For the Lady of Lowena (A Cornish Romance Book 2)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  At the sound of herring gulls crying above, Sophia turned her eyes on the sea. The same light breeze the gulls glided on fluttered her bonnet’s ribbons beneath her chin. The ocean had turned a deep blue as the sun moved to the center of the sky. The only breaks in the azure color were the white waves cresting across the water, like cream across a moist pudding.

  Cream. That would go lovely with the strawberries. She would have to remember to tell Mrs. Cuff. If, of course, they could still afford cream.

  The familiar feeling of misery she’d welcomed into her life the past few days crowded around her. There was no point denying it any longer. She was poor. Her family was poor. They would now have to suffer the fate that had befallen them.

  If only she’d have lived her whole life destitute, like Gwynna. Then she’d be able to come to terms with the change.

  Images swirled about her mind. Eight-year-old Gwynna as a bal maiden. Mr. Merrick coughing until his face turned purple. Children excited about the simple prospect of having a single strawberry.

  Her brow pursed. She was glad to have had the life she did, while she did. She would be ungrateful if she didn’t recognize the blessings she once had, and that her life was still far easier than Gwynna’s.

  Even if her path was gone.

  Sophia stopped, her hands dropping to her sides. Her path, the pathway she’d been walking on, had literally disappeared into the rocky cliffside in front of her. She glanced behind her, wondering if she’d missed a turn, but the pathway led nowhere else but straight into the side of the cliff.

  She released a frustrated sigh. She couldn’t return along the mud-strewn pathway to the mine and risk seeing Mr. Hawkins again. Dropping a hundred feet down the cliffside into the sea below certainly wasn’t an option either.

  But scaling the cliff to her left? She sized up the cliffside next to the vanished trail. From where she stood at the bottom, it was a fair ascent, the distance no more than twice her height. It wasn’t a sheer drop, so if she fell, she would merely slide back down to the pathway with no risk of plummeting into the sea or breaking a limb. The rocks weren’t so large either and appeared sturdy enough for her to grasp firmly.

  Altogether, it wasn’t a terrible idea. It certainly was better than humiliating herself in front of Mr. Hawkins again.

  With swift determination, Sophia removed her gloves and tucked them up the side of her Spencer, having left home too quickly to have remembered her reticule. Then she approached the cliffside, reached high overhead, and gripped the top of the first rock with one hand.

  She heaved herself up rock after rock, moving into a smooth rhythm. At least for the first few steps, before she realized how silly her idea had been. She continually had to kick out her skirts with her mud-caked boots before securing her footing on the next rock. The sunshine blared above her, so she couldn’t keep her eyes up or the imprint of the sun’s white light remained behind her eyelids.

  Still, she refused to give up, even when her knees shook, and her fingers trembled. She had to be nearing the top now. Though, knowing her poor fortune, the cliff probably stretched out for half a mile.

  She forced herself to fix her eyes on the tan rocks, having no desire to see how high she had climbed, nor how much farther she had to go. Finally, she clasped onto the last boulder, and her eyes landed on the grass at the top of the cliff.

  Grass…and a pair of tall, black boots.

  She gasped, her heart thudding in her ears. Her eyes trailed up long, lean legs, a red waistcoat, and a white, knotted cravat. Before she could reach the gentleman’s face, the brightness of the sun caused her eyes to water, and she looked away.

  She didn’t need to see any more of him to know who stood above her. “Mr. Hawkins.” Her voice squeaked. “You startled me.”

  She supposed she hadn’t considered the fact that Mr. Hawkins could ride along the top of the cliff and meet up with her.

  “My apologies,” he began, his voice deep and smooth. “In my defense, you have startled me, as well. I was just walking by when I heard a grunting and thought it a feral animal struggling to climb the cliffside. Imagine my surprise when I discovered your own head popping up, instead of a wounded cat.”

  So much for not being humiliated in front of the man again. Sophia’s whole face was aflame from exhaustion and sheer mortification.

  “I really had no idea you could climb rocks so well,” he continued. “If I did, I might have let you rescue yourself that day on the beach.”

  Was he smiling? It certainly sounded like he was. That charming, charismatic grin.

  Her knees trembled, reminding her of the cliffside she stood upon. What a sight she must look. Bonnet askew, hair in ratted waves—and right in the middle of a completely unladylike endeavor.

  But she wasn’t really a lady anymore.

  “Well, I assure you,” she said, speaking slowly to avoid sounding too fatigued, “I am perfectly capable of getting myself out of this predicament.”

  She had only said so to ward off further humiliation, but as she took another step up, her boot slipped, and she slid down the cliffside.

  Or she would have, had Mr. Hawkins not reached out at the last moment and grasped her hand with his. She sucked in her breath, scrambling before securing her feet on another rock.

  “Are you all right?” Mr. Hawkins asked, all mirth gone.

  She gaped at his strong fingers wrapped around her pale hand. Where were his gloves? Suddenly, her breathing hitched for a different reason. “Y-yes,” she barely managed to stammer out.

  “All right, up you go, then.” He latched onto her other hand, and with a swift tug, he pulled her straight up the cliff and safely onto land.

  But she wasn’t safe at all. She launched straight toward him, her body falling against his. He released her hands and slid his fingers around her waist to steady her footing. Her head spun from the sudden movement and from their proximity. She couldn’t help herself, she had to look up at him.

  Where was that blasted sun now to prevent her view? His hat was gone, revealing his fair hair. His strong jaw twitched, the movement causing her pulse to race even harder. And when she looked to his lips, those perfectly smooth, angular lips, her mind strayed to places it shouldn’t.

  The last time they had been this close, he’d rescued her from the tide and from Mother’s scolding. But this was different. They were no longer strangers. They had a history, a past. A short one, yes, but complicated, nonetheless. And she felt a pull to this man who had seen her in her most vulnerable of moments.

  That reason alone would have caused any normal person to flee. That’s why she had done so before. But now that she was in his arms, alone, secluded, she couldn’t seem to pull away.

  His warm hands seared through the fabric of her dress, heating her skin from front to back. He peered down at her. His eyes centered on her lips for a single, lasting moment before he took an abrupt step back. His hands dropped from her sides, cooling her skin in an instant.

  “You nearly took quite the fall, Miss Rosewall. Are you well?”

  He no longer met her eyes, his voice gruff.

  She placed one boot slightly in front of the other, still attempting to gain her bearings. “Yes. Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Hawkins, yet again.”

  “Happy to be of service,” he said.

  He retrieved his hat from the top of his horse’s saddle, the chestnut having been grazing nearby. “But perhaps you ought to stop putting yourself into dangerous situations. Otherwise it may appear that you are simply trying to do so for attention.”

  * * *

  Miss Rosewall’s mouth opened indignantly. Frederick was fairly certain he shouldn’t be teasing her this way, especially with how seriously she was taking it. He had to do something to distract himself from looking at her lips again, wondering if they tasted like the strawberries she’d handed to the miners at Wheal Favour.

  He blinked hard to dispel the image. He shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts. At least,
not about this woman. Not after all that had occurred between them.

  “I would never seek injury simply to draw attention to myself,” she protested, hands on her hips.

  “I was only teasing, Miss Rosewall.” He placed his hat on his head. “Besides, if you were truly in search of my attention, I’m quite certain you wouldn’t have run away from me at the mine.”

  He quirked a knowing brow. She was clearly mortified, her eyes dropping to the grass beneath her feet. He hadn’t noticed her gloves tucked into her jacket until then. Nor the stains on her skirts. Was that juice from strawberries, as well? Her kiss certainly would have tasted of the fruit if she’d been sampling them.

  “You were at the mine?” she asked. Her right hand picked at the hem near her left shoulder.

  When had she become such a terrible liar? Frederick was better at the sin than she was now. After all, she’d believed him when he said he’d just happened on her, rather than watching her leave and then purposefully taking the longer route above the cliffs simply to see her.

  At the thought of adopting a trait straight from his father, Frederick could have shuddered. Instead, he pushed aside the memories of his past and directed his attention to the present.

  “Yes, I was at the mine. Mr. Trevethan, the new owner, wished to show me Wheal Favour, along with the other investors.” He paused, chewing the inside of his lower lip. “I saw you giving away the strawberries to the miners. That was very kind of you.”

  The slightest hint of pink lit her cheeks. Was this false humility, or sincere meekness? “I only brought them for a family who helped me the night of the…the-the other night. It was Gwynna Merrick who suggested we take them to the miners.”

  That was more plausible, for someone else to have suggested the kind act. Miss Rosewall couldn’t have become selfless overnight.

  Frederick had visited the Merricks to mend their roof before the rain had set in, so he knew the family was in need of any help they received. The Rosewalls must have felt obligated to bring their old tenants a basket, and Miss Rosewall was the chosen messenger.

  “Were you on your way back to the cottage?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “May I see you safely there?”

  “I suppose. If you wish to.”

  A few days ago, Frederick couldn’t wait to be rid of her presence. Now, he’d offered to walk her home, and this time, not to save the Madderns. As a gentleman, though, he really couldn’t allow her to cross the countryside alone again. Especially as she was known to make terrible decisions whenever she was out of doors.

  They took a few tentative steps forward, Frederick leading his horse behind him, Miss Rosewall at Frederick’s side a healthy distance away.

  The ocean’s rushing waves and his horse’s gentle nickering broke through their silence. The wildflowers next to them dipped in the breeze. They were red, like strawberries.

  He cleared his throat. “I attempted to call on your family yesterday.”

  Miss Rosewall’s brow rushed up in surprise.

  “Your housekeeper said no one was well enough to come to the door.” He hesitated. The woman had seemed earnest enough when he’d called, but seeing Miss Rosewall now made him believe otherwise. “I’m surprised to see you here only the day after, as healthy as ever.”

  “No, I was not unwell. But my energy was expended.”

  “Due to the ball?” There. He’d mentioned it. He wasn’t going to, but he simply had to know what had caused that distraught look on her face before she’d disappeared.

  She nodded. “Due to the ball.”

  “I didn’t see you the rest of the evening. Did you leave early?”

  “Yes, I was too tired to dance that night.”

  Another falsehood, as evident by her shifting eyes. Frederick ought to leave it alone, but he continued, nevertheless. “So your departing early had nothing to do with what anyone might have said to you?”

  “You overheard their words then?” The pain from the ball reflected in her eyes.

  He paused. “Whose words?”

  She averted her gaze, her ever-perfect posture slumping. “Never mind. I left of my own accord, after I came to the realization that, as an impoverished female, my attendance is now futile at any future social gathering.”

  So the rumors had been the cause of her abrupt departure. He grimaced. That familiar guilt he’d felt ever since taking over Fynwary Hall gnawed again. How he wished he could be rid of it, to enjoy his time at his new home, rather than always thinking of what purchasing the house had done to the Rosewalls. He knew someone else could have acquired it, that Mr. Rosewall would have been in a worst state had Frederick not, but he couldn’t bear it any longer. He had to say something.

  He reached forward, placing a hand on her arm to stop her. “Miss Rosewall, please, wait a moment.”

  She stopped, staring at his hand until he withdrew it.

  “Before we go on, I…” He removed his hat and raked his fingers through his hair. “I cannot allow us to continue in such a manner. I can see that being around me does you no good. If you no longer wish to socialize with me, I do not blame you, and I will, of course, respect your wishes. But before you make such a decision, please allow me to apologize for everything that has gone on between us.”

  He took a step toward her, his voice low, though no one was around to hear his words. “If I would have known that you and Mrs. Rosewall were not aware that I had purchased Fynwary Hall, I would never have remained there that evening. To have such a thing revealed, and to have me, the very man responsible for it, present while you received such news, I am terribly sorry. I only—”

  “Please, stop.” Miss Rosewall squeezed her eyes closed. “I cannot hear such an apology.”

  Frederick pulled back in disbelief. She was denying him the chance to apologize. When would he ever stop falling for her trickery? She was the same woman as before, the same woman she always would be. He reached up and tugged at his cravat. Worthless contraption. He could hardly breathe.

  “I cannot hear you speak any more on this matter,” Miss Rosewall continued, “because it is not you who ought to apologize. It is I.”

  His finger froze beneath the white fabric.

  She continued, looking out to the sea. “I have come to see how very wrong I was to accuse you of my family’s misfortunes when it was my father who…” She shook her head. “At any rate, I beg your forgiveness for how I have treated you.”

  Frederick couldn’t speak, his thoughts rolling forward with no end in sight. Could Miss Rosewall truly change? Had she truly changed?

  The sincerity shining in her eyes, the shame pressing on her brow, whispered for him to believe her words. But if her circumstances had finally humbled her, how long would it last? If her wealth was renewed, would she not fall right back into seeking attention from everyone, losing all sincerity?

  He needed to err on the side of caution, but a warmth spiraled from his heart and moved through the rest of his limbs. She had apologized, and that was a step in the right direction.

  “Your apology is more than accepted, Miss Rosewall,” he said, placing his hat atop his head and offering his arm. “Shall we continue as friends?”

  She slowly slid her fingers around his jacket sleeve to rest her hand on his arm. He found himself wishing to remove his jacket to better feel the warmth of her touch.

  He gently pulled at his horse’s reins, his steed following behind him as they continued along the pathway. The silence Miss Rosewall maintained was peculiar. Since when had she learned she didn’t need to chatter?

  But surely friends could speak, and as they were friends now, he had no reason not to encourage conversation. “My reason for calling yesterday was to see what repairs I could help with at Lowena,” he began, “and for one other reason.”

  “Oh?”

  He fingered the reins in his hand. “Yes, you see, I’ll be hosting a picnic in a few days. We’ll be traveling about an hour south of here in carri
ages. And I thought, perhaps, you and your parents might like to attend.”

  He glanced at her, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder. She hardly looked pleased. Had he expected her to react differently?

  “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Hawkins, but I believe I may safely decline for them both, and myself.”

  He nodded. Her response didn’t surprise him. He knew she was still nursing her wounds after what had occurred at the ball. She ought not remain indoors forever, though. Not while were there still kind people who would accept her for who she was, despite her lack of fortune.

  “I understand why you would not wish to come,” he said, “but I hope you will change your mind. If it helps in your decision, I have only invited a few people. The Madderns, Summerfields, and Rennalls. It will be a small affair.”

  He’d enjoyed the company of each of the couples on his list. They were sure to be kind to Miss Rosewall. Even Miss Kinsey.

  Miss Kinsey. Blast, he’d forgotten about her. He’d nearly missed the first dance with her at the Maddern’s ball when he’d approached Miss Rosewall. Now he’d gone and invited Miss Rosewall to the picnic he’d specifically created to help him get to know Miss Kinsey.

  He skirted the issue aside. What did it matter anyway? Miss Rosewall would not attend, and Miss Kinsey would not speak.

  This picnic was shaping up to be a rather dull affair.

  “Thank you, truly, for the invitation, sir,” Miss Rosewall said. “But I do not think that I could bear it.”

  His heart sunk farther than he’d thought it would. “That is all right,” he said, forcing himself to remain upbeat. “But should you change your mind, we will be meeting at Fynwary Hall Friday morning. Then we will caravan to the location together. I do hope you will reconsider.”

  What was he doing, trying to talk her into it after the issue had been solved?

  His thoughts ceased as Miss Rosewall abruptly slipped her hand away from him, walking sideways as she nodded her head.