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He hesitated. “Then may I ask why you do not appear thrilled to be attending?”

She crossed her arm over her stomach, holding her elbow with her opposite hand. “Perhaps I am still tired from last evening, Mr. Hickenbottom.”

He smiled at her teasing, though the name cast slivers of pain through his chest. Their carefree time together was swiftly drawing to a close, for she would soon take the last name of another.

“I apologize for the delay that yesterday must have caused to your schedule,” she said.

“I will be able to make up for it soon enough.” Especially now that he’d escaped Mr. Coventry’s condemnation for stealing his daughter away.

She watched him in silence for a moment as he pressed the chisel in the curve he’d already created, pushing it deeper with the mallet.

She motioned to his tools. “Is that difficult to do?”

“Not at all.” He hesitated saying anything more, allowing her a chance to leave. She had no reason to visit him any longer. No reason to sneak upstairs, to chat with him at sunset, or steal away to a ball together. She’d have a line of gentlemen suitors to do that for her now.

If this was his last chance to be with Miss Coventry, should he not make it count?

He held out the tools toward her. “Would you like to try?”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t wish to ruin your work.”

He skimmed the bookshelf, settling on a section he had not yet completed. “If you work the wood there, I will be able to fix it if anything goes astray.” He offered her the tools again.

She eyed them warily. “Are you certain about this, Mr. Steele?”

“Absolutely.”

She sighed, taking the tools in hand. “I haven’t the faintest idea what I am doing.”

“Which is why I shall help you.” He motioned her closer to the bookshelf. “See these pencil markings?” He ran his fingers along the faint drawings in the bookshelf, still visible from his first few days at Daffley Park. “Take the chisel and press it flat against the thick marking there. Then lightly tap the mallet against the handle of the chisel.”

She drew a deep breath, a doubtful look on her brow as she moved forward. With a tight grip, she softly tapped the mallet against the chisel.

When nothing happened, she looked back at Edward. “What did I do wrong?”

He smiled. “Strike it a little harder than that.”

With a determined set to her brow, she raised the mallet then hit the chisel with all her might.

The tool dug deep into the wood with a damming thump.

She held up her arm in a gasp, still holding the mallet. But the chisel was lodged so deeply into the wood, it stuck out without movement.

“Oh, heavens.”

Edward tried to hold in his laughter, but it escaped as a guttural sound at the back of his throat.

She looked at him then with a barely refrained smile. “I told you I’d destroy your work.” She thrust the mallet toward him. “Here, you must take this before I lodge it into the wood next.”

He chuckled again, holding up his hands for her to keep the tool. “No, no. You must try again. Simply hit somewhere in the middle of tapping an egg and striking an anvil.”

She frowned, though her smile won out again. “Very well, I shall try once more. But if it does not work, I shall retire forever.”

“Your father will be so disappointed. I’m certain he’d want his daughter to become a woodcarver.” He pulled the chisel from the wood, handing it to her before she stood in position once again. “Loosen your grip,” he instructed softly.

She stared at her hands. “If I loosen it, won’t the mallet fall?”

“Only if you let go of it completely.”