A Lady's Honor

by Laurie Alice Eakes

  So he had gone with Elizabeth so Conan didn’t have to. Rowan owed it to his friend, for, without Conan, Rowan never would have been in London. He never would have encountered Elizabeth at Hookham’s or that ball. He’d never have been at that ball to flirt with her from behind their masks, let himself be swept into that bower, let himself be kissed.

  So he encouraged her. Not gentlemanly of him. Kissing her in the meadow wasn’t gentlemanly. Neither of them had protested at either incident beyond her accusing him of trying to ruin her.

  He wasn’t. He couldn’t win her that way. How he would win her when she treated him as perhaps half a step riser higher than her stable hands, he hadn’t yet worked out. How he would win her when his own employer—a man now carrying the right to call himself a baron, even if the property needed money like a sponge needed water—had decided to court her. Penvenan was far from a poor man, and Elizabeth was too rich for Rowan in his present occupation.

  In competition with his own employer. Rowan felt sick to his stomach and worse in his soul, as though God had broken a promise. But it had only been wishfulness on his part and nothing the Lord ordained for him.

  On the contrary, matters progressed as though the Lord had wholly opposite plans for him. Penvenan was off at that very moment to take Elizabeth for a drive in an open carriage. The vehicle rolled down the drive, newly acquired from somewhere in Truro, along with the team of grays pulling it. No effort or expense was too great to impress Miss Trelawny. Despite the difference in age, it was a good match by anyone’s standards.

  Whereas no one would wish to be matched with Miss Morwenna Trelawny, regardless of her beauty. But Conan thought she and Elizabeth and his sister were in danger, and had asked Rowan to help him protect them.

  “Why?” The question had been natural for Rowan to ask. “Surely the smuggling gang has no interest in the ladies.”

  “I can tell you for certain tomorrow. I won’t make accusations without some kind of proof.”

  But Conan hadn’t lived through that night.

  Because he had given Rowan the opportunity to rescue Elizabeth from Romsford, Rowan vowed to find out what Conan had refused to reveal without proof. Yet the more obstacles that stood in his way, the less Rowan believed his actions were what the Lord wanted from him.

  “Face up to it, Curnow,” Rowan said aloud. “The only time you were certain you were in the Lord’s will it ended in disaster for you.”

  But not for a total of eighty former slaves living in freedom in Canada and the Northwest Territory.

  Until he knew for certain what he was supposed to accomplish there in Cornwall, even if it meant never winning Elizabeth’s heart for his own, he would keep the ladies safe.

  He left the upper floor and ran down steps with carpet so worn the warp and weft had separated, creating a hazard to the unwary. He should recommend having it ripped up. Whatever the treads looked like beneath, they couldn’t be worse than the runner.

  Penmara, unlike Bastion Point, boasted no footmen lurking in the hall to open the door or run errands. Rowan departed without anyone noticing him and sprinted across what had once been lawn to arrive at the Bastion Point gate. Morwenna was walking away, head bowed, hands clasped over her belly, as though she were praying. She glanced up at his approach, his footfalls crunching through last year’s brush, and paused.

  “Mr. Curnow, is it not?” Though her speech held more West Country than did Elizabeth’s, her tone held the same edge of haughtiness.

  He smiled at that. “Miss Trelawny?”

  “I prefer Morwenna. The Trelawnys have rejected me.”

  “That doesn’t feel right.”

  “You called Elizabeth by her Christian name.” She grinned. “You must have risked freezing your lips off kissing her.”

  Nothing about that kiss, short as it had been, had been cold, but Rowan wasn’t about to claim that.

  Morwenna shrugged. “I understand. You may not be a gentleman by Trelawny standards, but you’re enough of one not to talk about kissing a lady.”

  Rowan still said nothing, letting her clear her heart of whatever bitterness toward her cousin she could before he tried to talk to her.

  She said no more, simply peered up at him through eyelashes so long and thick they looked like they couldn’t be real. “If you came chasing after me because you think I’m easy goods—”

  “Never, Miss Morwenna.” His ears burned. “I’ve a message for you.”

  “From Elizabeth?” She leaned forward and grabbed his arm. “Please tell me Grandpapa said I can come back to Bastion Point.”

  “I’m afraid not. That is, I don’t know about that. I haven’t spoken with Miss Trelawny since I took her home this morning.”

  “Then what do you want?” Her little hand squeezed his forearm with surprising strength. “Why are you talking to me, Rowan Curnow?”

  “You looked frightened this morning, and Conan asked me to look out for you and your cousin and his sister.”

  She swallowed and pressed the back of her hand to her lips. “Why?”

  “He knew something was likely to happen to him.”

  “I know.” She nodded, and tears scattered from her big eyes. “He wanted out of the smuggling gang, and they threatened him if he tried. But why us females? No one should—that is, no one goes anywhere, Elizabeth hasn’t been here, and I—” She shrugged and dabbed at her eyes with her fingertips.

  Rowan handed her his handkerchief. “I don’t know. I can understand the smugglers threatening him, but not ladies. And we were discussing breaking the entail so he could sell, not the smugglers.”

  “Which makes his death more senseless.” She took his handkerchief. Instead of applying it to her eyes, she wrung the linen between her hands. “Without three male heirs, the entail must stand.”

  “And we could find no other male heirs for all the weeks we spent with those dusty records in London.”

  Too many weeks when they could have been taking other actions.

  He covered her hands with his to stop their restless twisting of the handkerchief. “But Conan feared someone with reason, and you’re frightened too.”

  “I wasn’t. I’ve been friends with too many of the men in these parts to fear them even if they are part of the gang.”

  “You don’t know which are with the smugglers and which are not?”

  “We all try not to. It’s dangerous to know.”

  “But they all knew Conan and Drake.”

  She looked at him as though he were stupid. “Of course. They use Penmara cellars and caves and Trelawny caves to hide their goods. And Drake and Conan . . . Well, they never could hide their breeding.”

  “And you can’t identify these . . . er . . . friends of yours?”

  She looked away, then back to meet his gaze with eyes so dark yet clear even a man teetering on the edge of giving his heart to another could drown in their depths. “Nothing more than friends.” Her cheeks bloomed with color, and she looked down. “Friends with most, anyway. But none of them have ever scared me until today. This morning.” She began toying with a stray curl over her left ear.

  His body tensing, Rowan waited.

  She started to speak, but the sound of voices drifting over the gate drew their attention to Bastion Point land. Three people approached, a man and two ladies.

  Rowan’s lips twitched. Apparently Penvenan hadn’t been able to get away in the carriage with Elizabeth without Miss Penvenan attaching herself to the outing.

  “I’m afraid we’re going to have company soon, Miss Morwenna. You’d best talk fast.”

  “Sometime last night, someone put a dead bird and . . . and its broken egg on the windowsill of my bedchamber.”

  “A dead bird?” He kept his tone neutral with effort.

  “With a broken egg.” Suddenly Morwenna clutched at his lapels with both hands and pressed herself against him. “Their being there couldn’t have been an accident. And it’s someone who knows us. The dogs didn’t bark.�
�

  “Conan’s dogs?”

  “Yes. They came to me in the woods one day. He’d been keeping them away from the house after the last one vanished. Another warning, and now I get a dead bird and . . . and—I don’t know what to do.”

  She should take her hands off him and back away before Elizabeth saw this tête-à-tête and leaped to incorrect conclusions.

  “That is revolting.” Miss Penvenan’s voice rang across the ten yards or so between them.

  Too late.

  “Have you no decency, Morwenna?” Elizabeth’s low tones held more dignity but just as much disgust.

  Despite her words directed at her cousin, the look she cast Rowan should have frozen off his nose.

  “Of course she has no decency,” Miss Penvenan declared. “I mean, she’s—”

  “Rowan.” Penvenan’s voice was sharp, authoritative, as he opened the gate. “What are you doing with this lady?”

  “Lady.” Miss Penvenan snorted.

  “Keeping a promise.” Rowan willed Morwenna to release him.

  She merely smiled over her shoulder at her cousin and neighbor. “What do either of you ladies care what I do with Mr. Curnow? You think him beneath you.”

  Elizabeth’s ice-maiden mask slipped into place, and she turned away. “I’d like to return home, my lord. Come along, Senara. We have been out nearly an hour, and after my ride this morning, I am quite fatigued and ready for a cup of tea.”

  “And perhaps a biscuit or two.” Senara turned with Elizabeth, slipping her arm through her friend’s.

  Penvenan glared at Rowan. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Yes, sir.” Rowan watched Elizabeth glide away, each step sending the bottom flounce of her gown swirling out for a hint of silk-clad ankle.

  His heart ached. His face must have given something away, for Morwenna released his coat and patted his cheek.

  “She’ll never have you, you know, even if she did let you kiss her. She’s not going to risk you going after her inheritance.”

  Rowan crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t care about her inheritance.”

  “Twenty-five thousand pounds for her dowry.”

  She may as well have given him twenty-five thousand blows, so crushed did his heart suddenly feel. “As well as her inheriting Bastion Point,” she said. “She’ll want a marquess at the least for that kind of blunt.”

  “She already rejected a marquess.” He turned away. “Tell me if anything else untoward occurs. I’ll look after your safety as best I can without knowing where an enemy lies. But I’d rather you not play your games at my expense.” He started to walk away.

  “No, wait.” She stumbled after him, tripping on an exposed root and grabbing his arm. “Please, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Call it habit. I’ve always been known to . . . to—”

  “Try to make her jealous?” He removed his arm from her hold. “It still works. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”

  “Who can blame me? She’s everything except for looks—parents who don’t squander their money, our grandparents’ love and respect, years in London.”

  “I think she’s beautiful. And those years in London weren’t kind to her.”

  “Oh my.” Morwenna’s eyes widened. “It isn’t just her money you want, is it?”

  He didn’t respond to that. “So, Miss Morwenna, was that all a hoax about the dead bird and egg?”

  “No.” She began to twist her hands together where her waist should be. “That is completely true, and I think it’s a warning or a threat like Conan received.”

  He cast his annoyance with her aside and gave her his full attention. “A warning of what, do you think?”

  “A dead mother bird and her chick.” To emphasize her words, she smoothed her hand over her belly.

  He started to ask why, but realized he already knew.

  CHAPTER 13

  “DISGRACEFUL.” SENARA TOSSED HER HEAD, ENDANGERING the black plumes on her hat. “I know she’s your cousin, Elizabeth, but her behavior is the outside of enough.”

  “I’ll not discuss Morwenna’s behavior.” Elizabeth injected her tone with all the ice she could manage, then turned to Lord Penvenan. “I hope you were not offended by my commenting that the walk has wearied me. I do thank you for escorting us. I haven’t been able to walk like this in years.”

  “You never attended house parties?” He looked at her askance.

  She shrugged. “We spent whole summers in the country. My mother’s family has a home in Surrey, and my father inherited lands from his great uncle in Worcestershire. Neither county has the sea air.”

  “Neither county is Cornwall.” Senara spoke with pride.

  Elizabeth smiled at her. “Precisely. And in house parties, one must meander with the other guests.”

  Not that they hadn’t been meandering that afternoon. When Senara would not allow them to leave in the carriage only large enough for two passengers, against all sense of good manners, Elizabeth had suggested a walk through the parkland and countryside instead. In truth, she rather welcomed Senara’s company. What Grandpapa was thinking in accepting Penvenan’s offer to take Elizabeth driving she could not think. When she asked Grandpapa, he merely smiled and exited his study to greet Grandmama as though she’d been on a month-long journey.

  “Not another man twice my age to court me,” she’d wanted to call after him.

  She would have, save for the butler and two footmen also in the great hall.

  Yet why Senara wished for their company when she’d previously been so rude to the new owner of Penmara, Elizabeth intended to ask her as soon as he departed.

  Departed to ring a peal over his hired man’s head for his outrageous behavior with Morwenna. Yes, Morwenna was a horrid flirt, but Rowan Curnow hadn’t in the least looked as though he wanted out of her clutches—literally.

  Despite the frost of her demeanor, Elizabeth burned inside. Mortification over the fact that she’d let him kiss her was only the beginning. The core of her blazed with humiliation—produced outrage that he would even talk to Morwenna, let alone be so . . . close to her, as though they were old friends—or more.

  They couldn’t be. He hadn’t been in Cornwall a month.

  “I am quite certain the exercise is good for me too.” Senara was prattling, as she’d prattled throughout the walk. “I’ve always been so busy taking care of Penmara, I got out too rarely, especially after you left, Elizabeth. And you never came back.”

  “My parents kept me too busy,” Elizabeth murmured.

  “I expect your suitors kept you too busy.” Penvenan smiled at her.

  She managed not to grimace. “My parents dislike Cornwall. It is too remote for them.”

  “The remoteness is what is so beautiful about it,” Senara declared.

  Penvenan nodded. “I agree with Miss Penvenan.”

  So the conversation went all the way back to Bastion Point. And so it had gone for the hour they had been walking. Elizabeth wondered what they would do if she simply started to scream at the top of her lungs and run for the isolation of her bedchamber and a locked door.

  Move the lock to the outside, no doubt.

  She managed to maintain her composure all the way to the house, where she turned to Penvenan and asked if he wished to come in for a cup of tea.

  He glanced at Senara and shook his head. “I think I’ll get back to Penmara.” He bowed to both of them. “Thank you for a lovely walk, ladies. Perhaps we shall have that drive another day.”

  “Indeed we shall.” Elizabeth turned to the front door a footman held open for her and entered the chilly dimness of the great hall.

  “At least,” Senara said the instant the door closed behind them, regardless of the servants present, “he didn’t call Penmara home.”

  “I doubt he thinks of it as home.” Elizabeth took Senara’s elbow and steered her into the blue sitting room where the Spillikins sticks played across a game table like a splintered rainbow. “He has only
been there for three weeks.”

  Senara dropped onto a chair and began to gather up the sticks. “It is my home, not his. It will never be his home.”

  “Senara, if you dislike his presence so, why did you insist on coming with us? It was rather rude of you.”

  “Did you want to go driving with him alone?”

  Elizabeth huffed out a laugh. “No.”

  “He is so very old, I thought you would prefer my company. Though he does still have all his hair and teeth.”

  “He is very kind and—” She broke off before reminding Senara that Penvenan now had a title. “Thank you for being so thoughtful. I’ve just rid myself of one middle-aged suitor. I do not wish for another.”

  “Is there a young suitor you pine for?” Senara bent her head over the colorful sticks, concentrating on gathering the shorter or fatter ones to stand upright in her hands. “Does anyone hold your heart?”

  “No one.” Elizabeth stared out of the window through which the afternoon sun blazed in an effort to blot out a face with proud, chiseled bones and eyes the color of an evening sea. She would not, not, not think of his lips. He did not hold her heart, not even one string that kept it tethered firmly in her own control.

  “Good,” Senara was saying. “I want you to stay here at Bastion Point. I’ve been so lonely without you.”

  Elizabeth’s conscience pricked her. She’d scarcely thought of Senara over the past six years other than the occasional letter. She thought of the grandparents and brother and returning to the rolling hills, the curve of beach, and the pounding sea. She even thought of Conan and going sailing with him in the early morning. She did not think about doing anything with Senara. Their friendship stemmed more from the familiarity of a lifetime than any shared interest.

  “Will you play Spillikins with me?” Senara asked.

  “Do you not want some tea?” Elizabeth poised halfway between game table and bellpull.

  “No tea. I just agreed with you so we could come in.” Senara grinned. “I knew he would never come in with us.”

  “You minx.” Pushing back her amusement, Elizabeth seated herself at the table and studied the array of sticks before her. “I’ve not played in years. Should I pick one color?”