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

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  Her eyes settled on the hearth, and a memory popped into her mind. “Do you know, I was rather badly behaved as a child.”

  A smile inched across his lips. “I must admit, I find that difficult to believe.”

  “No, it’s true. I would often sneak out of doors and make my way to the sea instead of finishing my lessons.”

  “Well, that does not surprise me.”

  She hummed a laugh. “No, indeed. Other times, I would move around the garden, darting from tree to tree to hide from my governess. I once brought a pen knife with me outside and carved my initials into one of the trees at the edge of the property. When she found me, she told my parents that I had neglected my studies once again and then betrayed my carving. My parents forced me to double my practice of the pianoforte and increase my study of Latin.”

  “Which, I assume, you did not enjoy either?”

  “Not in the least,” she responded. “But I exacted my revenge in another way.” His eyes followed her as she made her way toward the hearth, the opposite side from where he was situated. “Just here, I carved my initials into the floor.”

  He walked to where she stood as she pointed to the small, roughly curved letters in the wooden floor.

  S. R.

  He hunched down beside her, sliding his forefinger over the letters as he chuckled. “Ah, there they are.”

  Her eyes trailed across his wide shoulders. “I made them small enough so that no one could happen upon them unless they were specifically looking. But, oh, did I feel clever. So clever, in fact, that I took the pen knife to each room in the house and left my mark on bookshelves, tables, the backs of chairs, walls, hearths. Whatever I could think of, always with discretion.”

  “Were you ever discovered?” he asked, his eyes shining as he stood.

  “Fortunately, no. I was silly enough not to realize, that had the carvings been seen, they would have known exactly who to come looking for—S. R.”

  They shared a laugh as they stared again at the small initials.

  “So they are in every room of this house, you say?”

  “Yes, every one.”

  He scratched at his jaw. “Now I have to go looking for them.”

  “Well, I wish you luck, sir. I cannot remember the location of half of them. And if they are as difficult to discover as this one, you will be looking for half your life.”

  “Then perhaps one day, you might consider joining me here.”

  His smile faded, though the warmth remained in his eyes. Sophia’s heart leapt. Did he mean…?

  “Joining me here to help in the search,” he finished. His voice was deep, throaty, as if there was something else he’d meant to say, but those words had been spoken instead.

  “Of course,” she muttered.

  Silence followed, and Mr. Hawkins took a step back. “So what eventually helped you to become obedient to your parents?”

  She looked at the initials in the wood to avoid staring at his strong jaw. “I suppose I changed to become more like my mother. She was always very elegant and well-liked, and her marriage was happy. I desired the same for myself, so when I came of age, I decided to be more like her, in hopes of obtaining the same things she had.”

  Sophia paused, staring across the room as she thought of Mother and who she used to be. “I learned much from her. Though, now I realize it would have been better to be more like myself rather than to be another Mary Rosewall.”

  Their eyes met once more. Before either of them could speak, footsteps patted on the floor outside, and Sophia took an abrupt step away from Mr. Hawkins.

  A woman with hair a shade darker than Mr. Hawkins’s, streaks of silver laced throughout, entered the room. Her posture was no doubt envied by Roman statues, and her demeanor was one of quiet regality.

  She reminded Sophia of her mother, before she’d moved to Lowena.

  “Mother,” Mr. Hawkins said, crossing the room to greet her and motioning Sophia forward. “Allow me to introduce to you Miss Sophia Rosewall. Miss Rosewall, my mother, Mrs. Hawkins.”

  “It is a pleasure, Mrs. Hawkins,” Sophia greeted.

  Curtsies were exchanged before the women sat across from each other, Mr. Hawkins taking his place by the hearth.

  “I trust you are enjoying your visit to Cornwall thus far,” Sophia said. “We boast the finest views of the sea in the country, to be sure.”

  “Hmm. I disagree. I far prefer Devon. Its waters are more favorable for proper society.”

  Sophia glanced to Mr. Hawkins, but he closed his eyes. He’d said his mother was overbearing and opinionated. Now she knew he had not been exaggerating.

  “Did you have a pleasant journey here?” Sophia tried next.

  “It was too long, and the carriage uncomfortable.”

  Sophia nodded. “My mother finds it difficult to travel in discomfort, as well. She requires the finest of carriages to make any sort of journey.”

  Mrs. Hawkins raised her chin. “Where is your mother? Why has she not joined you, forcing you to make calls on your own?”

  Sophia caught Mr. Hawkins’s apologetic grimace before she replied. “She is home, indisposed.”

  “And pray tell, where is home? In relation to Fynwary Hall, mind you. I do not know this county well enough to have any other description be of use.”

  Mr. Hawkins had not told his mother where Sophia lived. Why would he? It’s not as if he would speak about Sophia a great deal to anyone.

  “My family and I have relocated to a small cottage above the sea. Just west of here.”

  “A cottage, you say?” Mrs. Hawkins’s eyes moved to her son’s, her nostrils flaring.

  Sophia knew that look. It was one her mother had expressed often. Disgust.

  If Mrs. Hawkins disapproved of Sophia living at the cottage, what did she think of Mr. Hawkins befriending the woman whose house he now owned?

  Or had she no knowledge of that either?

  “Tell me, Miss Rosewall, have you ever been to London?”

  Sophia nodded. “My parents have taken me each year since I came out into Society.”

  “I wonder that our paths have never crossed. But I suppose we have our different social circles.” Her pointed nose raised to the ceiling. “Where did you live before your little cottage by the sea?”

  Despite Sophia expecting the question, tension slid up her neck. How was she to reply? Surely Mrs. Hawkins would wish to throw her from the house. Sophia’s own mother would do the same. But Mr. Hawkins would not allow his mother to be so unkind, would he?

  She glanced toward him. He opened his mouth as if to respond for Sophia, but the footman entered, preventing his words.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes, Aaron, what is it?” Mr. Hawkins asked.

  “There is a matter that needs your attention, sir.”

  “This very moment?” Mr. Hawkins asked, his brow raised impatiently.

  “I’m afraid so, sir.”

  Mr. Hawkins sighed. He turned to Sophia with an encouraging smile. “I shall be back in just a moment, Miss Rosewall. Mother, see to her comfort, will you?”

  Was it just Sophia’s imagination, or did Mr. Hawkins truly just send a warning look to his mother? Either way, he was gone in an instant, and Sophia was left alone in the room with Mrs. Hawkins and her elevated nose.

  She watched Sophia as if she were spying a fly buzzing about her food. “Now, where did you call home before the cottage?”

  Sophia swallowed. She had hoped the woman had forgotten the question.

  “I lived with my family here, at Fynwary Hall,” she said. Her voice, it strikingly resembled Miss Kinsey’s timid tone.

  Mrs. Hawkins’s expression did not change, only the slightest narrowing of her eyes revealed she was displeased with the information. “I thought I recognized your name. You are of the Rosewalls who could not keep possession of their own home.”

  Sophia pulled back, surprised at the woman’s candor. With a mother so rude and a father so offensive, from wher
e had Mr. Hawkins’s goodness come?

  “Yes, I am the very daughter of those Rosewalls,” she replied.

  “What a pity. It is good of my son to still interact with you, despite your lowered circumstances.”

  That familiar feeling of insecurity, of worthlessness crept upon Sophia, her stomach tensing.

  “Though,” Mrs. Hawkins continued, “I do wonder how he has time for you when he is so very occupied with the other woman, the one he has spoken to me so much about.”

  Sophia’s eyes snapped up. “Other woman?”

  “Oh, don’t you know?” A meaningful smile graced her lips. “My Freddy has told me he is very close to becoming engaged. I, for one, cannot wait to meet the woman. Apparently, she is as genteel as they come and has a great deal to offer. He is often with her and her family.”

  Sophia’s head spun. Other woman. Genteel. A great deal to offer. That was not Sophia. That was any other woman but Sophia. Could Mrs. Hawkins be referring to…to Miss Kinsey?

  Confusion pressed on her mind. If Mr. Hawkins was in love with Miss Kinsey, or another woman, why had he invited Sophia to meet his mother? Should he not have asked his intended instead? But Mr. Hawkins had said his mother would appreciate the acquaintance of many. Now that was Sophia. One of many.

  Her heart ached, as if she’d been struck blow after blow. What a fool she had been for thinking she meant more to Mr. Hawkins. What a fool she must look to his mother, sitting there when her son was in love with another.

  Unable to bear the humiliation, Sophia stood, pretending she did not see Mrs. Hawkins’s arched, disapproving eyebrows.

  “Are you leaving so soon?” the woman asked, though clearly unsurprised.

  Sophia nodded. “Please tell your son I am needed elsewhere.”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Hawkins said, sounding anything but disappointed. “Shall I call for a footman to show you out? Though, I assume you know the way, as this was once your home.”

  The words stung sharper than any knife. Sophia understood the woman’s implication. Fynwary Hall wasn’t Sophia’s home, and it would never be again.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Sophia managed to say. “Good day, Mrs. Hawkins.”

  With a short curtsy, she left the room. Mrs. Hawkins did not stand as Sophia departed. She didn’t need to, her lack of respect for Sophia was already apparent.

  As she moved down the corridor, Sophia’s thoughts scattered in disarray, her feelings souring in her heart. She prayed Mrs. Hawkins was wrong in her assumption, that she might have misheard her son’s words, or was perhaps telling a falsehood.

  But when Sophia turned the corner and made for the entryway, her feet planted to the checkered, marble floor.

  Mr. Hawkins was leaving the entryway to move down the opposite corridor from Sophia.

  Next to him walked Miss Kinsey.

  Sophia sucked in a sharp breath, pressing a hand to her mouth. The pair continued together, unaware of having been spotted. They stopped outside the study, Miss Kinsey entering first. Was his hand at the small of her back? Were they smiling? They secured the door behind them before Sophia could decipher.

  Though, she already knew the truth. There was only one reason for two people to share a private audience together. An engagement was about to occur. In her old home. With her practically outside the door.

  The realization sickened Sophia to her stomach and to her heart. Mrs. Hawkins had been telling the truth. Her son truly was in love with Miss Kinsey.

  Sophia shook her head in disbelief. It was wrong, all of it was wrong. Mr. Hawkins was not supposed to love Miss Kinsey. He was supposed to love…

  With a withered heart and quickened step, Sophia dashed across the entryway, leaving behind the house that held so many of her memories, and the man who she had hoped would one day hold her heart.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Could ye not be mistaken?”

  “No. No, I saw them enter the room myself. And his mother’s words were as clear as day. Mr. Hawkins is in love with Miss Kinsey.”

  Gwynna winced, her empathy clear. Sophia had met with her that morning for market day, a few days after Sophia had called at Fynwary. They now moved about the small town, completing Gwynna’s various tasks as Sophia spoke.

  “Do ye love him then?” Gwynna asked next.

  “What does it matter now?” Sophia returned, though it still mattered very greatly to her. “My feelings are unimportant if the two of them are in love.”

  Gwynna’s empathetic look nearly brought Sophia to tears, but such emotion would not do for the crowds brimming in St. Just.

  She pasted on a smile and raised a shoulder. “I suppose I ought to be grateful. His marriage to Miss Kinsey has saved me from a lifetime of dealing with a dragon for a mother-in-law.”

  Their soft laughter brought the slightest form of relief to Sophia.

  They continued up the street toward the stalls located near the modiste shop. As Sophia waited for Gwynna to purchase a few items for her mother, a bell rang out through the street.

  Sophia recognized the sound at once. She had heard the bell ring almost weekly as she’d leave the modiste shop with newly purchased packages in hand. Her arms may have been full then with gowns and the most fashionable accessories, but her heart and mind had been empty. She far preferred her life now to be filled with the companionship she’d found with Gwynna, and once with Mr. Hawkins.

  Absentmindedly, she glanced to the modiste to see who had exited. The last person she expected, the one person she wished to see, strode out of the shop.

  She gasped. Mr. Hawkins’s eyes caught hers in an instant, his warm smile filling her simultaneously with such sadness and joy, she could hardly remain upright.

  “I’ll wait for ye over here, Sophia,” Gwynna whispered behind her.

  Sophia sent a grateful smile to her considerate friend then turned to face Mr. Hawkins as he approached. Goodness, if he didn’t grow more attractive by the day.

  She dipped into a curtsy. “Mr. Hawkins, pleasure to see you this morning.”

  “And you, Miss Rosewall. I wanted to—”

  “Miss Rosewall.” Mrs. Hawkins appeared next to her son. Sophia hadn’t noticed her until she’d spoken. “I didn’t expect to see you again after your abrupt departure from my son’s home.”

  Sophia was not ignorant to her pointed words. Still, she could not be cruel in return to Mr. Hawkins’s mother. “Yes, well I am pleased to see you both again. Has Cornwall risen in your estimation?”

  “Only in terms of its Society,” Mrs. Hawkins responded. “I must say, I never expected such gentility. Though, I should not be surprised. My wonderful friend Lady Beatrice was raised here, and she is as elegant as any woman I have ever known.”

  Sophia glanced to Mr. Hawkins. He had yet to remove his eyes from her. Why did he stare? Where was his intended? And why was he still staring?

  “My Freddy has such fine friends,” Mrs. Hawkins continued, as if she were vying for the attention her son gave Sophia. “The Rennalls for one, and the Madderns. Benlett House is so very grand.” She paused, resting a hand on Mr. Hawkins’s arm. “Oh, and dear Miss Kinsey. Why, she is one young woman I have certainly loved getting to know better.”

  Sophia’s throat narrowed, as if a rope had been cast around her neck and was now slowly constricting her breathing. Their engagement had to be official by now. Mr. Hawkins must have simply tasked his mother to keep quiet about the arrangement until he could share the blessed news himself.

  Mrs. Hawkins continued. “Of course, Miss Rosewall, you would not know Miss Kinsey, as she is so very fine.”

  Insecurity niggled at Sophia’s already weakened confidence. “No, I know the young woman, Mrs. Hawkins.”

  “Oh, I see. Yes, with how very genteel Miss Kinsey is, of course she would know you. Would you not agree she has many merits? A little quiet, perhaps, but that is to be preferred over a woman who cannot hold her tongue.”

  Mrs. Hawkins was certainly one t
o speak of such matters. Even her son was looking around the streets with uninterested eyes.

  Or was he looking for Miss Kinsey? Was she there in St. Just? Sophia cringed. She could not stomach seeing the two of them together. She needed to leave before their loving glances tore Sophia apart.

  “Yes, she is a fine woman,” Mrs. Hawkins prattled on. “Any man would benefit from having her as a wife.”

  She gave Mr. Hawkins a knowing look, but Sophia didn’t bother to note his response. She turned sideways, inching away from the mother and son. “Yes, I heartily agree. But I do apologize, as I must be about my business.”

  “Another hasty departure,” Mrs. Hawkins muttered disapprovingly. “But we wouldn’t wish to keep you. Your maid seems anxious to leave, as well.”

  “My maid?”

  Mrs. Hawkins motioned behind Sophia, who turned to see Gwynna now standing just out of ear’s reach. Her friend roved over the items in her basket, unaware of Mrs. Hawkins’s mistake.

  Mistake. Sophia could have scoffed. It was less of a mistake and more of an irritating, presumptuous inference. An inference that blinded Sophia to her inferiorities and tossed her insecurities to the cobbled streets of St. Just.

  She turned, fully facing Mrs. Hawkins, her back straight and voice steady. “You are mistaken, Mrs. Hawkins. Gwynna is a miner’s daughter, one who once worked at the mine my father sold to settle his debts. And she is not my maid. She is my very dear friend.”

  Mrs. Hawkins’s eyes rounded, and satisfaction overcame Sophia, insomuch that she did not need to say another word. She curtsied, stealing a glance at Mr. Hawkins—was he smiling?—before turning around and returning to Gwynna’s side. Sophia linked arms with her and continued with her down the street.

  “What be that about then?” Gwynna asked, her brow wrinkled.

  Sophia had no intention of reciting Mrs. Hawkins’s assumption. “Oh, it was nothing. Did you need to—”

  “Miss Rosewall?”

  Shock jolted through her limbs. Mr. Hawkins. He’d followed her. She shot a quick glance to Gwynna before turning to watch him stride toward them. His mother was nowhere in sight.