Daffley, working on a side carving every spare moment he received. He was almost finished, even though he was not sure anything would ever come from carving it.

With his satchel over his shoulder, he left the Blue Boar and headed straight for the bakery. Mrs. Hill did not open her shop until much later, but over the last week, she’d generously offered to give Edward his usual pastries earlier so he’d still have the option to collect them.

“I’ve made queen currant cakes for you today, Mr. Steele,” Mrs. Hill said with her customary warm smile. “I’ve added a few more than usual, too, to help you last the day out.”

After retrieving the parcel of pastries and professing his great appreciation to Mrs. Hill, Edward continued down the quiet street. The area around him was empty, excepting a gentleman striding down the other side of the street, a single carriage rattling by, and a woman walking in the opposite direction of him with a cloak drawn over her face, trailed closely by her female servant carrying a full portmanteau.

He tucked the pastries securely into his satchel as he passed by the woman, ignoring the scent of cherry tarts that wafted toward him from his package.

His brow puckered. Cherry tarts? Had Mrs. Hill not said they were queen currant cakes today?

“Mr. Steele?”

He nearly jumped at the whisper spoken just behind him. Stopping his progression down the street, he turned to see who had called for him. But the only person was the cloaked woman he’d passed by before.

Her head shifted left and right then raised just a fraction. Edward knew at once who she was. There was no mistaking those perfectly curved lips.

“Miss Coventry?” he said aloud. He hadn’t seen her since they’d spoken at sunset four days past. Had his words and suggestions managed to help? Or was she still just as forlorn?

She winced at her name on his lips. She held up her hands, a bonnet in one of them as she looked swiftly around them. “Heavens, Mr. Steele, do take care.”

He looked around, as well, but no one was in sight. “Why must I take care?” he asked in a far lower tone. What the devil was she doing in town so early and with only a maid to chaperone?

A smile curved her lips, and she moved closer to him. “Because I mustn’t be discovered.”

“Why mustn’t you be discovered?”

Her eyes sparkled, but she remained silent. He glanced at the maid standing off to the side, her face also covered by a wide-brimmed cloak, hands poking out from the folds of fabric where she held the large portmanteau.

A portmanteau. Why would they…

He looked back to Miss Coventry. “Do not tell me,” he began.

She nodded. “I am leaving Ashwick.”

“Miss Coventry—”

She shushed him again with another look around. “You will certainly be the death of me, sir. Please, refrain from using my name.”