A Lady's Honor

by Laurie Alice Eakes

He sprang to his feet, a pistol appearing in one hand like a conjurer’s trick. “Elys, you startled me. I could have shot you.”

  “Not likely.” She grinned, then flew into his arms.

  For several minutes, they simply clung to one another. She didn’t even try not to weep. His body trembled as though he was struggling to keep his own tears at bay. After a while, he spoke her name again and again and hugged her hard enough to bruise a rib or two.

  “Give over.” Laughing through her tears, Elizabeth tugged herself free. “I can’t breathe.”

  “You won’t want to if Grandfather finds you here.”

  “He knows. He gave me his blessing on a visit.”

  “Did he now?” Drake stepped back, his face, with all its proud Trelawny bones, twisting to one side as though he smelled something awful. “At what cost to you?”

  “Drake, be nice. He isn’t mercenary.”

  “Hmph. Even when I told him why I went out with the gang night before last, he still wouldn’t forgive me disobeying him.”

  “Then why did you go out instead of coming to help me?”

  Drake glared at her. “Do not you too start flinging accusations at me. I sent Conan to help you because I thought, if all else failed, he could whisk you off to Guernsey and marry you to keep you out of Romsford’s clutches.” He narrowed his eyes. “Since you’re here, I presume you did keep out of Romsford’s clutches, even if Conan let me down after what I risked—and am suffering—to help him.”

  “But he did not let you down. He did come, along with—”

  “Then how could he have gotten himself killed on the beach here?”

  “I do not know.” Knees weak, Elizabeth sank onto the cushioned bench against one of the cave’s surprisingly smooth, paneled walls. “I did not know he was killed on the beach here. I thought . . . I do not know what I thought. I . . . Tell me what all happened.”

  “Tell me why Grandfather let you come down here.”

  She set her lips in a firm, stubborn line. Drake did the same. They glared at one another in the latest skirmish of a lifelong battle of wills as to who would get his own way first.

  The roar of the incoming tide reminding Elizabeth of the passage of time, she gave in first. “Grandpapa wants me to tell you that if I can find a treasure worth more than Bastion Point, he will let me inherit.”

  Drake’s jaw dropped. “Instead of me? But I’m the only male in our generation. It is my right.”

  “Not if Grandpapa says it is not. The land isn’t entailed. Besides, he said the first of us who finds it . . .”

  If only she knew what Grandpapa meant by treasures that money and wit and strength cannot buy. That was the only clue he had seemed willing to give her. But in the world she had always known, that sort of treasure sounded too elusive to discover.

  “First. As though I have a chance now to get what’s rightfully mine—” Drake drew back his arm, fist clenched as though he were about to punch the wall of the cave.

  Elizabeth grasped his wrist with both hands to stop him from surely breaking all of his fingers. “Do not be a fool, Drake. Hurting yourself will not hurt Grandpapa.”

  “Nothing hurts that hardhearted old man. I help a friend, and he exiles me to the plantation on Barbados like I am some sort of criminal.”

  “It’s not exile forever, and you know I’ve no idea what he means by a treasure worth more than Bastion Point. I thought Grandpapa had invested all his ill-gotten gains in legitimate investments.”

  “They were not ill-gotten—exactly. And, yes, he has. But lately . . .” Drake jerked his hand free of Elizabeth’s grip and turned away. “You cannot expect me to help you find the way to inherit Bastion Point out from under me after what I sacrificed to help you.”

  Guilt stabbed Elizabeth for a moment, then she stiffened her spine. “No one forced you to go out with the smugglers. You did not need to send Conan to me. I’d not have married him under any circumstances, and he took great pains to keep from being compelled to marry me since I never actually saw him.”

  “You never saw him?” Drake dropped onto the bench beside her. “But you knew he came to help ensure Romsford did not catch up with you before you got here. At least I’m assuming you know, since you’re here and not wed to the murdering marquess. Do tell me what happened.”

  “We nearly got caught by Romsford on the east side of Falmouth, and then managed to get just beyond Falmouth, as you recommended we go, when horsemen stopped us. Conan left with Miss Pross in the carriage as a decoy and took her back to a house in Fal—”

  “What?” Drake’s hand clamped on her forearm. “Conan never stayed with you?”

  “N-no. He took Miss Pross to Falmouth and left her there.”

  “And he left you on your own?” His hand tightened so hard she feared a bruise would form. “If he were not already dead, I’d kill him myself. How could he? How dare he? I give up my inheritance and possibly my life in exchange for him helping you, and he—”

  “Drake, ease over.” The childhood expression slipped from Elizabeth’s lips.

  At once he released her arm and smoothed his fingers over it as though doing so could erase the hurt he caused. “My dastardly temper. I am so sorry, Elys, but truly a man never had such a disloyal friend. That is, I thought he would do this for your friendship with him and his sister, if nothing else, and—”

  “But I was not alone.” She spoke loudly to drown Drake’s tirade. “Your friend Rowan Curnow took me on to an old inn. We were going to wait for the weather to clear to take a boat from there to here, but Romsford caught up with us, so we had to escape him and— What is wrong?”

  Drake was staring at her, his face white.

  “Go on,” he commanded in a hoarse voice. “What did you do?”

  Elizabeth swallowed against the dryness in her throat. “We circled back to Falmouth to where Miss Pross was waiting.”

  “So you were with Curnow until Falmouth?”

  “I was with him until he put us on a boat up the Fal this morning. I mean . . . That is—”

  “You were alone with a stranger more than half the night?”

  “He was not precisely a stranger. We had, um, met in London.” Her ears burned. “In Hookham’s Library and at a ball. And—Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “You know Grandfather will never approve of you spending all that time alone with a man at night, especially now that Morwenna has gotten herself into trouble. He has become such a high stickler in his old age and—”

  “But Rowan Curnow is your friend. Indeed, I went with him to begin with because he called me Elys like you do and . . .” She trailed off as Drake shook his head once, twice, three times, then stared at her with a blend of pity and concern.

  “Elys, I’ve no idea what went on the other night with Conan and you, or what you even did to escape from Romsford. I do not know what happened to Conan after he left Miss Pross in Falmouth that got him killed on our beach. But I can be sure of one thing—I’ve never heard of Rowan Curnow.”

  CHAPTER 7

  SURELY THE UNTHINKABLE HAD OCCURRED AND THE tide had fully sealed off the opening to the cave, sucking all the air from the chamber, all the air from Elizabeth’s lungs. She opened her mouth to speak and ended up gasping like a fish tossed onto the deck of a smack.

  “What’s amiss, Elys?” Drake crouched before her. “Did this man take advantage of you? You know I’ll risk all of Grandfather’s wrath and the revenue men and go after him if he did. No man harms my sister—”

  “No.” Elizabeth managed to croak the single word, then drag in a breath and add more. “He was a perfect gentleman.”

  Except perhaps in reminding her how she’d kissed him.

  “And you never saw him before that?” Drake persisted.

  “No. Yes. Drake, he’s the man I kissed at the ball that set Mama’s back up so much she and Papa decided I must marry Romsford at once and— What are you about?”

  Drake had surged to his feet and
begun to pace the cave. “The rogue, the roué, the— I’ll darken his daylights. I’ll teach him a thing or two about Cornish wrestling. He dared . . . My little sister . . .” His fists clenched. His jaw tensed. “Where is he?”

  “I’ve no idea. But, Drake, it was my fault—the kissing, I mean.”

  “Did he stop you? Did he push you away?”

  “No, he, um, kissed me back.” Heat washed over her at the memory—heat and a restlessness that made her want to find what stock Grandpapa kept in the stable and ride along the beach at a gallop, her hair flowing freely behind her. “When he admitted it was he, I did not mind being so foolish because he said he was your friend. I figured you approved.”

  “He said he was my friend and I approved of him touching you?”

  “Well, no, he did not precisely say so. I presumed because he knew so much about you and Conan smuggling and your friendship and . . . and—”

  “He let you think he’s my friend.”

  “He—well, I just assumed it. He said he had seen you hours before.” She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “I am such a fool. If word gets about that I was alone with a stranger night before last, even Grandpapa will wish to marry me off at once.”

  “Then he must never know. You cannot marry in haste now that you could inherit Bastion Point. You will have every fortune hunter in England after you.”

  “I already did with my dowry. Besides, I have to work out this treasure.” She gave Drake a hopeful glance.

  He looked away, the message clear—he would defend her honor, but not help her rob him of what he thought was his by right of birth and being male.

  She would just have to work hard to please Grandpapa and ensure she was the one who inherited Bastion Point. Drake was to have the Barbados plantation, which had been in the family for over a hundred years, and Morwenna would have a family of her own.

  And speaking of pleasing Grandpapa . . .

  She rose and shook out her skirt. “I must go, Drake. You will be careful, will you not? And write to me.”

  “I’ll do my best.” He hugged her close, kissed the top of her head, and led her back to the door at the foot of the steps. “Do not fret about me. Perhaps I’ll turn pirate like Grandfather did in his youth.”

  “You must not. He’d never buy you a pardon.”

  “No, I expect he wouldn’t.” Sadness clouded the bright pale blue of his eyes. “All he’s inclined to buy me is passage west. Away from the revenue men.”

  “Oh, Drake.” She blinked hard to hold back tears. “I came home at last to see you, and now— Why has everything gone so terribly wrong?”

  “Not all.” He gave her a bracing smile. “You’re free of Romsford. Think of that. You’re safe at Bastion Point.”

  Yes, she was safe.

  She clung to that notion all the way up the winding staircase to the secret room. Romsford couldn’t touch her at Bastion Point. Her parents’ machinations couldn’t touch her at Bastion Point.

  Rowan Curnow couldn’t touch her at Bastion Point.

  She reentered the study and ascended to her room, the same one that had been hers when they left for London. Before greeting Grandmama, she needed to change her gown. Grandmama was always such an image of perfection and elegance that Elizabeth never liked appearing before her in less than her best possible looks.

  Miss Pross knew it and awaited Elizabeth in the corner chamber overlooking Grandmama’s garden on one side and the cove below Bastion Point on the other. A froth of wind-ruffled waves drew Elizabeth to the window like a thirsty man to fresh water, but Miss Pross caught her arm and gently turned her toward the dressing table.

  “You must not keep them waiting longer, child. They have guests.”

  “Guests?” Elizabeth glared at her reflection, noting her red-rimmed eyes and worse-than-usual pallor. “I am unfit for greeting guests.”

  “But it’s Lord Penvenan’s sister and a guest of hers.”

  “Senara is here? The day after her brother’s death? One would think decency would insist she stay home and receive callers.”

  “With her brother gone, who does she have to turn to but Sir Petrok and Lady Trelawny?” Miss Pross began to remove hairpins and brush out sections of Elizabeth’s hair with a speed that belied laws of physical science. Each stroke of the brush should have sent the rest of her hair cascading down her back. Instead, the twists and coils slid neatly into place.

  “I had your blue silk pressed.” Miss Pross gave the last pin a gentle push into place. “It will do for guests and carry you on to dinnertime.”

  “Perfect, of course.” Elizabeth rose and allowed her companion and, when not in London, lady’s maid to help her out of the rose muslin gown and into one of blue silk with a double row of lace-trimmed flounces at the hem. The dressmaker had assured Elizabeth it would diminish her height to widen the dress. It didn’t work, but the effect was pretty with the froth of lace against the sea blue fabric. It lent Elizabeth a measure of confidence in front of strangers and Senara Penvenan, the childhood friend she hadn’t seen in more than half a decade.

  Senara ventured out only to visit Bastion Point or attend church. Her life centered on her home, Penmara—keeping the crumbling old house looking as well as possible with the family’s limited funds, and helping feed herself and her brother and their few servants from her extensive and flourishing garden.

  Plump and pretty and wearing a black dress that appeared twenty years out of date, Senara sprang from her chair the instant Elizabeth stepped into the drawing room and flung herself into her old friend’s arms.

  “Elizabeth, you don’t know how happy I am that you’re here now. I could never bear this alone.” A sob racked her body, and she drew back long enough to press a black-bordered handkerchief to her swollen eyes. It, like her gown, reeked of lavender and camphor as though they had been stowed away for two decades. “I know you loved him too.”

  “Yes, Conan was my friend too.” Elizabeth patted Senara’s shoulder and stared past her friend’s glossy black curls with a plea for help to the grandparents.

  Instead of meeting either Grandpapa or Grandmama’s eyes, she met those of a stranger—a stranger with gray eyes, silverstreaked black hair, and the patrician features of an aristocrat. He smiled at her from where he stood and offered her a bow.

  Elizabeth flicked her gaze to Grandpapa, who stood beside the stranger, for an explanation or introduction.

  “Elizabeth, allow me to present Austell Penvenan, the heir presumptive to Penmara,” Grandpapa announced.

  Senara shuddered.

  Elizabeth stared. “I had no idea—that is to say, I did not realize—”

  The new Lord Penvenan—if his claim was legitimate—smiled. “My branch of the family has been in America for the past hundred years.” He spoke in a rich, drawling voice that seemed to omit the use of the letter r. “A visit has been long overdue, but Conan Lord Penvenan thought—”

  “How convenient you reached here just in time for Conan’s death.” Senara turned on the newcomer. “Or should I call it what it is? Conan’s murder. A coincidence—”

  “Senara, that is quite enough,” Grandmama interjected in her light, low voice.

  Elizabeth, Grandpapa, and Austell Penvenan stared at Senara.

  “Cousin Senara,” Penvenan began.

  “No, it is not enough.” Senara continued as though no one had spoken. “My brother is dead by foul play, and this man and his henchman—”

  “Senara, cease at once.” Grandpapa never raised his voice, but the quiet command brought a halt to Senara’s tirade.

  Elizabeth took her friend’s hand and led her to a chair close to the low fire burning on the hearth. “Shall I send for tea?”

  “It’s been sent for.” Grandmama held out her hands to Elizabeth. “Why do you not greet me properly, then sit so the gentlemen may do the same?”

  With a quick glance to Grandpapa and Penvenan, Elizabeth closed the distance between herself and Grandmama an
d laid her hands in the older woman’s and kissed her on the cheek. Later, when they were alone, she would embrace her and indulge in a few tears upon Grandmama’s shoulder, though those tears pricked the backs of her lids at that moment.

  Afraid they would spill over right then and there, Elizabeth backed up to lower herself onto a chair from the previous century with legs so spindly she feared she’d shatter the carved wood if she moved too far to right or left. Under normal circumstances, she never would have chosen that seat. Its carved arms rose too high for her to rest her elbows upon them, yet were not far enough apart for her to hold her arms neatly at her sides. The back, designed with flowers, leaves, and trailing vines that bore no resemblance to anything appearing in nature, prohibited leaning back. Feeling as though her bony knees jutted through the filmy fabric of her petticoat and gown and into the center of the room, she perched on the edge of the chair—

  And for the first time, noticed a third man in the room. Unlike Austell Penvenan and Grandpapa, he remained standing with his back to the chamber, his attention apparently fixed on the panorama of sea and sky beyond the terrace, a tall, broad-shouldered figure silhouetted against that breathtaking view. A man with hair that shone in the glow of the candles. Unkempt dark chestnut hair that appeared wind-blown even in the still atmosphere of the parlor.

  The too-still atmosphere. As in the cave, Elizabeth believed no oxygen filled the room. It certainly left her lungs, as the blood left her head. For a moment, she thought she might faint. She thought she’d be better off if she did. She could escape before she’d had her suspicions confirmed.

  But Mr. Penvenan was speaking. “Miss Trelawny, allow me to introduce my secretary, Rowan Curnow.”

  CHAPTER 8

  MISS ELIZABETH TRELAWNY’S ALREADY CREAMY COMPLEXION turned the color of skimmed milk. She didn’t rise to offer him a curtsy, which wasn’t expected for a mere secretary anyway. Even if it were, she appeared incapable of moving from the chair that looked more like an instrument of torture than a seat of repose.

  Rowan waited for her to acknowledge that she knew him. When she did not, she merely inclined her head scarcely far enough to say she acknowledged he existed and he offered her a bow a little too deep not to hold a hint of mockery.