Her face fell. “The beach this morning. You helped me cross the water as the tide was coming in.” His blank stare continued, her spirits sinking lower. “I was the woman you found sleeping on the sand?”
“I’m sorry, but you must have me mistaken for someone else. I was on no beach this morning.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. For a single moment, her embarrassment tricked her mind into thinking perhaps she truly had made a mistake. That he wasn’t the man on the beach, that he only shared his name and a striking resemblance to him.
But as Mr. Hawkins’s lip twitched and his eyes creased at the edges, her mouth dropped. “Why, Mr. Hawkins, you tease.”
His lips stretched wide. “My humblest of apologies, Miss Rosewall. I simply could not help myself.”
The man had snatched her poise quicker than her maid could help her undress for bed, and that was fast, indeed. She held a hand to her chest. “Goodness, but you were convincing, sir.”
He leaned forward, his hands clasped behind his back. “Just as you were convincing with your father, hiding the fact that we have met before now.”
She peered up at him. Heavens, was he tall. The top of her head barely reached his chin. “I see I shall have to watch myself near you, Mr. Hawkins.” His eyes gleamed. “I must thank you for not ousting me to Father, though. He disapproves of my napping on the beach as greatly as Mother does.”
“Well, that was not entirely selfless of me. I hardly think your father would have appreciated me carrying you across the water like one of my dogs.”
She placed a gloved hand to her lips, and they shared a soft laugh. Their eyes met, and butterflies took flight in her stomach. “How long have you worked alongside my father? I assume that you own shares in his mine, Wheal Favour?”
“Oh, I…”
“Mr. Hawkins?”
Sophia turned as the Summerfields, elderly neighbors of the Rosewalls, approached from across the room.
“Mr. Summerfield, Mrs. Summerfield,” Mr. Hawkins greeted with delight. “A pleasure to see you both again.”
Sophia watched the exchange with mild intrigue. How did they know each other?
“What a wonderful surprise it is to have you back in Cornwall,” Mrs. Summerfield said, her wrinkles deepening as she smiled. “We didn’t see you long enough during your visit last year. Does our granddaughter and her husband know you are here?”
“No, I did not have time to write them. Everything fell into place rather quickly. I only arrived last night.”
Mrs. Summerfield leaned forward, her voice low. “Did you inform your mother you were coming?”
“My dear, that is none of our business.” Mr. Summerfield said.
Sophia cleared her throat, but she remained unnoticed. How long would they leave her out of the conversation?
“You needn’t worry, ma’am,” Mr. Hawkins replied. “I told my mother my plans before I came.”
Mr. Summerfield patted his wife’s arm. “We wouldn’t have doubted it. For how long are you here, Mr. Hawkins?”
“For as long as I wish, sir. I’m at my leisure.” Mr. Hawkins’s eyes finally found Sophia’s. “Do forgive us, Miss Rosewall. You must be wondering how we know each other.”
“I admit, I am rather curious,” she said.
“I was acquainted with the Summerfields’ granddaughter in London before she married. I assume you know the Causeys?”
“Oh, of course.” Sophia knew practically everyone in St. Just. Mrs. Hannah Causey, the Summerfield’s granddaughter, was only a year younger than Sophia’s twenty. The Causeys were a charming couple, though they weren’t terribly concerned with societal graces.
Mr. Hawkins turned again to the Summerfields. “I trust the Causeys are both in good health?”
“Oh, the very best,” Mrs. Summerfield responded. “As happy as two people can be. They are due to return from London in a week or two. I’m sure they will be pleased to see you.” She paused, glancing at Sophia. “But I feel it is now our turn to receive an explanation. How do you know the Rosewalls?”
Mr. Hawkins hesitated. “Oh, Mr. Rosewall and I, he…That is to say, we are…”
Sophia didn’t understand his discomfort, nor his inability to form a response, but Father expected her to ensure a pleasant evening for the gentleman. She could no longer allow him to suffer.
With a gentle hand on his arm, she answered for him. “Mr. Hawkins and my father are business acquaintances. Are you not, sir?”
“Yes. That we are.”
Mother cleared her throat from the other side of the room, ending their conversation and drawing the attention of the guests. “Dinner is served,” she announced.
Fabrics rustled and soft footsteps tapped against the floor as the party moved to exit the drawing room.
Mrs. Summerfield turned to Mr. Hawkins with bright eyes. “Mr. Hawkins, you are in for a treat. The dinners at Fynwary Hall are always the finest. No expense spared.”
Mr. Hawkins’s smile faded. Was he uncomfortable in her home, or had someone simply forgotten to take a spare pin out of his tailored breeches?
“Sophia,” Mother whispered in her ear. Sophia paused to listen. “Fortunately, Mr. Maddern could not make it this evening, so we are still at an even number, even with Mr. Hawkins’s sudden attendance. But our party has shifted now to favor the single gentlemen. You mustn’t allow yourself to forget that Mr. Hawkins is not the only man in want of your affection this evening. Remember, why enjoy one dessert when multiple dishes are offered?”
She walked away with a reassuring nod in Sophia’s direction, joining the guests as they left the drawing room.
Sophia took a moment to find the composure Mother’s words had stripped from her. Sophia had quite forgotten herself when she was with Mr. Hawkins, and Mother had obviously taken notice.
Typically, Sophia wouldn’t be opposed to Mother telling her to dote on multiple men. But in that moment, she did not understand why she needed to pander to two gentlemen fawning over her when she lacked interest in both of them and expressed clear interest in another. Was everything to be a game while courting?
After another moment, she brushed aside her musings and replaced her pleasant look. She knew her place was to ensure all their guests were tended to, so with the eyes of Society and her parents on her, she would do as she was told.
Paying attention equally to Mr. Singleton, Mr. Chester, and Mr. Hawkins would prove quite the task. But what else could be expected of the most amiable—and the only vocal—single female at a dinner party?
Chapter Three
Frederick couldn’t believe his luck. Not only had he found the mysterious woman from the beach, but he was seated right next to her at her dinner table. Someone up above was certainly looking out for him.
He’d been uneasy at first when he’d discovered that she was Mr. Rosewall’s daughter. He should have known, of course, what with finding her asleep on her father’s land. Still, his surprise had quickly turned to joy, as he had yet to stop thinking of her since that morning.
“How fortunate I am to be seated next to you, sir,” Miss Rosewall spoke softly beside him.
Frederick had to agree. “I was only just now thinking the—”
“Next to him? What of me, Miss Rosewall? Are you not just as pleased to be near me?”
Frederick leaned forward to eye the gentleman seated at Miss Rosewall’s left.
“Oh, Mr. Singleton,” she said, “you already know I am pleased to be with you, like always.”
At Mr. Singleton’s smirk, Frederick’s mouth dried. Miss Rosewall certainly knew what to say to please a gentleman.
He set the disconcerting thought aside as the meal began, glancing around the open room. It wasn’t as large as the dining room at Dawnridge, but it was spacious enough for the ten of them to sit comfortably around the table. A great number of candles brightened the tableware and food, shining on the red walls framed in goldwork. It was unquestionably beautiful.
Like Miss R
osewall.
She leaned toward Mr. Singleton again. Frederick took a spoonful of his artichoke soup to avoid listening to their conversation, but Mrs. Rosewall soon provided distraction enough.
“Mr. Hawkins,” she said, speaking from the head of the table at his right, “I do hope you will enjoy the meal this evening. We always strive to make dining at Fynwary Hall a fine affair.” She raised her chin proudly.
“I am already enjoying it, ma’am, I assure you. And I must thank you for accommodating me at such short notice and dressed in a manner hardly appropriate for such a fine room and occasion.”
“Of course. We are always happy to welcome Mr. Rosewall’s acquaintances in our home.”
Frederick glanced to Mr. Rosewall at the other end of the table. He stared at his drink instead of eating, his face pale. Apparently, Mrs. Rosewall hadn’t taken notice of her husband’s ill health, as she continued conversing with Frederick.
“From where do you hail, Mr. Hawkins?”
Frederick swallowed another spoonful of soup. “Bedfordshire, ma’am. I run my family’s estate there, Dawnridge.”
Her eyebrows arched with pleasure. With dark hair and light skin, she looked similar to Miss Rosewall, who, evidently, was still engaged in conversation with Mr. Singleton. But Mrs. Rosewall’s features were more severe, her nose and chin rigidly pointed.
“Is there a lady of Dawnridge?” she asked.
“Yes, there is.”
Mrs. Rosewall’s face fell, but he was more interested in Miss Rosewall swinging her head around to look at him. So she was listening to him after all.
“That lady is my mother, Mrs. Hawkins,” he finished. “She rarely spends time in Bedfordshire, however. She prefers life in London, so she rents a townhome in the city.”
“Living in London must be rather exciting,” Miss Rosewall said. Frederick tried not to be too pleased to have maintained her attention. Mr. Singleton would no doubt be pouting. “We have only just arrived from London this month. My dear father allows us to go every Season. Father always does what is best for his daughter.”
She turned warm eyes on Mr. Rosewall, whose smile appeared as more of a wince.
The few hours Frederick had spent with Mr. Rosewall would suggest that the gentleman was always silent. Perhaps his lack of conversation was merely due to the negotiations they had made.
Frederick wondered again why the man had insisted they keep their business to themselves. Such talk would hardly be welcome around the dinner table, especially if his neighbors were unaware of what had taken place between them. Though, his wife and daughter would know. Wouldn’t they?
His mind reverted to Miss Rosewall asking after their business, and an unsettling weariness crept nearby, like storm clouds inching toward the sun.
“Do you have siblings, Mr. Hawkins?” Mrs. Rosewall asked.
“No, I did not have that fortune.”
“Something you have in common with my daughter then.”
Frederick glanced to Miss Rosewall. “Indeed?”
She nodded, a soft curve to her lips. “I do not consider it a misfortune though. I quite enjoy benefiting from the full attention of both of my parents.”
Frederick spoke so only she could hear. “Though, you must admit, that can at times be a misfortune.”
She sipped at her soup to hide her smile.
“Where are you staying, Mr. Hawkins?” Mr. Summerfield asked across from him, his wrinkled face as kind as Frederick remembered.
“At the illustrious Golden Arms Inn,” he joked.
“Oh, that will not do,” Mrs. Summerfield said, farther down the table. “No, you must stay with us at Rudhek Manor for the remainder of your visit.”
“Indeed,” her husband agreed. “You’d be most welcome.”
Frederick had always liked the Summerfields. How pleasantly surprised he’d been to have discovered them there that evening. “Thank you both. But I will not be staying at the inn for much longer.”
A cough sounded from Mr. Rosewall. His forehead glistened with sweat that no one but Frederick seemed to notice.
“Does your father live in London with your mother, Mr. Hawkins?” Mrs. Rosewall enquired.
Frederick struggled to switch his mind from the Summerfields, Mr. Rosewall, and Mrs. Rosewall. “No, my father died when I was fourteen.”
“Oh, what a tragedy.”
Frederick debated on telling her what a tragedy it really was. How he and his mother were relieved, happy even, when the man had finally died. But his troubled history with his father was the last thing he wished to discuss that evening. Instead, he simply nodded.
Miss Rosewall studied him. Had she noticed the shroud that had come over him? Thankfully, the conversation shifted, and the meal progressed.
The guests helped themselves to the various foods laid out in polished bowls and trays around the table. Fish, beef-steaks, roasted potatoes, pickled vegetables. It was an impressive spread.
How had they managed such a fine setting? If what Mr. Rosewall had said to Frederick was true, then this must have set them back a great deal.
“Do you spend much time in London with your mother, Mr. Hawkins?” Mrs. Rosewall asked.
Frederick had barely managed two bites of his roasted potato before she had resumed her questioning. “I make it a point to visit her at least twice a year.”
“Mrs. Maddern, you and your husband enjoy London, do you not?” Mrs. Rosewall asked.
The woman at the far end of the table, seated to the left of the somber Mr. Rosewall, rested her fork and knife over her plate. “Oh, yes. We would have remained there longer this year, but Mr. Maddern’s health did not permit. We enjoy it nearly as much as the Stedmans.”
Miss Rosewall leaned toward Frederick with a soft voice. “The Stedmans are neighbors of ours,” she explained.
The scent of roses tickled his nose. “I see.”
“When are the Stedmans to return from London?” Mrs. Rosewall asked.
A knowing half-smile spread across Mrs. Maddern’s lips. “Why, Mrs. Stedman has never said. Apparently, Miss Stedman was spurned by a gentleman not so very long ago, so I suspect they are to remain in London for as long as the rumors take to fade away.”
Frederick was grateful his chewing stifled his yawn. Gossip, the one thing he wished he could extricate from dinner parties.
“You know, my niece has never been to London before,” Mrs. Maddern continued. “Have you, Claire? My dear sister, Claire’s mother, does not have the resources.”
The young woman sitting directly across from Frederick shook her head. She was a pretty girl, though her blonde hair and pale skin caused her to appear as if she might faint at any given moment.
“Oh, Miss Kinsey, what a shame,” Miss Rosewall said. Her smooth tone reminded Frederick of butter being spread across warm bread.
“Mr. Hawkins,” Mrs. Maddern said, “you must have visited London more than any of us, which makes you the expert. Might you share with my niece what Town is like so she is prepared should she ever have the fortune of having a Season there?”
Frederick wasn’t blind, nor was he oblivious. He knew the workings of a caretaker attempting to bring attention to her ward. But any fool could see that Miss Kinsey was painfully uncomfortable with the attention.
He smiled kindly at the girl, hoping to alleviate her discomfort. “I am certain you would enjoy yourself. Though, I ought not be the one to tell you what to expect, as I’m afraid I have never been partial to the city.”
She didn’t respond. Her head hovered so low her ringlets nearly touched her plate.
“Oh, I love the city.” The gentleman across from Miss Rosewall pumped his head up and down, his curls remaining unmoved. “You’ll never find more excellent entertainment than in London.”
“To be sure, Mr. Chester,” Miss Rosewall agreed. She paused for a moment, as if waiting for everyone’s attention before continuing. “But you were born in London, sir, so of course you would enjoy it there.”<
br />
Mr. Chester radiated pure joy. “You know me well, Miss Rosewall.”
The man’s eyes lingered on her, and a bothersome ache twisted Frederick’s stomach.
“Do tell us, Mr. Hawkins,” Mr. Chester said, “why do you not find that same delight in Town?”
Along with his father’s life and his mother’s desire for him to wed, this was yet another conversation Frederick did not wish to have. He couldn’t very well behave like Miss Kinsey, though, ducking his head to avoid saying a word.
“I simply discovered that there are far more lovely women elsewhere to capture my attention,” he replied, far short of the truth. “To remain in London would surely be a disservice to myself.”
That should settle their questions for a moment. Never mind that he had once enjoyed London. He was no longer going to dwell on the place and the people it produced. Not while he was in Cornwall and his future stretched before him as bright and endless as the sea.
“I do find myself agreeing with Mr. Hawkins,” Mr. Singleton said, “for the prettiest women in all of Society reside in Cornwall, if not at this very table.”
Mr. Singleton’s false praises were as obvious as a cravat that had been tied too tightly round one’s neck.
Speaking of which, why was Frederick’s cravat so tight? He fought the urge to tug at the white fabric, a habit Mother had tried to rid him of since he’d worn his first.
“Oh, Mr. Singleton, you do flatter us,” Miss Rosewall said with a twittering laugh. “I’m sure I shan’t eat another bite until my smile lessens. Don’t you agree, Miss Kinsey?”
Miss Kinsey merely nodded, straight-faced. She seemed to be enjoying the flirting between Mr. Singleton and Miss Rosewall as much as Frederick was.
Miss Rosewall’s eyes swept around the table. “I must say then how favorable my circumstances are, surrounded by the most handsome gentlemen in all of Cornwall.”
Her comment resulted in a number of chuckles, but Frederick’s polite laugh stuck in his throat as he caught sight of her hand resting on Mr. Singleton’s arm.
An icy thread weaved its way through Frederick’s heart. Miss Rosewall couldn’t be attached to Mr. Singleton, not with how she had been flirting with Mr. Chester only moments ago. Not with how she’d touched Frederick’s own arm in the same intimate manner in the drawing room. Could she be interested in all three gentlemen?
For The Lady 0f Lowena (A Cornish Romance Book 2) Page 3