On The Shores 0f Tregalwen (A Cornish Romance Book 0.5)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  “I do,” he responded, “but I am merely…distracted this evening.”

  Hannah eyed him curiously, wondering at his sunken shoulders.

  The song ended, and another round of cheering ensued.

  “Choose the next for us, Causey!” Mr. Moore called out from across the fire.

  Thomas glanced sidelong at Hannah. “Tykki Duw, sir.”

  “Tykki Duw!” Mr. Moore repeated.

  Hannah smiled. She had always enjoyed the song. Had Thomas remembered?

  She shifted her weight on the log to make herself more comfortable, unintentionally bringing herself closer to him, her shoulder grazing his.

  The song began. Thomas’s voice joined in with the others, and Hannah listened to the lyrics as if for the first time.

  She flew by in a flutter, a breath on the breeze,

  Her black and orange wings flying high ‘midst the trees.

  I beckoned her t’ward me with an outstretched hand,

  And upon my finger did she gracefully land.

  I brought her with me, to flowers so sweet.

  I had her trust. I would ne’er mistreat.

  But a strong wind blew and pulled her away,

  So I watched and waited as the sky grew gray.

  Grow strong, tykki duw, fly far, tykki duw.

  Leave me here, as we know you must do.

  Go with the wind, to a new land,

  Where’er it may be, howe’er so grand.

  But please, don’t forget home, nor those who love you,

  And return to me, my beloved tykki duw.

  Hannah had always loved hearing Thomas sing, but as she listened to his deep voice, a stirring occurred in her soul. In London, she had often thought she might have imagined her feelings for her lifelong friend. However, since her return to Cornwall, every moment she had spent in his company had only reinforced the love she had always had for him. There was no one who made her feel such joy, no one who listened to her as he did, who encouraged her own happiness, and loved her just as she was.

  She knew, as she finally accepted that love, she could not be parted from him again.

  I looked each day for her return,

  Waiting and hoping, long did I yearn.

  In my garden of milkweed and roses so pink,

  The longer I waited, the further I’d sink.

  Until, at last, I saw her fly o’er t’ward me,

  Past the old mines and near the blue sea.

  She landed on my finger, just like before.

  And I stared at her colors as we stood on the moor.

  Her wings were limp, though her colors still shone

  As bright as any sunset I had ever known.

  But still, she was weak, could hardly stand,

  So I carried her home in the palm of my hand.

  She felt Thomas’s knee press softly against her leg. Her skin numbed from the warmth of his touch. Slowly, she allowed her eyes to travel the length of him, and her breath caught in her throat as his hazel eyes watched her while he sang.

  You were strong, tykki duw.

  You’ve flown far, tykki duw.

  You’ve left me here, as you knew you needed to.

  You went with the wind to a faraway land,

  But I know where you went was not so grand.

  For you did not forget home, nor I, who love you,

  And you returned to me, my beloved, my beloved tykki duw.

  Those gathered around the fire repeated the last verse, but Thomas had stopped singing, his eyes focused on her lips.

  Slowly, the other’s voices faded away, the crackling fire and the sea’s waves the only sounds reaching her ears. Thomas placed a finger beneath her chin, gently tilting her head back as he leaned toward her.

  Her eyes fluttered closed, and her heart stilled. She felt his nose brush against her cheek first, then his breath was upon her lips, and she waited eagerly, impatiently, as he hovered just out of reach.

  Just then, the song ended and more cheers erupted, breaking apart the euphoria his nearness had created. Hannah jerked away, ducking her head at once. Heat flushed through her body, and she darted her eyes to those around the fire.

  Thankfully, no one seemed aware of what had nearly occurred between her and Thomas, except a few young girls who sat nearby, giggling behind their hands with wide eyes.

  She looked sidelong at Thomas. He raked his fingers through his hair, the muscles in his jaw twitching.

  Another song began, and he leaned close, his breath upon her ear. “Next time, I will not choose so public a place. I promise you that.” He caught her gaze with a wink before joining in the next song.

  Hannah unconsciously wet her lips and loosened her shawl from around her shoulders, the fire feeling suddenly warm.

  A range of emotions washed over her. Disappointment that the kiss had not occurred. Guilt for Mr. Hawkins hoping a marriage might be possible with her. Frustration with her mother for meddling so fiercely in her life. And mostly anger toward herself for not returning to Cornwall sooner, thereby avoiding all that upset her.

  As the night wore on, she attempted to set aside her emotions, focusing instead on Thomas singing with the others. The party continued until the last log turned to ash, stifled yawns interrupted the singing, and everyone began to disperse.

  Thomas’s servants were tasked to return to Leighton House with the cooking supplies on the spare horse, so Hannah had no choice but to ride double with Thomas.

  Not that she had any complaint. In fact, as she sat in front of him, his arms wrapped securely around her, she did not think she had ever felt so content.

  The moon shone across the countryside, the only sounds being that of the horse’s steady gait beneath them and the ocean’s waves behind them.

  As they continued, she rested her head upon his shoulder and pressed her nose against his neck.

  “Hannah?”

  She felt his deep voice vibrate softly in his throat, and she lazily hummed a response.

  “What were you saying before, about your mother…and Mr. Hawkins?” he asked.

  Hannah winced. She did not wish to speak about such matters. She wanted time to simply enjoy the closeness with the man she loved, untainted with worrying thoughts. There would be time to speak yet.

  She kept her mouth closed, pretending she was already fast asleep.

  “Hannah?”

  She bit her lip, forcing her breathing to remain steady until he rested his cheek upon the top of her head, and her heart swelled with love.

  Only a moment seemed to pass by before the lights from Rudhek Manor glowed behind her closed eyes.

  “We’re here, Hannah,” Thomas softly said, and she raised her head from his shoulder.

  “Already?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  The husky tone to his voice caused her heart to flutter, but she dared not look up at him.

  He helped her slide down from the horse before he dismounted, and together they walked toward the front door, stopping to face each other at the bottom of the manor’s stairs.

  Butterflies took flight in her stomach as Thomas reached for her hand, stroking his thumb back and forth across her skin.

  “Hannah,” he began, pausing a moment after.

  “Yes?” she breathed. Was he going to repeat his question? Or…would he attempt to kiss her again?

  “These last few years,” he continued, “the months we have spent apart…I don’t know how I…”

  He paused, turning his head to where the hedges lined the drive, and his brow furrowed.

  “What is it?” she asked, facing the same direction.

  The pounding of horse hooves reached her ears, the gait slowing as the horse clopped across the gravel, and she narrowed her eyes to see into the darkness.

  “Who could be coming here at so late an hour?” she muttered.

  Thomas didn’t respond.

  The rider neared, but his face was shadowed beneath his tall hat. He pulled his snorting horse
to a stop nearby, and Hannah took in the sight of the chestnut stallion, the white snippet at the end of its nose glowing from the light of the manor. Suddenly, she drew in a sharp breath, removing her hand from Thomas’s and taking a step back.

  The horse was impossible to mistake, and when the gentleman dismounted and removed his hat, Hannah’s heart lurched.

  “Mr. Hawkins.”

  Chapter Eight

  Thomas’s eyes snapped to Hannah’s. Mr. Hawkins? This was the man she had spoken of earlier? His mouth grew dry.

  “Good evening, Hannah,” the tall gentleman said in a rigid tone.

  “Mr. Hawkins,” she repeated, taking another subtle step away from Thomas, “what are you doing here?”

  Exactly what Thomas was thinking. What was the gentleman doing there, so late at night, interrupting his time with Hannah?

  “I apologize for my unannounced arrival, Miss Summerfield,” the gentleman said, his eyes skirting from Thomas to Hannah. “I was tasked by your mother to ensure you arrived at your grandparents safely.”

  Thomas cocked his head. Really? The gentleman traveled for days and through the dark to see if Hannah was safe…all for her mother? His insides churned.

  “Well, as you can see, I have,” Hannah responded, her eyes focused on the gravel beneath them.

  Thomas studied her arms crossed over her body as she chewed on her lower lip. He turned to the gentleman and noted his rigid posture. “Mr. Thomas Causey, sir. Miss Summerfield’s childhood friend.” Friend. He cringed at the word. “You, I take it, are Mr. Hawkins?”

  “Yes.” Mr. Hawkins eyed him with a lowered brow. “A pleasure.”

  They exchanged stiff bows before the door to the manor opened, and light flooded around them. Their eyes fell upon Hannah’s grandmother, whose figure was silhouetted as she stood in the doorway.

  “I thought I heard voices. I…” She paused. “Mr. Hawkins, is that you? My goodness, what a surprise.” She reached a hand to her throat and looked to her granddaughter. “Hannah, you did not tell me you were expecting any visitors from London.”

  “I did not know he was coming, Grandmama.”

  Thomas shook his head at her soft voice. Where was his Hannah? Vibrant, confident, full-of-life, Hannah? Anger filled him as he thought of how restrictive her mother must have been to make Hannah so timid and compliant. But what else had happened in London to have altered her so greatly?

  He looked back to Mr. Hawkins, whose eyes flickered between Thomas and Hannah again, and Thomas’s shoulders stooped forward.

  Of course. Hannah was uncomfortable with Mr. Hawkins’s arrival because…because she had not yet had the chance to tell Thomas that she had formed a relationship with the gentleman. That must have been what she was about to say before the music had started up earlier that night.

  A terrible ache mangled his heart. First his letters had been stolen by her mother, and now Hannah had been taken by the gentleman standing before him.

  Mrs. Summerfield’s voice broke through the silence. “Well, there is no need to stand out here in the chilly night air. Why don’t you all come in for a cup of tea?”

  “Yes, Grandmother,” Hannah said, turning at once to go indoors.

  Thomas cringed at her instant obedience. “Thank you for the offer, but I must be on my way. Hannah?” Her feet stopped, her head hanging down. “Thank you for joining me this evening.”

  She did not meet his gaze. “Good night, Mr. Causey.” And she continued inside.

  Thomas’s heart sank in his chest. He looked to Mr. Hawkins. The gentleman eyed him with a narrowed gaze before following Hannah inside.

  Thomas mounted his horse and clicked his tongue. His horse’s hooves crunched in the gravel one slow step at a time until he heard Mrs. Summerfield calling after him, and he urged his horse to stop.

  “Thomas, will you wait just a moment?”

  He glanced over his shoulder to see Mrs. Summerfield hastening her step toward him through the darkness. “Did you need something, Mrs. Summerfield?”

  “No, I simply wished to thank you for bringing Hannah home,” she said. “I trust you had an enjoyable evening?”

  Thomas thought back to their horse race, the kiss they had nearly shared, and the ride back home with Hannah’s soft breath against his neck as she had pretended to sleep to avoid their conversation. The conversation in which she might have told him of her feelings for Mr. Hawkins.

  He could only nod in response.

  “Good,” Mrs. Summerfield said with a strained smile.

  Switching the reins to his other hand, Thomas averted his gaze. “Mrs. Summerfield, forgive my prying, but is there…something between Mr. Hawkins and Hannah? An understanding, perhaps?”

  “Oh, Thomas, I am so sorry,” she said, her voice filling with compassion, “but I really couldn’t say. That is, I do not know. They were friends in London, but Hannah hardly seemed pleased with his arrival tonight.” She rubbed the base of her throat. “In an effort to be transparent, though…Hannah’s mother has mentioned before what a fine pair Hannah and Mr. Hawkins would make, were they to ever marry.”

  Thomas groaned inwardly. Of course her mother would support their union. Mr. Hawkins was unquestionably rich, of fine breeding, no doubt inheriting an estate not in Cornwall, and, best of all, he was not Thomas.

  How could he have been so stupid as to think Hannah would not have made an attachment in three years? That was no doubt why she looked so fearful whenever London was mentioned. Indeed, that was perhaps the very reason she had pulled away from his kiss. He was a total and absolute fool.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Summerfield,” he muttered. “If you will excuse me.”

  He turned away from the woman’s wrinkled brow and urged his horse into a trot. His lips stretched in a grim line, and he rode away without a glance back.

  Chapter Nine

  Sleep had evaded Hannah for most of the night. In the early morning, she sat on the window seat in her room, a heavy blanket over her crossed legs. Her head rested against the cool window as she stared at the clouds blanketing the sky in thick, gray sheets.

  When she was a child, she would sit in a similar way every morning, watching expectantly for Thomas to appear beyond the ridge on his horse. He would wave to her the moment he spotted her, and she would race immediately to join him before anyone else in the manor had risen.

  But that morning was different, for Hannah knew Thomas would not come to her. In truth, she wondered if he would wish to speak with her at all after how the previous night had ended.

  Unable to stand her own misery any longer, Hannah jumped down from the window seat, ignoring the untouched tray of food Daisy had brought up to her earlier, and dressed herself in the gown she had worn the day before.

  Her step was quick as she marched downstairs. She was anxious to leave before a certain gentleman—who had stayed in one of the manor’s spare rooms the night before—had the chance to see her.

  “Are you leaving, Hannah?”

  Hannah started, whirling around in the entryway to see her grandfather sitting on a chair pressed up against the wall near the staircase. She paused, her hand frozen on the latch of the front door.

  “Oh, I did not see you there,” she said, releasing her hold of the handle. Her heart thumped dully in her ears. “Yes, I…I was merely going to stretch my legs for a moment.”

  “Will you not be cold without a wrap?”

  Hannah glanced down at her thin dress, having forgotten her shawl.

  “I don’t mind the cold,” she murmured. “Why are you sitting there?”

  A smile played about his lips. “I know you well, my dear. I simply wished to speak with you before you left the manor early, as you used to.”

  Her cheeks burned.

  “Are you going to meet Thomas?”

  “I thought I might seek him out,” she said.

  “Good. I think you ought to.”

  Her brow raised in surprise. “You do?”

  “Yes,
but perhaps you might see to a few things before doing so.”

  She sighed, her shoulders slumped forward. “Must I?”

  He chuckled, the warm sound lifting her spirits. He patted the seat next to him, and she crossed the distance to sit beside him. “Have I ever told you that you are my favorite grandchild?” he asked.

  “I am your only grandchild.”

  “That is beside the point.” His eyes twinkled. “Now, my dear Hannah, your grandmother told me what occurred last evening. Mr. Hawkins’s arrival, you leaving him in the entryway the moment you entered the house. Tell me, why did you respond in such a way?”

  Hannah traced the lines of the flooring with her eyes. “I was merely surprised to see him here, that is all.” She could see his disbelieving look from the corner of her eye.

  “Is he, perhaps, the reason you left London?”

  “In part, yes.” She lowered her voice. “You see, Mother told me that Mr. Hawkins loves me and wishes to seek my hand in marriage. So I…I left.”

  “Without a second thought.”

  She rested her elbow on the armrest, her chin atop her fisted hand. “As you said, you know me well, Grandpapa. I know I should have spoken with them about how I felt concerning the matter, but I panicked. I felt I had no other choice but to agree with what my mother asked of me, so I told her I would consider marrying him. I’m certain she has told Mr. Hawkins of what I said, as well.”

  “I take it then…you do not wish to marry him?”

  “Mother thinks I ought to.”

  “But do you love him?”

  She opened her mouth. Every vein in her body screamed the answer, but she merely shrugged. “I ought to, according to Mother.”

  Her grandfather appeared thoughtful before reaching out to take her hand in his. “Each time your grandmother and I visited you in Town, we would discuss how much you had changed. Of course, you have grown into a beautiful young woman, one we are proud to call our granddaughter. However, it appeared to us that a certain spark in your eye had diminished, and the skip in your step, vanished. It upset us. Greatly.”