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Mother watched her curiously. “Different in what way?”

She shook her head and smiled. “Never mind. Goodnight, Mother.”

She turned away, retrieving an already lit candle from the corridor and heading to her room.

Only, she did not go to her room. Instead, she wandered to the library. She knew Mr. Steele would have left for home already, unable to carve in the dim light produced by the candles, but she was still disappointed when she turned the corner to find the room empty.

She ambled inside, eying the white sheet where Mr. Steele’s tools were usually lined perfectly across the small table. Light from her candle illuminated the work he’d accomplished, and she shook her head in awe. He was a talented man. Talented. Kind. Charming. Sweet.

She sighed, shaking her head. Dwelling on Mr. Steele’s many first-rate traits would do nothing but keep her up all night long.

Leaving behind the library and the memories of their almost-kiss, Marianne finally reached her room, setting the candle down and plopping onto the bed with an exhausted sigh.

Something crinkled behind her, and she turned to find a rectangular, flat package about the size of her hand situated just below her pillow.

She tipped her head. Was it from Beatrice? A peace-offering for ignoring her for more than a week?

She retrieved the package wrapped in brown paper, tied together rather scrappily with brown twine. She moved it upside down, but there was no note or writing.

Forgetting all about the dinner party and her terrible evening, she hastily untied the string and unfolded the paper to reveal a handheld, wooden comb sitting atop a folded note. Her lips parted at the detail and beauty of the light-colored wood. She drew it closer to the candle, inspecting it further. As she did so, her heart tripped. Forget-me-nots trailed the top portion of the comb in such minute detail, one might miss them at first glance.

She ran her fingers along the delicate flowers. There was only one person who knew how greatly she loved them.

She retrieved the paper, unfolding it to read the short message.

Mrs. Hickenbottom,

I carved this from a piece of beechwood I found the night we watched the sunset together. May it always remind you of what we spoke of that night, for you deserve every happiness.

E.S.

Tears sprung to her eyes, and her vision blurred as she smiled.

It was from him.

She read and reread the small note, stroking the grooves of the comb carved by Mr. Steele himself. Joy filled her soul, and clarity enlightened her mind.

Now she understood why her evening with Mr. Steele had excelled in every possible way. He had listened to her. He had seen her, even before she was out in Society. She hadn’t loved the dance because it was her first time out in Society. She’d loved it because she loved the woodcarver who’d accompanied her.

Now, even though barriers littered their path toward being together, she could focus on only one question—did he feel the same about her…or did he not?

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Edward never should have given Miss Coventry that comb. He’d finished the forget-me-nots the night of the ball, having been unable to sleep, and brought it with him the next day to Daffley. He’d still been hesitant to bestow the gift, however, deciding to do so only if Jane could deliver it for him.

As luck would have it, he’d happened upon the maid in the corridor the very night Marianne had attended the dinner party, and he’d impulsively thrust the package toward her without a second thought.

Now, the following day, Edward deeply regretted his choice. Suppose Miss Coventry misconstrued the gift as more than what it was—a simple token between friends? For that’s surely all it meant to him.

As the day progressed, his mind continually strayed back to Miss Coventry. Had she had an enjoyable time at the dinner party? Would she come to the library and ask Edward what he’d been thinking, giving her such a gift? Would she share with him that she’d already found the love of her life out in Society?

At five o’clock, he dropped his tools haphazardly on the table with a sigh of aggravation, pulling his satchel around his shoulder. He was done for the day. Working was futile if all he did was think about Miss Coventry.

He walked through the large house, keeping his head down to avoid any sight of another person. He’d not heard back from Mr. Chapple yet, but in three days’ time, Edward would receive enough money to settle his debts. Any work beyond that would simply further solidify their future at the shop. But should word get out earlier that Edward had given a gift to Miss Coventry, her father would have every right to expel him without a penny.

How Edward could have made such a folly was beyond him—especially after traveling to Wells with her. He had clearly taken leave of his senses.

As he finally left Daffley through the front door, he secured his coat round his shoulders and tucked his hat closer to his head. The rain poured down in droves that evening, rather fitting for Edward’s mood. Perhaps it would be just the thing to clear his mind—or make him even more miserable. Either would do.