For The Lady 0f Lowena (A Cornish Romance Book 2)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  Sophia knew what was a breathtaking sight. And it certainly wasn’t any field of poppies in Bedfordshire.

  “Oh!”

  A piercing pain stung her forehead, just below her hairline. She stopped walking, holding a hand to her head. What had struck her?

  She glanced over her shoulder, seeing a bare branch eye-level, twanging in the air. That was the culprit. Wretched, blasted—

  “Miss Rosewall, what happened? Are you well?”

  She turned back around to see the whole party having stopped in front of her. She winced, then removed her hand and straightened her back.

  “Oh, yes. I was merely caught by a low-hanging branch, but my bonnet managed to rescue me. I am well.”

  The guests exchanged looks. Did they think she was merely trying to draw attention to herself, being alone at the back? Perhaps there was a time she would have performed such an act, but now all she wanted was for them to leave so she might suffer alone in silence.

  “Perhaps you ought to allow my husband to look after you,” Mrs. Rennalls said, patting the physician’s arm. Her eyes widened with an exaggerated look of concern.

  Mr. Rennalls took a step forward. “Yes, you must wish to rest for a moment.”

  “No, I assure you,” Sophia said. “I am perfectly well. I was merely caught by surprise.”

  Mr. Rennalls hesitated. Sophia looked between the guests, forcing her happiness to appear genuine, but Mr. Hawkins’s studious gaze unnerved her.

  “If Miss Rosewall says she is well, then she must be,” he said, to her surprise. “Shall we continue?”

  Her look of relief must have been apparent, for he gave her a subtle nod as the group continued.

  Sophia waited, watching closely as they turned around and moved through the thick brush. Miss Kinsey pulled ahead, joining her uncle with Mrs. Maddern following closely behind. Mr. Hawkins was the last to disappear into the woods, and she waited until he was fully gone to groan with a wince.

  The wound ached. She removed her bonnet and pressed a hand to where it hurt. She pulled it back, gasping at the blood that had appeared on the tip of her glove.

  “You are hurt.”

  She looked up. Mr. Hawkins stood before her. The other guests had continued on, their quiet voices moving farther into the woods.

  She hid her hands behind her back. “No, as I said before, I’m well.” She motioned to the pathway. “You had better continue before you are left behind.”

  He stared at her forehead. Had he even heard a word she’d said? “How serious is the wound?”

  “Not serious in the slightest. Truly, there is no need to make a fuss, Mr. Hawkins.”

  She attempted to move past him, but he reached his arm out to stay her. “Please, if you just allow me to see it, I will not mention it again unless Mr. Rennalls should see to you.”

  His voice was so soft, she couldn’t say another word in protest. He took a step toward her, removing his right glove. Slowly, he brought his hand up, his fingers hovering just above her skin. She tried to maintain steady breaths, but the task was impossible as his eyes remained on hers.

  Finally, he moved his attention to her wound. His fingertips grazed her skin just above the scratch, brushing aside her hair. She closed her eyes.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked, pulling his fingers back.

  She opened her eyes to see him staring down at her. “No.” Only her heart. It was raging so painfully, she needed to escape before it burst through her chest.

  Now that would be a wound to complain about.

  He looked again to her brow. “You’re bleeding,” he voiced in a hoarse whisper.

  She could only nod.

  He reached into his jacket and produced a handkerchief, pressing it softly beneath her curls to soak in the blood. “It is only a small scratch, so I needn’t tell Mr. Rennalls. I take it you do not wish to draw attention to yourself.”

  “No, I don’t.” Nor had she much to give the physician in return for his services.

  He continued to dab softly at the wound, silence pulsing between them before he spoke again. “I am glad you have joined us today. May I ask what made you change your mind?”

  “I simply fancied a day out of doors.”

  His eyes flickered to hers before he pulled his handkerchief down, folding the edges to hide the blood. “Keep this. I wouldn’t wish for you to sully your own, should you need to dab at it again.”

  She accepted the handkerchief carefully to avoid touching him again.

  He stared down at her. A bird chirped overhead. The trees rustled their leaves.

  “Perhaps we ought to rejoin the others,” she said softly.

  He nodded, but he remained where he stood. “I think, first, that I ought to take a look at your wound, just one more time. To be sure that you are well.”

  His expression told her he was not interested in looking at her wound. He was interested in something far different, far more appealing.

  Only moments before, Sophia had been convinced that he was falling for Miss Kinsey. Now, the way he looked at Sophia, his eyes sparkling brighter than she’d ever seen, any thought of Miss Kinsey vanished.

  Her lungs compressed, though this was different than how she’d felt at the ball. This tightness was welcoming, gripping. Stirring.

  Slowly, she nodded. “I think I should like you to do just that,” she whispered.

  He closed the distance between them with a careful step. She craned her neck to keep her eyes on him.

  How could this be happening? Weeks before, she had despised the man, and she was fairly certain she had not been his preferred person either. They’d been enemies, practically strangers. But now? She couldn’t make sense of it. She couldn’t make sense of anything. Not with Mr. Hawkins’s hand moving to her brow again, brushing back her curls.

  This time, his eyes did not move to her wound. This time, they moved to her lips.

  She swallowed. She’d never known her heart to race so fiercely. She’d never known such a powerful desire to share in affection with a gentleman. She stared at his own lips. They were parted, inviting her to enjoy their caress.

  He leaned toward her. His breath was on her lips. She was awash in the musky scent of his cologne. His soft fingertips caressed the side of her face before resting beneath her jawline.

  Slowly, softly, he urged her chin farther up, tipping his head to the side. She closed her eyes as his face blurred from his nearness. It was going to happen. His kiss would be on her lips at any moment.

  Finally.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Mr. Hawkins? Miss Rosewall?”

  Miss Rosewall gasped. Frederick dropped his hand and took a step back, blinking from the euphoria the woman had created around them.

  Mrs. Maddern appeared around the trees. Her eyes sailed between the two of them. “Oh, there you are. Is everything all right?”

  “Miss Rosewall was feeling faint.” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “She needed to rest for a moment.”

  He flicked his eyes to Miss Rosewall. Her cheeks were as red as his forehead felt.

  “Yes,” she blurted out too forcefully. “Yes, that is what happened. I am recovered now. We were just on our way to join you again.”

  Mrs. Maddern raised her brow. “I’ll alert the others that you’ve been found.”

  Her pensive look stayed on Miss Rosewall a moment longer before she nodded and backed away.

  “We’ll be right behind you,” Frederick said to her departing figure.

  When he was alone with Miss Rosewall once more, he rubbed the back of his neck, blowing out a slow sigh. The silence between them was thicker than the doors of Fynwary Hall.

  “I suppose we ought to return to them before they come looking for us again,” he said.

  Miss Rosewall nodded, rushing past him without a glance. He followed but not so swiftly. He needed to create some distance between them so he could think about what the devil he’d just done.

  What he’
d nearly just done. Their lips had not touched, thanks to Mrs. Maddern. He wanted to be angry with her interruption, but it was better this way. He’d been so pleased to have Miss Rosewall join him that day, but his craving to spend more time with her than Miss Kinsey created turmoil within his mind. Turmoil, guilt, and confusion.

  This picnic was meant to bring him closer to Miss Kinsey, not Miss Rosewall. No wonder Mrs. Maddern had gone looking for them. He needed to remember his original intentions, and he needed to forget Miss Rosewall and their shared desire to make their kiss a reality. For it was a shared desire.

  His stomach flipped pleasantly at the memory of her eager eyes and parted lips, but he pushed it aside. He wouldn’t dwell any longer on what might have been. It was a mistake, pure and simple. Judging by the pace at which Miss Rosewall flew ahead of him, she wished to forget about it as greatly as he did.

  He would do just that then, pretend it didn’t happen. Move on. Force his mind away from how her soft skin had felt on his fingertips, and how her soft breath had tickled his lips.

  Instead, he would attend to Miss Kinsey for the rest of the picnic. Just after he ensured once more that Miss Rosewall was well.

  * * *

  Mr. Hawkins came up behind her. Sophia tucked in her elbows to avoid any touch with him. Any further touch.

  She could slap herself for being so stupid, so weak-willed. How could she have almost allowed a kiss to occur between them? What little improvement that had occurred in regard to their relationship was now damaged, made void by the awkwardness settling between them.

  “Has your wound stopped bleeding?” Mr. Hawkins asked as he moved beside her.

  She brought the handkerchief, his handkerchief, to her brow. The scent of his cologne wafted past her nose at the movement. She wanted to bring the fabric back to her nostrils and take a hearty sniff, but that would certainly draw his stares even more.

  After a few dabs at the wound, she pulled it back to see only a lone dot of blood on the white cloth. “Nearly.”

  “Please let me know if you do feel faint. I should not like you to fall and harm yourself further.”

  The concern in his eyes set her heart flapping like her skirts in the breeze. But what did it mean? His concern, his near kiss, his attention toward her? This was more than being an attentive host.

  Her mind continued to churn through his actions as they reached the others. The pathway opened up to a wide meadow speckled with orange and white wildflowers and surrounded by thickets of trees. A brooklet ran through the side of the meadow. Its trickling echoed around the area with a gentle lull.

  The location was lovely. So lovely that Sophia’s spirits lifted, despite the embarrassment still picking at her nerves.

  They walked toward the spread the servants had prepared for them. White chairs were set out for those who wished for extra comfort, while blankets were laid down on the soft grass for the others. The food, all provided by Mr. Hawkins, was nothing overtly elaborate, but the selection was more than fine, including cheeses, fruits, various pastries, and lemonade for refreshment.

  Sophia sat on the blanket next to Mrs. Summerfield’s chair. “So nice, isn’t it?” the woman twittered, and Sophia had to agree.

  However, when she noticed Mr. Hawkins sitting down next to Miss Kinsey, her mood shattered like a glass dish falling on the floor.

  She watched their interaction beneath her lashes. Mr. Hawkins barely looked at Miss Kinsey as he spoke with her. Miss Kinsey hardly responded. They did not appear to be enjoying themselves. There were no heavy glances, no sparkling eyes, nothing like what Sophia had experienced with him.

  Heat flashed across her brow. She made to observe them further, but when she felt another set of eyes on her from the opposite side of the blanket, she turned and found Mrs. Maddern watching her with a calculating stare.

  Sophia looked away, picking at the food on her plate.

  Undoubtedly, Mrs. Maddern had already decided who she wished her niece to marry. Did the woman truly suppose that Sophia was capable of standing in Miss Kinsey and Mr. Hawkins’s way?

  First, Sophia would never wish to come between two people in love. If they were, indeed, in love. Second, Mrs. Maddern was as delusional as Sophia if she thought Mr. Hawkins would ever have Sophia. She was no longer the perfect match for any gentleman, especially one as honorable as Mr. Hawkins.

  Even if he had almost kissed her.

  Even if his eyes were now on her.

  Sophia kept her head down at the realization, her heart pleasantly burning. She’d often caught gentlemen watching her from afar, but none of them had ever caused her mind to spin quite like Mr. Hawkins’s eyes upon her did.

  Perhaps his actions were merely a lapse in judgment though, a moment of weakness, like the near kiss. After all, he’d chosen to sit beside Miss Kinsey, not Sophia.

  The thought caused her heart to sink as if she was sliding down an endless hill with no landing in sight.

  She tried to grasp onto the conversation to distract herself, but as the women spoke of their growing ribbon collections, of decorating bonnets, and of purchasing new dresses, Sophia only fell farther. She could not join in with their discussion even if she wished to. Her life had changed too drastically for her to carry on as before.

  “Mrs. Follett made my dress for your ball, Mrs. Maddern,” Mrs. Rennalls said, referring to the modiste in St. Just. “We are so fortunate to have her talents with us.”

  Mrs. Maddern nodded. “Indeed. We certainly enjoy the special care Mrs. Follett shows with each dress she creates.” She motioned to Miss Kinsey’s pink muslin skirts. “This gown was made by her, as well.”

  “Of course it was,” Mrs. Rennalls said with a twinkle in her eye. “One could see for miles how elegant the stitching is.”

  “And so becoming on my niece,” Mrs. Maddern gushed. “Don’t you agree, Mr. Hawkins?”

  Sophia finally allowed herself to look at the gentleman. His eyes quickly pulled away from hers and turned to Mrs. Maddern with a blank stare. “Pardon? Oh, yes. Very becoming, indeed.”

  He gave a polite nod to Miss Kinsey, who stared at the blanket she sat on. She hardly looked pleased with his words.

  “Miss Rosewall?”

  Sophia turned to Mrs. Rennalls. “Yes?”

  “You mustn’t think we’ve not noticed your own lovely dress. Is it new, as well?”

  “No, I purchased this quite some time ago.”

  Skirted glances and bright blushes spread throughout the party like an unforgiving disease. Sophia did not need to tell them why she was not wearing a new dress. They all knew her family’s financial state.

  “Well, it certainly is lovely,” Mrs. Summerfield said. She sent an encouraging smile in Sophia’s direction, but Sophia hardly noticed, too busy attempting to subdue her flushed face.

  Mrs. Rennalls pumped her head up and down, attempting to gain her bearings after Sophia’s words. “Oh, to be sure. At any rate, a woman does not need a lovely dress to attract a husband. In some instances, why, most that I know of, a lady’s accomplishments are what ultimately attract a mate.”

  Sophia released a jeering sniff. All eyes fell to where she sat. She pulled in her bottom lip, chewing at it. She didn’t mean to react in such a way, but Mrs. Rennalls’s words were false. Ridiculous. Just as Sophia was ridiculous for coming to the picnic in the first place.

  She stood up in an abrupt motion. “Excuse me. I should like to stretch my legs for a moment.”

  She only took two steps before Mrs. Summerfield called after her. “Oh, Miss Rosewall, you ought not go alone. Mr. Hawkins, see to her, won’t you?”

  Mr. Hawkins rose to his feet without hesitation. “Of course.”

  Sophia debated running away to the carriage and demanding a ride home, but the idea of commanding her family’s past servants prevented her.

  Mr. Hawkins motioned her forward. She led the way with a fleeting glance at the group. They all watched her. Mrs. Maddern’s lips were pulled inward with
clear disappointment, and Miss Kinsey’s shoulders had fallen forward. Was that due to disappointment or pure relief?

  Sophia shook her head. What did it matter what any of them thought? She had too many troubles of her own to concern herself over a shy niece and her scheming aunt’s opinions.

  She moved away from the group, her pace swift, but Mr. Hawkins kept up easily with his long stride. Mrs. Rennalls’s voice slowly drifted away as the trickling brook replaced her words.

  Sophia tried to find peace with the soothing sound, but the task proved impossible as she found herself alone once more with Mr. Hawkins, though they were still in plain sight of the others.

  Should she apologize for the kiss they’d almost shared, just to clear the awkward air between them? Heavens, no. Better to pretend it never happened. Better to pretend she still did not imagine how his lips would have felt on hers, how his intoxicating cologne would have nearly caused her to swoon, just as it did now.

  “You did not come today because you wished to, did you, Miss Rosewall?”

  Her thoughts ended, and Sophia looked toward him. Her eyes must have revealed the true answer to his question, for he nodded, unsurprised.

  “Can you tell me why you did come then?”

  She crossed her arm over her stomach.

  “Because your parents wished for you to do so?”

  Curse his astuteness. Apparently, she was unable to keep anything from the man. Did that mean he knew how greatly she’d desired his kiss, even now?

  Heat crept up her neck. “Yes.”

  “Why did they wish for that?”

  His voice was soft, his innocence tugging at her conscience. He deserved the truth, even if it caused her more embarrassment.

  “My father,” she began, “he fears you might remove us from the cottage. He bade me come so you would not be offended at our refusal.”

  She’d expected another look of discernment, another nod of understanding, but a flicker of hurt flashed over his features. “I suppose you would expect no less from me. After all, I have already forced you from one home.”