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

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  “Well he best not be known as that now he’s married,” quipped Mrs. Kendricks, her red hair flying out from her pins.

  The crowd burst into laughter. Even Miss Rosewall’s smile appeared, a fact Frederick was all too happy to notice.

  “Go on, Lieutenant, or I’ll put my sister before ye,” a young man near the front of the line called out. “She just turned sixteen, ye know, and would still be quicker than ye. Go on, Poppy. Show ‘im.” He nudged the girl next to him.

  The girl, Poppy, shook her head. “No, Trevik.”

  “I don’t doubt that she could win,” Lieutenant Harris said with a smile in her direction. “If she’s willing to go against me.”

  Poppy blushed.

  Finally, Lieutenant Harris took off toward the retreating wave, running awkwardly with his arm in a sling. Frederick cheered with the others as the officer placed his stick with his good arm and returned to the shore without touching the sea.

  “A prime example to you all,” he joked with a wink in Poppy’s direction.

  Next, Trevik, Poppy’s brother, ran toward the stick, but before he could even reach it, the waves returned and soaked his boots.

  The crowd laughed, but Frederick wasn’t interested in their reaction. He was too preoccupied with Sophia. His heart warmed to hear her delight again, those joyful bells chiming, filling his mind with memories of when he’d carried her across the tide.

  How things had changed between them. How Miss Rosewall had changed.

  Poppy took her turn next, picking up the stick and placing it a foot farther than Lieutenant Harris’s placement before darting back up the sand without a hitch.

  “Excellent,” Lieutenant Harris said. She stood next to him now with her brother out of the game. “I certainly wouldn’t mind losing to you.”

  Mr. Causey went next as Mrs. Causey cheered on her husband from the side, eventually greeting him with a kiss on the cheek when he was also caught in the water.

  Frederick moved to the starting line. He removed his jacket, tossing it aside before loosening his cravat. The crowd cheered. He glanced back at Miss Rosewall, who grinned from ear to ear.

  When the waves retreated, he took off down the shore, kicking up the sand behind him before reaching the stick. He managed to move it a mere few inches before fleeing back up the sand.

  “You barely made it, sir,” Miss Rosewall teased as he passed by her.

  “Then let us see you do better,” he returned, moving to the back of the line.

  He watched with sheer delight as she raced down the beach, picking up her skirts to a modest level, retrieving the stick, and digging it into the sand a few steps forward.

  “Two full paces!” the crowd cheered as she returned.

  She stood next to Frederick. “How was that?” she said, breathing heavily.

  “Wonderful,” he responded.

  Their eyes locked before the line moved, and they followed the others along the sand.

  Miss Rosewall’s placement of the stick forced three people to withdraw with wet boots, before Mrs. Kendricks managed to move it farther out.

  Frederick found it increasingly more difficult to pay attention to the game when all he really wished to do was watch Miss Rosewall. He’d never seen her so carefree. So genuinely happy. Yes, she’d laughed and teased at that first dinner party at Fynwary Hall, but this time was different. This time, she was sincere.

  Her rigid curls were no more. Now they were soft, framing her face in a way that only enhanced its slenderness. Her cheeks were rosy, not from the heat of too many bodies in a ballroom, but from the warmth of the evening sun and the exhilaration of running. Her eyes were not bright from the glow of a chandelier, but from the pleasure she experienced in the company of true friends. Her smiles were not put on to bring attention to herself, rather used to express her joy in sharing the attention equally.

  Seeing her this way made Frederick question everything he thought he knew about her. Seeing her this way produced stirrings in his heart he’d tried to keep dormant. Now, he had no choice but to set those feelings free, to allow them to blossom in the sunshine that was Miss Rosewall.

  The game progressed, and she and another younger girl were expelled. Soon after, Frederick joined them when a wave caught him straight up to his breeches.

  “A good effort, Mr. Hawkins,” Mr. Causey said. “Better than losing the first round.”

  Frederick laughed, chuckling as he moved to the back of the group, glancing around for Miss Rosewall.

  His smile faded when his search came up empty. He looked to Gwynna, who stood watching him before she motioned up the beach.

  “She said she needed to rest for a moment,” she whispered.

  Frederick’s eyes followed a single trail of footprints up the sand to where Miss Rosewall sat on a rock near the tall grass.

  “Does she wish to be alone?” he asked Gwynna.

  She gave a helpless shrug before empathetic moans sounded around them. They turned their attention to Poppy, who approached the group with wet skirts.

  “You were supposed to win for the both of us,” Lieutenant Harris teased.

  Poppy responded with a bright grin.

  Frederick’s eyes drifted once more to Miss Rosewall. He didn’t want to impose if she truly did wish to be alone. But he had to be sure if she was all right.

  More cheers erupted, and the Kendrickses embraced.

  “Well done, my love,” Mr. Kendricks said, kissing the top of her head.

  The group again formed into a line, this time behind Mrs. Kendricks, but Frederick hesitated.

  “Are you to join them, Mr. Hawkins?” Mrs. Causey asked.

  He glanced over his shoulder. Miss Rosewall leaned over on the small rock as she traced her finger in the sand.

  “I will for the next round,” Frederick said. “For now, you must excuse me.”

  She nodded, her curious eyes on him until the game ensued. No doubt Mrs. Causey wondered if there was something between him and Miss Rosewall after Frederick’s earlier mishap of words, when speaking of finding love in Cornwall, fool that he was.

  But he was not thinking of such things now. He was thinking of no one but Miss Rosewall.

  As he approached, she glanced up at him, straightening her posture again and placing her hands in her lap.

  Frederick stopped a few paces away. “Were you leaving?”

  “I thought so. Then I stopped here, realizing I had nothing else to go back to.”

  The tip of her nose was red. Had she been crying?

  “Are your parents not at the cottage?”

  “Of course they are. They are always there. Just as I ought to be.”

  “Why?” he questioned taking a step toward her. “Do you not wish to be here, with your friends?”

  She watched the group still playing near the shoreline. The sunset’s warmth reflected the moisture in her eyes. “No, I don’t belong here. I don’t belong anywhere.” She scooped up a handful of sand. “Not anymore.”

  Frederick’s brow pursed. He couldn’t make sense of the change that had come over her, nor could he bear staring down at her any longer.

  The rock she sat on was more than large enough for the both of them to sit together. He motioned toward it. “May I sit with you for a moment?”

  She silently shifted to the edge of the rock. He sat beside her, their shoulders mere inches apart.

  “Might you tell me why you feel that way?” he continued. “Why you no longer belong anywhere?”

  “Because I don’t,” she replied simply. “I no longer belong with those of my old class. I tried to fit in with this group.” She motioned to the others farther down the beach. “But being here with them, playing with them, I’ve come to realize that they are far superior to me in every way. They smile, and share, and help others, even amidst their own trials and heartaches. That is something I never do. As such, I cannot have a true place among them, not even as their friend.”

  Frederick stared at the se
tting sun, the waves rolling softly toward them. “Gwynna Merrick seems to consider you a friend.”

  Miss Rosewall sniffed. “I cannot imagine why. Nor how she has managed to forgive me after I…” She pulled her eyes away.

  “After you what?”

  She stared at the small amount of sand still left in her palm. “I called her brother’s death inconsequential. I apologized, and I did not know at the time what I do now. That so many deaths occurred at the mine because of my father’s poor choices. Still, I was too careless.”

  Frederick chewed the inside of his lip. He of course had heard of the flooding at the mine, and the resulting deaths, brought about by Mr. Rosewall’s decision. Miss Rosewall’s ignorance on the subject was not difficult to believe. After all, her father had waited until the last moment to reveal that she had lost her home and her dowry. Why would he speak further of his other failures?

  He took a soothing breath to suppress his anger. It would not benefit either of them to recall his frustration over the man’s cowardice. He needed to care for Miss Rosewall, something her own parents seemed incapable of doing.

  “If you have apologized,” he began, “and she has accepted it, I’m afraid I do not see what the issue is.”

  She pressed her lips in an unbending line before replying. “Had things not changed, had I still lived at Fynwary Hall, I would not feel this same sorrow for their loss. I would not—I have not—given a second thought for any miner, nor his or her family.” She flicked away a rogue tear sliding down her cheek. “Does that not reveal my character most of all? That I am incapable of considering the feelings of others? I deserve my fate of loneliness and misery. As do my parents.”

  Frederick turned toward her. His knee bumped against hers, sending chutes of warmth up and down his leg before he pulled back. “I do not believe anyone deserves such a fate. Especially from a simple mistake.”

  “If I had only made a simple mistake, I would agree with you. But it is much more than that. I am the cause of Jago Merrick’s death, plus countless others who have suffered over the years. Their misery is my doing.” Her back curved. Her expression drew low. “It is all my doing.”

  “In what way are you the cause?” he asked. “Did you flood the shaft? Encourage your father to push deeper into the mine?”

  “No, but—”

  “Had you known the lives at risk, what your father was deciding against, would you not have encouraged him to cease his work until a safer way could be discovered?”

  “Of course, but I—”

  “Then it is not your fault, Miss Rosewall.”

  He knew he interrupted, he knew he spoke forcefully, but he did not know until that moment that he needed her to see his viewpoint. For so long, he had wanted Miss Rosewall humbled. Now that he was witnessing it firsthand, regret for his own pride crushed his heart. This was not what he wanted, for her to be defeated, depressed. He needed to help her, to coax her to continue speaking in hopes that she might find the light once again.

  “Father,” she said, “his excessive blasting caused the flooding. He only continued to reach more copper, in order to fund the expenditures of his selfish wife and daughter. I cannot help but think, if I merely changed my ways, Gwynna’s brother might have—”

  “Don’t,” Frederick said softly. “Do not dwell on the ‘might haves’ of the past. Such thoughts only lead to misery. You must take my word for it.”

  Frederick had not meant to direct his thoughts, or their conversation, to the painful memories of his past. Yet, how could it be avoided with Miss Rosewall’s feelings mirroring his from nearly ten years before?

  “How do you know such a thing?” she asked, regarding him curiously.

  He hesitated. He had not spoken aloud of his childhood for years. How could he now share such details with a woman he wasn’t sure would flippantly disregard what he said?

  As he met her eyes, however, he saw the humility, the change, within her. And he knew he could trust her.

  With a deep sigh, he began his story. “Do you recall, that first dinner party at Fynwary Hall, when I mentioned that my father had died when I was a young man?”

  Miss Rosewall nodded. “Yes. You were fourteen, if I recall correctly.”

  He stared at her. How had she remembered such a simple detail? “Yes, I was fourteen. We received many condolences when he finally went to the grave. Mother and I found them difficult to accept, as my father…” He rubbed the back of his head. “My father was abusive, physically and verbally, to both my mother and me.”

  Miss Rosewall pulled back, her eyebrows drawn low over her eyes. “How terrible. I am so sorry for you both.”

  “Thank you,” he said, “but I did not tell you this for your pity, merely for you to understand. You see, in Society’s eyes, he was perfection, always doing the right things, saying the right things. But in private, he was the worst kind of person. I hated the pretense, the lies. It was all to hide his own cowardice.”

  “Which is why you cannot abide any falseness of character now?” Her voice wasn’t any louder than a whisper.

  Frederick held his bottom lip between his teeth, nodding. “Yes, that is why. I used to think as a child that if I could simply change who I was, Father might not feel the need to treat me in such a way. But his behavior continued, and I, of course, blamed myself for it, as well as his treatment of my mother. I thought that if I could be a little taller, or a little braver, I might be able to stop him from harming her. When I could not, I blamed myself again.”

  Miss Rosewall grimaced. “But surely his baseness was not your doing.”

  “No, it wasn’t. I did not understand that then, nor for years to come, even after his death. To assuage my guilt for being unable to help Mother before, I did everything within me to further her happiness once Father was gone. I even purchased her the townhome in London because it was the one place she wished to be, though Father never allowed her to visit Town when he was alive.

  “While she finally lived comfortably and happily, I was still miserable, holding onto my guilt until finally, I was able to redirect that guilt to its rightful owner, my father.”

  Miss Rosewall leaned forward. “What made you finally do so?”

  “A number of things. My mother’s encouragement, the help of a few friends. A strong desire to no longer allow the man who was only my father by blood to control my life.”

  “So you have forgiven him then?”

  Frederick shrugged. “As much as I am able to. There are days when I am reminded of his cruelty, and I feel that familiar guilt, that lie that I had caused his treatment of me. But I simply distract myself from the thoughts so they cannot house themselves within me for long.”

  Miss Rosewall retrieved another handful of sand. “May I ask what you do to set those thoughts aside?”

  He leaned toward her with a knowing look. “I find that helping another is the surest way for one to forget about one’s own troubles.”

  She stared up at him, a pensive light in her eyes.

  “So please, Miss Rosewall,” he said, lowering his voice, “do not allow a baseless guilt to plague your soul as it did mine for years. You do not deserve such a fate.”

  Her eyes, wide and pleading, peered into his own. “Not even for the mistakes I have made?”

  “‘To err is human,’” he said with a smile.

  “‘To forgive, divine,’” she finished. “So I suppose that makes me human and you divine.”

  He sniffed, amused. “I assure you, I am in no way divine. Not yet, at any rate.”

  A smile almost appeared on her lips at his comment. “Before Lowena Cottage, and Gwynna, and…you, I thought I was very nearly perfect. Now I see how far I am from that notion.” She paused, releasing a heavy sigh. “You know, I quite dislike making mistakes.”

  “Everyone does.” He stretched out his legs, crossing his boots at his ankles. Sand still clung to the wet leather. “But you are flawed, as we all are.”

  “Flawed?” Sh
e scrunched up her nose with disgust. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “I’m afraid it cannot be helped.”

  She looked at him from the corner of her eye. “Are you not supposed to be encouraging me now, Mr. Hawkins?”

  “I am. To recognize one’s flaws is a wonderful thing. If I believed myself to be perfect, I would never change. But knowing I have flaws, then there is much I can do to begin improving myself. And should we not all be doing so? Bettering ourselves as individuals and helping others do the same?”

  She stared at him, her eyes narrowing.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “I merely wonder at your sanity, sir. No one can be as inherently good and willing to change as you are.”

  He smiled. “It is because I have seen the beauty that is brought on by trials, by flaws, and by change.”

  She leaned back, folding her arms. “That, or you are simply mad.”

  * * *

  Sophia was glad to hear Mr. Hawkins chuckling at her comment. She hadn’t meant to be rude, but honestly, how could this man be as good as he continually revealed himself to be? Especially with having such a past.

  “Here,” he said, leaning down toward the sand.

  He shifted the granules back and forth before retrieving a shell from beneath the surface. He held it up between his thumb and forefinger at the bottom.

  “Tell me what you see,” he said.

  “I see a shell.”

  He dropped his chin and quirked a brow. “What else?”

  She smiled at her own joke before staring closer at the fan-shaped shell. Its ridges were spaced perfectly apart, and the colors—soft orange, light brown, ivory white—stretched out in a gradient before the highest portion of the shell revealed a dark orange, as if it had been dipped in a jar of paint.

  “I see beauty,” she said, her head leaning to the side. “And perfect uniformity. A fine array of colors. Altogether, a rather fine-looking shell.”

  He nodded. “I see the same.”

  “I passed your test then?”

  He smiled, lowering the shell and holding out his free fingers toward her. “Allow me the use of your hand for a moment?”