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

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  Tentatively, she reached forth her hand. Softly, he turned it over so her palm was faced upward, and then, as she forced her breathing to remain unaffected, he placed the shell in the center of her hand.

  “Oh,” she said, her mouth parting in surprise.

  It was the same shell as before, only his fingers no longer hid the large crack at the bottom of it, preventing the fan-shape to align perfectly on the bottom.

  Sophia wasn’t quite sure what to make of the revelation. “It’s broken,” she said, running a finger along the crack. The edging was smooth, made soft by the time spent rolling in the storms of the sea.

  “I’m sure all you see now is the imperfection,” Mr. Hawkins said. “But with it, this shell becomes uniquely different from all the ones in the sea. With this flaw, we discover the journey it has taken to become beautiful with its distinctive cracks.”

  He brushed his finger over the shell, caressing her palm in the process. “Unlike this shell, however, we have the ability to change and become as flawless as we wish to be.”

  Sophia’s breathing faltered as his right hand slowly lifted to her face. His fingers hovered next to her jaw. Slowly, softly, they rested against her skin, gently turning her face toward his.

  She stared into his blue eyes. His thumb stroked her jawline, and she struggled not to lean closer to him.

  “But just because something is flawed,” he whispered, “does not mean it is not worth keeping…or caring for…” His eyes found her mouth, his thumb trailing along her skin and brushing against her bottom lip. “Or cherishing.”

  Sophia swallowed. Her heart thrummed. How had she found herself in this situation again? So close to Mr. Hawkins that she could only formulate one coherent thought. What would it feel like to have his lips finally on hers?

  He leaned toward her. His thumb sliding from her lips to rest at the hollow of her throat. Could he feel her feverish heart? Surely his heart was racing just as quickly. How could it not be with that look in his eyes, the clear desire shining forth?

  In the next moment, however, his fingers trailed from her neck and down her shoulder before he pulled back and turned toward the fading sun.

  Sophia blinked. Her mind reeled. What had happened? She knew he’d wanted to kiss her, as plainly as she had wished to. So why had he not?

  “Let’s return,” he said. “They will be wondering what is keeping us.”

  Was that why he pulled away, fear of someone discovering them? Slowly, Sophia’s reason returned. What on earth had she been thinking? It was hardly appropriate to kiss a gentleman in broad sight of others. Her reputation would surely have suffered. If, of course, her reputation still mattered.

  “Will you join me?” he asked, standing and stretching out his hand toward her. “Or will you be returning to the cottage after all?”

  She studied his hand for a moment, thinking over his words from earlier, the revelation of his father’s choices, why Mr. Hawkins disliked false behavior. Slowly, she rested her fingers in his.

  “No, I will join you.” She allowed him to help her stand before her hands fell at her sides. “But before we return to the others, I must thank you for speaking with me. You have helped me more than you could ever know, Mr. Hawkins.”

  “It was my pleasure, Miss Rosewall.”

  With a shared smile, they walked together across the sand, the seashell pressing against Sophia’s palm as she held it securely in her hand.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next morning, being trapped indoors with nowhere to go and no one to see, Sophia’s mind inevitably drifted to her depressing situation. However, when she caught sight of the shell she’d placed on her windowsill the night before, she recalled her conversation with Mr. Hawkins.

  “Helping another is the surest way to forget about one’s troubles,” she whispered to herself as she stood from her bed.

  So that was precisely what she would do. Now who to help? Gwynna? Mother or Father? They hardly seemed in need of any help she could provide.

  She pulled her lips to one side and paced about her room. She didn’t make it two steps before her foot thudded against something on the floor.

  Her dress.

  She’d returned home so late and so exhausted from the party the evening before that she’d simply unfastened her clothing and left it on the floor.

  Her mind drifted to Mr. Hawkins again, and the time they’d spent together after their conversation. He’d remained by her side nearly the whole of the evening as they played games and listened to songs near the fireside. He’d been so kind, so open and honest about the hardships of his past. She could hardly believe he’d overcome so much, but it gave her courage to press on with her comparably easier life.

  She retrieved her gown from the floor and held it up in the air before her. The front was a wrinkled mess, the bottom still damp from the sea and covered in sand. It definitely needed a good washing, but Edith had completed the laundry only the day before.

  Sophia clicked her teeth together. At Fynwary Hall, they’d had a room for the washing to be made easier for the servants. At the cottage, however, she’d seen the tub and washing board outside only yesterday. Would they still be out there? If so, Sophia could wash the dress herself and hang it up to dry before Edith and Mrs. Cuff made it back from market day that morning. That would surely help the girl, not asking her to restart on a chore she’d already finished.

  With a determined step, Sophia found her apron she used for painting then tied it on as she marched out of doors.

  The washing tub was still filled at the side of the cottage. Edith must not have had time to empty it. The water was cold but looked clean enough. Sophia was fairly certain it ought to be warmer, but she hardly knew how to boil water.

  She pushed the dress into the tub then glanced around for the soap, though it was nowhere to be seen. She hesitated before setting aside her reservations. She would simply wash the dress without it. After all, soap was hardly needed to wash off a little sand.

  Sand that was now swirling in the tub and covering the entirety of her dress, instead of just the bottom. Perhaps she ought to have removed most of the grit before submersing the dress.

  Never mind. It was in the past. She would no longer worry over it, just as Mr. Hawkins had taught her.

  She reached into the tub to find the bottom of the gown, then set it on the washing board, rubbing it slowly up and down against the ridges. This wasn’t so very hard. Not really.

  Then she paused. When Gwynna had washed her own clothing, she’d bent over the tub with vigor. Perhaps Sophia wasn’t doing it hard enough. She leaned closer to the washboard and scrubbed the fabric along the wood energetically. Not too hard, though. She did not wish to create a—

  “Oh, dear.”

  The fabric caught on one of the ridges, and a muffled tearing reached her ears. She raised the dress from the water and disappointedly eyed the torn hem of her gown.

  She sighed. This was not turning out at all how she had planned. But she would not give up. She could easily mend the hole herself, yet another task she could do to help Edith.

  She returned the dress to the water and rubbed more delicately than before. Soon she smiled, oddly satisfied with the therapeutic action.

  “Good morning.”

  Sophia gasped, her hands slipping on the washboard. Water flew into the air, across the side of her face, and over the front of her apron. In stunned silence, she looked up beyond the stone wall to see Mr. Hawkins sitting astride his horse, a smile playing about his lips.

  Of course. Of course he would happen upon her in the middle of yet another embarrassing moment.

  With a sigh, she wiped away the water from her cheek. “Good morning, Mr. Hawkins. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  His eyes shone with mirth as he dismounted and removed his hat. “I will tell you, just as soon as you tell me what it is you are about.”

  She held up her sopping dress, the water making it droop like a piece of water-lo
gged seaweed. “Is it not obvious? I am doing what you told me to do.”

  He narrowed his eyes, his lips curving as he leaned against the wall. “I don’t recall telling you to do the washing.”

  “No, but you said to help others. So I’m playing the part of the lady of the cottage and doing a little laundry.” She looked at the hole more visible as the dress swung before her. “Though, I did tear it. I suppose I was a little too enthusiastic in my scrubbing. But I should be able to mend it well enough.”

  “That’s a relief. It would be a shame if you could not wear it any longer. I quite liked that color on you.”

  Sophia pushed the dress back into the water to hide her growing smile. His compliment had been so sincere, so genuine. So very unlike the compliments Mr. Singleton and Mr. Chester had paid her those many weeks before.

  “I have answered your question, Mr. Hawkins. Now might you answer mine?”

  He blinked, straightening his stance. “Yes. I was going to ask a favor of you. Fortunately, I see I have come when you appear to be in quite a generous mood.”

  “Indeed, I am, sir. What is it you need?”

  “I received a letter from my mother yesterday and only had the chance to read it this morning. She has written to tell me she will be here next week.”

  She stepped around the washing tub, wiping her hands on the only dry spot of her apron. “Oh? I thought you said she would never come to Cornwall?”

  “So I had hoped.” He pulled his gloves more securely on his hands. “I love my mother, but she can be very opinionated at times. And extremely overbearing. Still, I would like to make her visit as comfortable as possible.”

  His actions didn’t surprise Sophia, especially after last night. The man thought only of other people.

  “So what is it you would like me to do?” she asked, moving to stand before him. Only the stone wall separated them.

  A sheepish smile appeared on his lips. “Well, I had hoped, at some point during her visit, that you might call upon her at Fynwary Hall.”

  She blinked, trying to diffuse her surprise.

  “I know such a task might be disagreeable,” he rushed on, “and if you cannot accept my request, do not trouble yourself. But Mother would appreciate the acquaintance of many while here, and I know you would welcome her warmly. And I, well, I would like for her to meet you.”

  Sophia’s mind swirled with unwelcome images. Stepping foot in her old home. Calling at a place she’d once received callers. Servants leading her through a house she knew all too well. Meeting his mother.

  She paused. Mr. Hawkins wanted her to meet his mother? She looked up at him, his eyes hopeful. He looked very much like a young boy asking for an extra serving of dessert.

  Her heart softened, and concern fled her mind. This man had done so much for her. He’d changed her very life. The least she could do was meet his mother, especially because he desired it.

  “I would be more than happy to call upon her, Mr. Hawkins,” she said. “So long as you will be there, as well.”

  He brightened. “I would not miss it.”

  Their eyes met before he took a step away, replacing his hat with a bow. “I will allow you now to get back to your washing. And I will see you Wednesday?”

  Sophia nodded, and she watched him mount his chestnut horse before he cantered away.

  She sighed. Wednesday. Why did it have to be so very far away?

  * * *

  Sophia stood in the entryway of Fynwary Hall, her eyes wandering across the cream walls, the black and white marble flooring, and the grand staircase curling around the room to the upper floor. The green curtains before the windows were pulled back, allowing the light to fill the room, and the chandelier sparkled in the sunshine.

  Nothing had changed within the entryway. But everything had changed within Sophia.

  “Are you well, Miss Rosewall?”

  Sophia blinked, pulling herself from her reverie to face Aaron, the footman who had once served her family, who now served Mr. Hawkins. “Yes, thank you.”

  He nodded then motioned her forward. “This way, miss.”

  Her steps were slow as she followed him. It was a strange feeling, walking through her old home after being away for so long. A familiarity whispered from the paintings and tapestries hung on the walls, but an odd sense also spoke to her, telling her that this was now a foreign place. In a way, it was foreign. It no longer belonged to her.

  Surprisingly, that knowledge sat better with her than she thought it would. In fact, she was not only fine walking through Fynwary Hall, but she actually found herself longing for Lowena Cottage—for her small, comfortable hearth, the warm gray walls, and the unrivaled sights, sounds, and smells of the sea.

  She shook her head in amazement. So she had grown fond of her little home after all. Heaven help her.

  Aaron stepped aside as they reached the drawing room, and Sophia’s footsteps thumped softly across the floor as she entered within.

  “I will alert Mr. Hawkins that you have arrived, miss,” he said.

  “There is no need,” spoke a deep voice from outside the room. “He is already aware.”

  Sophia turned to the doorway. Mr. Hawkins entered the drawing room, his tall frame and broad shoulders commanding her attention, just like last time. Now, of course, the circumstances were far different.

  “Miss Rosewall, lovely to see you again.” Mr. Hawkins bowed, then faced her with a grin. “Aaron, you may tell Mrs. Hawkins that Miss Rosewall has arrived.”

  “Yes, sir,” Aaron said, and with a quick glance between his new employer and old, the footman left the room.

  Mr. Hawkins motioned to the sofa. “I trust you are well.”

  Sophia nodded, taking her seat as he stood near the warm, snapping fire. “And you?”

  “I am as well as can be expected.” He glanced precariously at the door before continuing in a whisper. “With my houseguest.”

  Sophia stifled a laugh. “How long does she plan to stay?”

  “With any luck, only a week. But that is dependent on how well she likes Cornwall.”

  “Shall I make her dislike it more then, for your sake?”

  His shoulders rose and fell with a quick laugh. “I will let you know.” They shared a smile. “Thank you again for agreeing to meet with her. I know it cannot be easy, returning here.”

  Sophia considered the gilded frames and white cushions of the room. “I thought it might be difficult, but seeing how much of it has remained unchanged, and how you have taken care of it, puts my mind at ease. If it had to be sold, I’m glad it was to you.”

  His brow softened. “I have been more than happy looking after it.” Their eyes met for an extended moment before he cleared his throat. “Did you tell your parents you were coming here?”

  “No, they would not have taken kindly to the news. Father would have simply brushed me aside without hearing a word, and Mother, well, she would not have understood why I wished to come. I believe she misses Fynwary Hall too greatly to ever consider stepping foot on the property again.”

  Discomfort flickered across his brow. She changed the subject to avoid his unfounded guilt returning.

  “And what of your mother? It has not been so very long, but does she miss her home in London?”

  “I believe so. Though how one can long for such an awful place is beyond me.”

  The sullen tone of his words transported her right back to their time together playing whist in that very room, when Mr. Hawkins had accused Sophia of being as superficial as those in the city, concerned more over their hair and dress than the well-being of others.

  How correct he had been.

  “May I ask,” she said, “is your dislike for London due to your father’s behavior or someone else’s?”

  He closed an eye in a wince as he contemplated his answer. “He is part of the reason, yes. As well as a number of women who managed to taint my view when I was there last.”

  She looked away. “You fell in
love.”

  “No, nothing ever so far as love.”

  A cool wind of relief instantly calmed her tossing stomach.

  “I did pursue a few women while there,” he continued, “but I found that all too easily, their attention would be redirected to wealthier gentlemen. They did not care for my own feelings. Only who could afford the next fashionable dress and when the next ball was. Everything was a façade to hide the truth of their characters. Frankly, I grew weary of it all very quickly.”

  Sophia couldn’t meet his eyes. She’d behaved in that same abominable way to him, as well as to Mr. Singleton and Mr. Chester. She was a fool to have ever thought she wouldn’t hurt anyone with her actions.

  “But perhaps I am wrong,” Mr. Hawkins continued. “Perhaps they chose another not because I was the poorer gentleman, but because I was the less attractive one.”

  Still distracted with her thoughts to realize he jested, Sophia scoffed. “I can assure you, that is certainly not the problem, sir.”

  He quirked a brow, a smirk cocking his lips. “Is that so?”

  Her mouth parted. “I mean, well, they were in the wrong, not you,” she managed to stammer out. “And as you told me, you ought not take the blame for someone else’s mistakes.”

  “Right you are, Miss Rosewall. At any rate, my mother pressed most of the women toward me. At one point, she even convinced me to pursue Mrs. Causey before the woman had married. Fortunately for all parties involved, she is with the gentleman she truly loves.”

  Sophia toyed with a curl that had come undone from her pins at the back, attempting to appear unruffled at the thought of Mr. Hawkins marrying Mrs. Causey. “What about you? Are you happy with how things ended with Mrs. Causey and these other women in London, or are you disappointed?”

  He peered down at her. “I am more than happy with how my life has turned out. For otherwise, I would not have found myself here in Cornwall…with you.”

  Sophia thought he teased, but his stalwart eyes made her chest swell as if a ship had just unfurled its sails within her.

  She looked around, anxious for a distraction. Otherwise she feared she’d jump to her feet and kiss the man soundly on those perfect lips of his.