A Lady's Honor

by Laurie Alice Eakes

  She glared at him. “You want me to ask you why, so I’ll not.”

  “And I didn’t tell you, but I will.” He looked back at Henry, still a discreet dozen yards behind. “My mother died when I was fifteen and left me to Penvenan to raise on his plantation. He has a lot of slaves. I don’t like it. I don’t care that he inherited most of them and freeing them is nigh on impossible with the laws as they are. I don’t see him doing anything to change the law or get around it, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.”

  Elizabeth fought down her revulsion at this barbaric practice. Most plantation owners in the Caribbean islands held by England owned them too. She didn’t think Grandpapa’s plantation did, but wasn’t certain of that. She would ask. If so, she’d write to Drake to free them—if that was possible, if Drake had actually gone to the plantation and not off on some misadventure instead. Months would pass before a letter could reach her.

  “How did you free them?” she asked Rowan.

  He smiled at her as though she’d given him a precious gift. “What makes you think I did?”

  She just kept looking at him.

  “I only managed to get a few away and on their way to Canada and freedom. Penvenan’s overseer got suspicious, so I turned to another man’s plantation.” He bowed his head.

  “And . . .” Elizabeth prompted. “Surely freeing men in captivity is nothing of which you should be ashamed.”

  He shook his head. “It isn’t, except this man was having financial difficulties and intended to sell those slaves to pay his debts. Because I helped them escape, he lost everything he owned.”

  “Oh no. What happened to him?”

  “He sent his family to the West Indies to his wife’s family there, but on the way, his two sons were taken up by the British Navy.”

  “But they were Americans, were they not?”

  “I don’t think they tried very hard to stop their impressments.” Rowan’s face hardened. “And the man vowed he would kill the man who helped his slaves escape when he found out who it was.”

  “So Lord Penvenan knew it was you.”

  “He suspected it was I. He’d learned that I was the one who took his slaves and thrashed me good, for all I was already a head taller than he.”

  “But he knew it most likely wouldn’t stop you.” She didn’t even try to keep the admiration from her tone.

  His smile, quick and spontaneous, blazed a hole through the barrier she tried to hold up against him. “He knew, and he sent me north. I did well at the university. I wanted to go into the ministry, but Penvenan scuttled that notion.”

  “Why? Surely that would have been an honorable profession.”

  “He wasn’t about to have me preaching against slavery and stirring up antislavery sentiment. So he said I owed him for my education, for saving my worthless hide, and for putting up with my insolence. So here I am in Cornwall making a fool of myself over a beautiful ice maiden.”

  Or perhaps not so icy a maiden.

  The words slid through her mind unbidden, unwanted, like a stiletto between the ribs. Perhaps he wasn’t making a fool of himself where she was concerned because every word he spoke lured her like a magpie to a brand-new penny.

  And she was as foolish as that magpie who didn’t realize the object of attraction was as useless to him as Rowan Curnow was to her. He was a copper penny to her golden guinea. Blended, the penny would lower the value of the guinea. How many times had Mama said, “A lady is raised or lowered to the level of her husband”?

  As though she were nothing more than a seesaw tilting up and down at someone else’s whim instead of her own desires.

  Too little in her life had been of her own desires since her parents dragged her away from Bastion Point. Going after the whole inheritance was the only chance she saw for gaining something by her own volition. She would not, she could not, allow a man with a fine physique and a distracting mouth, a voice like warm caramel, and words that fascinated, turn her away from her purpose. Bastion Point was where her future lay, not with Rowan Curnow and his uncertain future going hither and yon at another man’s whim.

  Yet she couldn’t hold back her smile upon looking his way, nor from offering him words of encouragement. “I think if you still want to become a minister, you’re capable of accomplishing that goal.”

  “Thank you.” The Bastion Point gates rose into view over the next hill, and he slowed his mount from a trot to a walk. “Maybe one day, but right now I need to be right where I am.”

  “If you would rather be elsewhere,” she reposted with some asperity, “do not hang about on my behalf. I find it uncomfortable enough having Romsford lurking around Truro and trying to purchase land in Cornwall.”

  “Be assured it won’t be Penmara.” Rowan tugged the bell rope to summon the gatekeeper.

  Once the gates parted and the three of them rode through, conversation grew impossible. The trees of the parkland formed a tunnel of quiet where voices carried farther away than Henry rode.

  No more conversation with the man seemed like the best course of action for her. At the same time, the idea of not seeing him again left her with a hollow in the center of her person, the kind of aching loneliness she’d never before felt when at home in Cornwall or browsing a bookshop in town, the kind of emptiness she experienced in the middle of balls in London.

  The frozen mask she’d learned how to adopt during those balls now firmly in place, she dismounted without assistance, tossed her reins to a groom, and headed for the house, heedless of whether or not the lad had caught them. The gelding would go nowhere but to his stall for his dinner. Elizabeth didn’t want her dinner; she wanted a long walk on the beach.

  But walks on the beach might not be safe.

  At the line of trees planted to separate the stable yard from the east lawn, Elizabeth heard footfalls behind her and whirled, words of rebuke blazing on her tongue. “You, with your reckless suppositions and accusations, have made me a prisoner here. I cannot walk or ride on the beach without fearing another accident. I cannot walk or ride into the village without fearing some kind of accident. I came back to Cornwall for freedom, and all I find is chaos.”

  “It isn’t of my making, Miss Trelawny.” Rowan tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.

  She curled her fingers into the hard muscle beneath the soft wool sleeve.

  They reached the front steps, and out of sight of viewers in the house or stable for the moment, Rowan faced her and took both her hands in his. “Elys, be careful, whether or not you choose to believe me. If you wish to go riding or walking, come with me.”

  Her hands shook with the effort not to curl her fingers around his. “Will you not be too occupied watching over Morwenna?”

  “I’d prefer you persuade your grandparents to let her come back to live here. She’s too alone in that house of hers.”

  “I think the grandparents are unmovable, and I’d rather not tease them into being angry with me.”

  “And of course Miss Morwenna’s exile from Bastion Point prevents her from hopes of inheriting it.”

  Elizabeth flinched away from him and crossed her arms over her chest. “They might send me back to London.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “They sent me once before.”

  “Then be as cautious as your conscience will let you.” He touched his forefinger to her chin. For a heart-stopping moment, she feared he intended to kiss her right then and there. She tensed with anticipation.

  Instead, he met and held her gaze. “Come with me to the fair tomorrow.”

  “You think I can get away for an entire day?”

  “I think you can if you wish to.”

  Yes, she most likely could with Miss Pross’s loyal compliance. A desire to be left alone for a day expressed, a locked bedchamber door to keep Senara out, and judicious timing as to when she left and returned to the house. It wouldn’t be the first time she had effected such an escape. Sadly, it was likely to be the last, a foolish
, downright stupid, glorious bid for the freedom she’d missed in London and scarcely regained in Cornwall.

  “I’ll go.”

  His smile alone was worth the risk. “Around the point at sunrise.” He strode away.

  She should stay home like the good and obedient granddaughter she pretended to be, that she wished she were content to be. Yet at that moment, with his voice in her ears and his touch warming her skin, she couldn’t care. She would go with him the next day, make arrangements with Miss Pross and slip away to a few hours of freedom.

  On the other hand, how much freedom lay in the deception of pretending she was staying in her room when she was miles away? She didn’t like doing it. The notion pricked her conscience.

  Her limited activity since returning home hammered at her soul. The grandparents had changed, grown more strict in what they expected from their grandchildren—obedience or risk exile. They hadn’t quite ordered her to allow Penvenan to court her with an eye to him offering her marriage, but they had made clear to her that was what they wanted. A settled and secure future nearby lay in that direction. Surely they meant the best for her in that.

  She wanted to please them and ensure she kept their approval. She wanted to keep their love and gain the security of possessing Bastion Point. She wanted to be courted by someone who cared about her, who loved her. Perhaps that had been the attraction Penvenan held—she thought him wealthy enough that he courted her for feelings only. He was wealthy, but like Romsford, he wanted more. That more included what she brought, not necessarily her.

  Surely the grandparents knew. Yet she feared they were no different from her parents.

  On her way upstairs, she paused on the landing and leaned against the wall, her fingertips to her temples. A moan escaped her lips.

  The grandparents had never seemed infallible to her. Yet they had exiled Drake. They had banished Morwenna unless she complied with their wishes. Now they nudged Elizabeth into a courtship she was doubtful she wanted. That Penvenan was a slave owner must not matter to them, for surely they knew.

  Can you truly guide me, Lord? I am rather in need.

  And if she only turned to the Lord when in need, was she any different from those whom she criticized for only caring about a body’s rank or wealth and ability to advance their cause?

  I feel so lost and empty.

  How much more lost and empty must Morwenna feel, alone save for a paid maid-companion and a fatherless child on its way? Or perhaps not fatherless, but orphaned.

  The notion of Conan being the father didn’t seem possible. Conan had always treated Morwenna like a younger sister, a comrade in their games, nothing like what produced children. But six years could make a great deal of difference. On the other hand, Conan had seemed inclined to marry Elizabeth, according to Drake and the grandparents. He had, however, let Rowan be the one to get her away from Romsford rather than doing so himself. Conan had been anxious to get back to Penmara—

  To look out for Morwenna? Only one way to learn—Elizabeth must call on Morwenna and ask her for the truth and why she refused to tell. Before she could do that, however, she was going to the horse fair with Rowan Curnow regardless of the consequences.

  CHAPTER 19

  THE LAST TIME ELIZABETH DESCENDED THE SECRET STAIRCASE, she’d entered the caves to bid her brother good-bye, perhaps even farewell. The last time she saw her brother, she’d believed he had sent Rowan Curnow to help her, which would have meant Drake found him acceptable company for his sister. It would have meant so if Drake had ever heard of him. Rowan had deceived her through letting her draw false conclusions, then lying about knowing Drake, yet she descended the steps so she could meet him on the Penmara beach to minimize anyone seeing them.

  More than likely, she’d regret her action later, especially if the grandparents learned that she had left Bastion Point land with Rowan Curnow. They would never understand her break for freedom while she worked out whether or not to allow Lord Penvenan to court her.

  After another tedious night of drawing and watercoloring an embroidery pattern with Miss Pross while Grandmama read sermons and Senara netted a reticule, Elizabeth decided she’d shrivel and dry like a potted plant left too long in a dark room without water. At least that was her excuse for her actions—a poor excuse at best. Knowing it was didn’t stop her.

  The sight of the cave, a surprisingly, comfortably appointed room of rock lined with paneling to lend it warmth, gave her pause. A book still lay open on the table, as though Drake had been reading it when dragged away or told to leave. It was a Bible open to a passage in the book of Judges, where Jael killed Sisera.

  “What an odd passage to be reading.” Shaking her head, she unbolted the door and pushed it open to the dark, damp, and winding path to the edge of the water even at low tide.

  Rowan awaited her around the headland. He held two horses Elizabeth didn’t recognize. At sight of her, his eyes widened, and he laughed. “Where did you find those clothes?”

  “I had them in the things Mama sent me from London.” Her cheeks warmed as she smoothed the skirt. Gathered to lacings around her waist, it barely fell to her ankles in folds of plain, dark blue. Her stockings were plain white lisle, her shoes little more than clogs, and her bodice, white with red and gold embroidery, laced down the front from a neckline too low for modesty. She filled it in with a blue silk kerchief and had wound another kerchief, this one in red, around the band of her plain straw hat in such a way she could draw it down as a half veil if the need arose. A heavily fringed red shawl completed the ensemble.

  “You look like a pirate wench.” Rowan’s gaze dropped to her lips. “Another masquerade?”

  “In my first season. I spent the entire evening seated behind an orange tree in a giant pot.”

  “I did find a lot of fools among the London males.”

  She forced herself away from the warmth in his eyes. “We had best be going.” She approached the smaller of the two horses, a gelding at least three hands taller than Grisette. “This is a nice lad.” She stroked the horse’s strawberry roan nose. “Whose are they?”

  “They belong to the Pascoes.” He rounded the gelding. “I decided not to impose on your grandfather today so I wouldn’t have to explain why I needed two mounts. Shall I help you up?”

  “How many horses are we going to look for today?”

  “Just two riding horses and a pair of carriage horses for Penmara, and a mare or two for me.”

  “You? Can you—” She realized how impertinent was the question she’d nearly asked, and joined him at the gelding’s left side so she could mount.

  When she hooked her knee over the saddle horn, her right shoe flew off. Rowan retrieved it, knocked out the sand that had collected inside the brogue, and handed it up to her. She took it, then realized she couldn’t slip it on without upsetting her balance atop her mount.

  “I think . . .” Her throat felt suddenly dry. “I fear I cannot put it on myself.”

  He removed the shoe from her suddenly nerveless fingers and cupped her foot in the palm of his hand. His thumb caressed her instep and her toes curled. A quiver raced through her, a frisson of pleasure or warning of danger.

  “You have remarkably small feet for a lady as tall as you are.” He slid on her shoe and stepped away from her. “Have a care not to lose one of those again.” He mounted his own horse and headed up the beach without another word, without looking at her.

  Shaken, she followed, though instinct shouted at her to turn back, ride home to Bastion Point as fast as she could. Back to refuge. Back to safety.

  Back to a day of callers and more embroidering.

  She followed Rowan until they had passed Penmara and headed onto a little-used lane through abandoned mines and hovels where some out-of-work miners still lived. Smoke trickled from one or two of the houses, dingy laundry flapped on lines, and rusting mine equipment lay like broken skeletons near the shafts.

  Elizabeth turned her face away from the ugliness. “I
can’t help but think opening these mines at nearly any cost would do a world of good. Think of all the people who will have work.”

  “If there truly is copper in them still.”

  “Everyone says there is still copper down there, but there was a cave-in about ten years ago that left the mine flooded, and the Penvenans had no money to buy an engine strong enough to pump it clear.”

  “Penvenan would like to make a profit.” Rowan grimaced at the surroundings. “It’s ugly, isn’t it?”

  “Do you expect poverty to be pretty?”

  He gave her a glance of surprise. “I didn’t think Miss Elizabeth Trelawny of Bastion Point thought about poverty at all.”

  “Of course not. I only think about gowns and jewels and houses. I’ve no care for the beggars I saw every day in London.”

  “You wouldn’t be unusual if you didn’t.”

  “Sadly, no.” She tucked a stray wisp of hair back into the plait down her back. “But Trelawnys have always taken care of whomever we can.”

  Rowan said something that sounded like, “You’ll feed us, but not love us.”

  Her heart rolled over. He knew so little about her. And yet he knew all about her anyone could know. He even knew her longing to lose the inhibitions of society. But he didn’t understand her need for the security of things that could not be ripped away from her, like living in a house she could not be sent from in a moment and the love of those around her.

  “Why,” she demanded out of frustration, “would you want me to love you when doing so would make me a fool?”

  He flashed her a grin and laughed. “Maybe not following your heart makes you a fool.”

  “You presume a great deal, sir.”

  “Do I? Then what are you doing with me today?”

  She stared between the gelding’s ears and smoothed the silky red mane. “Following the part of my heart that says I’ve been immured long enough.” She said nothing until they left the abandoned mines behind. “I came back to Cornwall to escape too many hours in drawing rooms, interminable dinner parties, and sedate rides in an open carriage.”