She stopped walking, staring up in disbelief. This wasn’t right. Mr. Hawkins shouldn’t feel responsible for her family’s circumstances. Since her parents wouldn’t help him to see otherwise, the task was left to her.
“Sir,” she began, her voice firm yet soft. “You did not force us from Fynwary. My father did. Furthermore, I must also clarify, though he may believe one thing, I know you would never intentionally evict anyone from their home. That includes even the Rosewalls of Lowena Cottage.”
His brow smoothed, his countenance softening, and a warmth blossomed in his eyes. “Thank you, Miss Rosewall. That means a great deal to me.”
Their stares mixed, lingering past propriety, but Sophia couldn’t look away. Not with his eyes capturing hers so fully. Everything around them, even the very air, seemed to silence as she stared up at him. She wouldn’t look at his lips. She refused to, those tempting, warm…
“Shall we continue?”
His smooth voice swirled around her heart like a silk ribbon. He motioned toward the brooklet, and they fell in step beside each other again.
“I’m sorry you couldn’t come of your own accord,” he said after a moment. “Enjoying a party is nearly impossible when one is forced to attend.”
Sophia wasn’t sure what to say. She had enjoyed herself in one regard. But she couldn’t very well admit to herself or to Mr. Hawkins that her highlight of the picnic was spending time with him.
Before, she would not have hesitated to flirt with such words, if only to bring attention to herself. Now, it wasn’t her place, or her right, to behave in such a way with a wealthy gentleman. But she couldn’t let Mr. Hawkins think she was ungrateful for his invitation.
“Truthfully,” she said, “I have enjoyed myself much more than I thought I would. I hope you know, my reasoning for not wishing to come didn’t have to do with you. Rather…” She looked over her shoulder to where the group still conversed. Mrs. Maddern’s attention was on Sophia and Mr. Hawkins before Mrs. Rennalls spoke with her. “But rather my lack of connection with those I once called my friends.”
“Are they not still your friends?”
She turned away from the guests. “I suppose those here are kind enough to maintain the label. But I no longer share commonalities with them. I cannot participate in their conversations about matters that no longer concern me or concur with opinions with which I now disagree.”
They reached the brooklet. The grass curved over their boots as they stood at the edge of the bank. Sophia’s eyes followed the water trickling around the small rocks, moving with the curve of the land in soft, obedient movements.
She bent down and plucked a blade of grass from the edge of the water. Straightening, she absentmindedly brushed the grass across her fingers as she glowered at the submissive stream.
“Why do you scowl?”
Sophia struggled to find an appropriate response to Mr. Hawkins’s question. Should she force a smile? Pretend all was well? Or would he see straight through her once again?
She pressed a hand to her pulsing temples. She was tired. Tired of the mask she wore, feigning everything was well. She couldn’t hide, she couldn’t pretend any longer.
The words slipped from her mouth, her weakened will no longer able to hold them back. “My entire life, I have been taught to control my emotions, to never reveal my true feelings about anything. ‘Always smile, Sophia,’ Mother said. ‘It is unbecoming to wear one’s emotions for all to see.’ I dutifully followed her advice, but what good did it do?”
She stretched out her hand and allowed the grass to fall from her fingertips. It fluttered through the air and landed soundlessly in the water, following the small current along.
“I will tell you what my obedience did, Mr. Hawkins.” She faced him squarely, her voice falling flat. “Nothing. It did nothing. Mother said my amicability and accomplishments would provide me with a wonderful husband. But what I stupidly didn’t realize before was how very much money plays a part in a person’s decision of whom to marry. After all, how can one live off of one’s talents alone? It is all based on wealth already bestowed and status already conferred.”
Once the words began, Sophia could not rein them in. Her exhaustion was replaced little by little with renewed energy, fueled by anger. Her complaints grew, the truths flowing out of her mouth like waves rolling endlessly up the sand.
“And my talents, the accomplishments I was tasked to perfect?” She fisted her hands, speaking through clenched teeth. “I despised playing the pianoforte. Every moment I sat before that forsaken instrument was agony. I felt the very same each time I was forced to draw or paint or read books Mother would choose for me to improve myself further. And the needlework. Oh, the needlework! I lost count of the number of times I’d prick my finger on that awful little point, bleeding over my fabric, forcing me to start again.” She growled an exasperated sigh. “I have wasted away my life trying to attain perfection in all of the things I detest. And it was all for naught. For a woman is nothing without a dowry.”
Her enraged words ended, her heart bound with regret for the life she’d wasted away.
Mr. Hawkins stared down at her. He hardly seemed surprised, but then, he wasn’t responding either, undoubtedly stunned into silence.
Sophia looked back to the brooklet. She could only imagine the disapproving words he had for her outburst. How could she have lost control so easily? How could she have spoken such things, complaining to Mr. Hawkins that she would not be able to find a husband because she lacked the funds to do so?
Perhaps Mother was right. Sophia should be hiding her emotions, if only to prevent further embarrassment, though she shouldn’t care what Mr. Hawkins thought of her.
He was sure to know by now that Miss Kinsey was a far better choice in friend and wife than Sophia. Miss Kinsey, with her good breeding, an abundance of talents, a dowry. Better he discovered such a thing before he attempted to kiss Sophia again.
Again?
Sophia blinked rapidly, dismissing the idea. “Mr. Hawkins, forgive me. I do not know what has come over me. I’ve ruined your wonderful picnic with talk of such things. Let us return to the others. They will be missing you, I’m sure.”
She made to walk away, but his hand lightly grasped her wrist. Despite their gloves preventing a more intimate touch, her heart still jumped.
“You have had your chance to speak, Miss Rosewall. Might you allow me the opportunity to respond?”
He released his hold of her as she faced him. “Of course. I did not think you could have anything to say after all of that.”
“I do. But it is merely a question.”
Sophia nodded, inwardly bracing herself as he continued.
“If you do not enjoy those pastimes, then what is it you would like to do?”
Sophia stared. He was not shaming her or shunning her for her distasteful words. He was asking her what she would like to do.
What would she like to do? What would she like to do?
The question caught her by such surprise, she had no answer. “I…I do not know, sir.”
“Then I suggest you take time for yourself to discover the answer to this simple question. Perhaps then things will not appear so dismal for you. Should you need any help at all discovering your own desires, I am more than willing to offer my assistance.”
The corner of his lip curved. She returned the gesture with a smile of her own. “Thank you, Mr. Hawkins. I may hold you to your offer.”
“Please, feel free. Right now, however, I believe you are right, we must return. Even though the thought of sitting through one more discussion of ribbons pains me to my very core.”
He winked, and her heart skipped. She could no longer prevent the smile spreading across her lips.
Together, they returned to the others. Sophia’s mood drastically improved, even with Mrs. Maddern’s brooding stare in her direction for the duration of the picnic. Mr. Hawkins’s steady, encouraging smile was more than sufficient for Sophia
to maintain a happier disposition.
That is, until the blankets, chairs, and food were gathered up by the servants and the guests made their way to the carriages.
Mrs. Summerfield linked her arm with Sophia’s. “Miss Rosewall, why do you not ride home with us and the Rennalls? We are much closer to Lowena than Mr. Hawkins is.”
Sophia glanced to Mr. Hawkins, but his eyes darted away before she could read them.
“Very well,” she agreed, and she allowed Mrs. Summerfield to lead her toward the carriage, glancing over her shoulder for one last look at Mr. Hawkins.
Instead of his eyes on her, the last image she saw was Miss Kinsey smiling down at Mr. Hawkins as he helped her into their carriage.
And Mr. Hawkins smiled in return.
A slab of ice slid over the warmth that had enveloped Sophia’s heart, freezing over her comfort.
She entered her carriage, sitting down beside the Rennalls and across from the Summerfields. Her eyes remained on the passing landscape as the carriage finally rolled forward.
The sun had already begun its descent, an orange glow spreading across the countryside. The stone tors turned copper in the light, stacked tall near grazing sheep on the moors. The lambs’ soft bleating for their mothers still sounded out above the carriage rattling on, the horses’ steady steps, and Mrs. Rennalls’s constant chattering.
Before long, the woman’s words slowly faded away. Sophia glanced over to see her fast asleep, lying on her husband’s shoulder, the physician resting, as well.
“I think she has finally tired herself out.”
Sophia turned to Mrs. Summerfield, whose eyes shone with mirth. Mr. Summerfield rested his head against the back of the carriage next to his wife, his mouth slightly ajar as he breathed deeply in his own slumber.
“I think she has tired us all out,” Sophia whispered in response. “I wonder it did not happen sooner.”
They shared a smile.
“Did you enjoy yourself today, Miss Rosewall?”
Sophia nodded. She wasn’t about to share her qualms with yet another person about attending the picnic that day. “I trust you did, as well?”
“Oh, yes. Mr. Hawkins certainly puts on a fine affair. That is so very much like him, though. He is a most generous man. My granddaughter has always spoken very highly of him.”
Sophia recalled only then that Mrs. Causey, the Summerfield’s granddaughter, had been acquainted with Mr. Hawkins in London before she married Mr. Causey.
“Were they close friends?” she asked, hoping to sound casual.
“I believe so,” Mrs. Summerfield responded, stifling a yawn. “He was her closest friend in London. My Hannah has always said Mr. Hawkins would do anything for anyone.”
That, Sophia could believe. She and her family had been witness enough to the fact.
Mrs. Summerfield continued. “He has a difficult time with his mother, though. From what I understand, she can be rather opinionated.”
“Is that why he came to Cornwall, do you think? To put distance between them?”
“It certainly would not surprise me.”
She said nothing further. Sophia clicked her teeth. Could she get away with asking more? “What was he like in London, do you know?”
Mrs. Summerfield watched her, but Sophia studied a wrinkle on her dress that had formed over the picnic.
“Oh, I imagine he was the same as he is now. Kind, sincere. Hannah says he gravitates to honest company. Apparently, he cannot abide falseness of character. He very much appreciates people who can be true to themselves, I believe.”
Sophia’s ears rang. She could no longer see the folds in her gown, nor the waning sun outside causing the grass to appear burnt orange. Her head spun as memories from the past weeks sailed through her mind.
Now it made sense. All of it made perfect sense.
Sophia had not hidden behind her smiles and flirtatious remarks for their first meeting on the beach. She’d been her true, gloveless, stocking-less self. But at the dinner party, she’d put on the same act she always had. That must have been why Mr. Hawkins wanted nothing more to do with her, because she’d been the perfect example of being false to one’s self and to others.
Mr. Hawkins had then reached out to her again after the ball, when the fine dresses and the hair and the pompous smiles had been washed away. When Sophia had finally accepted her new circumstances and relinquished her sense of entitlement.
Did that mean Mr. Hawkins felt something for her? Something beyond compassion, beyond friendship? Or were his actions based solely on his own goodness of character?
Images of the gentleman approaching her, lowering his lips toward hers, flashed through her mind. Had he ever looked at Miss Kinsey in such a way?
“Mrs. Summerfield, do you know if…if Mr. Hawkins has formed an attachment to Miss Kinsey?”
No response came.
She glanced to Mrs. Summerfield, but the woman had fallen fast asleep like the rest of their companions.
Sophia sighed, turning her eyes once more to the window. She hoped to distract herself from her spiraling thoughts, though she knew nothing could pull her mind away from Mr. Frederick Hawkins and the growing attraction she felt for the man she had once despised.
* * *
Frederick stared out of the window, eying the orange landscape from the carriage. He was half-tempted to stop the driver so he might enjoy the sight from outside. With Miss Rosewall.
He stared more intently on the white, wispy clouds in the sky. He was thinking about the wrong woman. Miss Kinsey should be the one to occupy his thoughts. After all, she was seated right across from him, not riding in another carriage.
He glanced at the young woman, her head bobbing up and down as the wheels bounced along the dirt road. She was asleep, just like the others, just like Frederick should have been. But he couldn’t rest, nor could he keep his mind from chasing after thoughts of Miss Rosewall, like an obsessive dog on a hunt.
What was wrong with him? Miss Kinsey was a perfectly amiable female. So why did his foolish mind continually seek after Miss Rosewall instead?
He rubbed his jaw. He already knew why. From their very first meeting, he’d felt that pull to her, that immediate attraction. He’d even felt it afterward at the dinner party, when she’d flirted with every gentleman she laid her beautiful eyes on.
Still, he’d managed to maintain a level head up until now, when she’d finally removed the mask she wore and revealed the person behind all the flirtatious smiles.
He never should have invited her to the picnic. There had been too many opportunities to draw closer to her. The more he had discovered about her, the more his mind remained on her, the more he wished to be near her. The more he wished to kiss her.
A soft whimper sounded across from him. He looked to Miss Kinsey, her eyebrows drawn together, clear pain etched on her face as she dreamed.
Frederick blanched. The look was gone in a flash, replaced by peaceful sleep once more, but the image continued to sting his conscience. It was as if she’d been pained by his own careless thoughts. Thoughts he should not have had in the first place.
He couldn’t dwell on Miss Rosewall when he was attempting to court another woman. That wasn’t gentlemanly behavior. That was the behavior of his father.
Furthermore, what if Miss Rosewall changed again, reverted back to who she was before, pretentious with a weak mind and character?
No, he would be far better off with Miss Kinsey. If she rejected his pursuits, then he would go on to the next woman. And the next, and the next, until he found the one he wished to marry. He was sure any of them would do.
Any of them but Miss Sophia Rosewall.
Chapter Twelve
The birds woke Sophia again. The birds, and the sunshine peeping through her too small of curtains. Edith must have forgotten to sew the new ones again. She was probably too busy with her other chores to remember. It was just as well. Sophia would have woken up before long anyway. She couldn’
t remember the last time she’d slept past eight o’clock.
With a half-groan, half-sigh, she rolled out of her bed and stretched her hands high overhead. The mattress still left much to be desired in regard to comfort, but at least her body had grown used to the bumps the pad produced randomly throughout the night.
She walked across the floor, paying no heed to the cold wood against her bare feet as she admired the view of the ocean from her window. The sky was clear again, reflected brightly in the dark blue sea. Gentle waves rolled toward the shore. Sophia longed to walk across the sand again that morning, a pastime she’d grown quite used to since coming to Lowena, but she didn’t have time right now.
She had wanted to see Gwynna ever since visiting with her at Wheal Favour, but Sophia’s dread of the picnic prevented her from leaving the cottage at all. Now, however, with the picnic behind her by a few days, yet still troubling her mind, she needed a distraction. Gwynna always proved to be a fine one.
Sophia knew she needed to arrive early enough to catch her newfound friend before Gwynna could leave for the mine. Sophia couldn’t bear the thought of joining her there and running into Mr. Hawkins again.
After dressing herself, a task she was becoming rather adept at, she bade Mrs. Cuff to tell Mother she was to go out walking, then left the cottage behind with swiftness.
Before long, she neared the Merricks’ small house and spotted Gwynna standing outside, bent over a washboard and tub, scrubbing away at a sodden dress.
“Good morning, Gwynna.”
Gwynna straightened from the tub, her face brightening. “Miss Rosewall, what brings ye out this way?”
“I merely thought to call upon you this morning, to see how you are faring.”
“I be pleased ye thought of I, miss.”
Gwynna’s apron was soaked through with large splashes of water. Stringy strands of dark hair hung down past her cheeks, having come loose from the fabric holding back the rest of her locks. By the moisture on her brow, she must have been wrestling with the washing for quite some time.
For The Lady 0f Lowena (A Cornish Romance Book 2) Page 16