Page 50

He stepped aside, allowing her a wide berth. “You may go first. I’ll follow shortly after.”

She nodded in silence, stepping past him and making for the inn alone.

It did not take long for Edward to dress for the assembly that evening, yet still, he lingered as much as possible in his room, pacing back and forth and whittling away at the beechwood—the way he usually cleared his mind.

Except this time, the piece he carved did nothing but clutter his thoughts, adding another opportunity for his attention to dwell on Miss Coventry.

He wasn’t blind to the fact that he’d been attracted to her ever since the cricket match. But now, he had feelings for her, and he shouldn’t. He cared for her, and he shouldn’t.

He wanted to protect her, to shelter her from the cruelties of the world so she could maintain her happy spirit. Spending the day with her, pulling her against him in the alleyway—that had done nothing but dump kindling onto a fire errantly lapping toward Miss Coventry.

That same fire edged dangerously close to his heart.

With an aggravated sigh, he set the whittling down and retied his cravat, then he left the beechwood behind. The carving was frustrating him anyway. Something was missing in the design, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what.

No doubt because he was far too distracted with a certain lady making ready for the ball in the room across from his.

He ran his fingers through his hair as he descended the staircase of the inn. What was he going to do with himself? How had he even allowed this to happen? How in heaven’s name was he to remain unaffected, all while pretending to be married to the woman?

The assembly’s raucous noise grew louder as he neared the large hall, laughter and conversation drifting down the corridor to where he stood awaiting Miss Coventry.

Where was she? Had she finally lost her nerve, with this being her first dance? He wouldn’t blame her. He’d attended quite a few assemblies when he was younger, and butterflies still fluttered in his stomach tonight.

He paced back and forth at the bottom of the stairs, his footsteps sliding against the wood floor as he attempted to talk sense to his mind.

He and Miss Coventry would never work. Their lives were too different. She was wealthy, he wasn’t even making ends meet. Her father heartily disapproved of his daughters marrying working-class men, and his mother had very little to her name because of Edward’s failing business.

And then there was the matter of the rumors…

No, having a relationship with the woman—even a friendship—would prove detrimental to them both, and tonight, he would no longer allow himself to entertain thoughts of the two of them being together.

Then she descended the stairs.

The very sight robbed him of his breath, stripped him of his senses, and rendered him utterly hopeless.

At the cricket match and later at Daffley Park, Miss Coventry had been odd, though undeniably pretty. As she’d explored Wells earlier today, she had been lively, enthusiastic, and beautiful, smiling and skipping from shop to shop.

But now, as Miss Coventry slowly moved down the stairs step-by-step, confident and calm, she was stunning. Her chin was level, not raised to her sister’s superior height, and her shoulders were squared with confidence and regality. Her light-blue gown accentuated her feminine curves in a modest manner, the soft fabric cascading down from the ribbon around her bodice like a crystal blue waterfall.

White gloves extended up her arms and past her elbows, and a simple pearl bracelet matched her necklace and drop-pearl earrings.

She was the portrait of perfection, and Edward was lost.

“Good evening,” she greeted, looking past him to the doorway down the corridor. The first dance had already begun, the music sailing toward them as dancers swirled past the side entrance they stood nearby. “I’m sorry I took so very long. I’m afraid Jane is not entirely practiced for such elegant hairstyles. She was a little anxious due to the pressure of the evening.”

Edward could only nod.

“Does the ribbon look terrible?” she asked next. “Jane assured me it did not, but I had no mirror large enough to know for certain.”

She turned her head to the side, angling her neck to provide him a better view of the ribbon.

All he could see was the smooth skin of her neck.

He swallowed, willing his gaze to follow the ribbon laced perfectly through her dark curls. “It looks…” His voice cracked. Cursed, wretched…He cleared his throat and lowered his tone. “It looks very fine, indeed.”

She remained where she was, still speaking away from him. “And the flowers?”

Small blue flowers adorned the top of the hairstyle, as if the petals had sprouted from the ribbon woven throughout. They were the very flower she’d worn at the cricket match.