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

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  “Goodbye, my dear,” Mother said, leaning forward from her seat to peer out of the carriage door. “Write to me soon.”

  “I will.”

  He closed the door, and the carriage rolled away, his mother waving at him from the window.

  A deep sigh of relief escaped his lips. She was gone. And now he would be leaving too, for Lowena Cottage.

  He secured his top hat before accepting his horse the groom had brought forth. With a nod of thanks, he mounted the chestnut and trotted onward, but he didn’t even make it out of Fynwary’s grounds before he caught sight of a woman headed his way.

  He fancied it was Miss Rosewall for a moment, but this woman’s hair was lighter, and her fine dress and shimmering red reticule told him it was not Sophia, but the physician’s wife, Mrs. Rennalls.

  “Good day, Mr. Hawkins,” she said with a curtsy as she neared. “I saw your mother departing in her carriage. I did not know she was leaving so soon.”

  Frederick dismounted. He itched to leave, but he didn’t wish to appear rude. “Yes, she has had enough time away from London, I believe.”

  “What a shame. I had just thought to come over and offer her a sleeping draught from my husband.”

  “My apologies.”

  “Oh, it is no matter. Just so long as you will not be leaving us soon, as well.”

  “Not to worry, ma’am. I have every intention of remaining as long as possible in Cornwall.”

  “Oh, that is wonderful, for so many of us are coming and going. Your mother. The Stedmans. The Causeys have only now just returned, just as the Rosewalls are leaving. It truly is—”

  “E-excuse me. The Rosewalls?”

  “Why, yes. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard the latest in regard to their circumstances?”

  An unsettling feeling upset his stomach, as if bees had swarmed his insides. “No, I haven’t.”

  “Well, allow me to tell you.”

  Frederick hadn’t known Mrs. Rennalls for long, but he already knew that she was an incorrigible gossip. She would do anything to spread information to others. He hated the fact that he was indulging the woman’s base desires, but he couldn’t help his curiosity.

  Mrs. Rennalls leaned forward, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “I suppose you will have been too taken up with your mother to have not heard,” Mrs. Rennalls continued, “but it has been the talk of St. Just. You see, Mr. Rosewall’s estranged aunt has written to them and offered them a place to stay at their estate in Yorkshire. And the Rosewalls have accepted.”

  “Have they?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice steady.

  “Indeed, I heard it from Mrs. Rosewall herself. The woman has stayed indoors for weeks, no sight nor sound from her since she moved to Lowena. Now that her situation has changed, she has not hesitated to share news of her good fortune with us all.”

  He looked away. “Have they all agreed to go to Yorkshire? Miss Rosewall, as well?”

  “Oh, yes, Miss Rosewall especially. You see, she has been offered a substantial dowry if she marries a very wealthy friend of her great aunt’s.”

  Frederick’s jaw twitched, his hands fisting.

  “Of course she readily accepted,” Mrs. Rennalls said. “How could she not, with the promise of her life and her fortune changed forever?”

  His voice fell flat. “Indeed, how could she not?”

  “I believe they are to leave within a few days, but that is all I know.”

  He nodded, turning to his horse. “Well, thank you, Mrs. Rennalls, for the information. But right now, I fear I must excuse myself.”

  “Of course, sir. I am sorry to have kept you. Do enjoy your day.” She sent him a pleasant smile, unaware of the turmoil inside him.

  He mounted his horse and kicked him forward. Rage pulsed through his body as the hooves pounded across the countryside. What a fool he was, how idiotically he’d behaved. Falling for Miss Rosewall, believing she’d changed when he knew all along she would not. She would always seek wealth first, and the better gentleman.

  How had he allowed his guard to fall? And how could she have betrayed him, after all he’d shared with her, all he’d done to help her?

  He reached the cottage, flying off his horse and striding toward the house. He didn’t bother with the gate, merely placed a hand on the stone wall and used it as leverage to hop over the barrier in a single leap. He pounded three times on the flimsy wood of the front door and awaited a reply.

  When no one answered, he removed his hat and hit his fist against the door again.

  This time, a plump woman appeared, the cap on her head lopsided, a stunned expression on her round face.

  “Mr. Hawkins to see Miss Rosewall,” he stated before she had the chance to say a word.

  “The ladies of the house ain’t seein’ callers, sir. But I’ll tell them ye—”

  “I must speak with Miss Rosewall.”

  The housekeeper raised her chin. “I be sorry, sir. But she—”

  As anger took over his reason, he flattened his hand against the door and pushed it farther open.

  “Sir!”

  “Miss Rosewall?” he bellowed out, looking around the small entryway before his eyes fell on the stairs. Was she up there, packing away her finery for her new life? “Miss Rosewall!”

  Finally, she appeared at the top of the stairs, eyes rounded, nose red. Her appearance twisted the dagger already in his back.

  “Mr. Hawkins? What are you…” Her words faded away. She must have intended to leave Cornwall without a word to him.

  Mrs. Rosewall appeared behind her with the same stunned expression. “Why, Mr. Hawkins, is that you? What in heaven’s name are you doing here?”

  “He be askin’ to call upon Miss Rosewall, ma’am, though I told him ye were busy.” The housekeeper turned to him with annoyance, her fists propped on her hips.

  Mr. Rosewall appeared next, coming up to stand beside his wife. His eyes fixed on Frederick, though he said not a word.

  “Well, Mr. Hawkins, I’m sure my daughter appreciates your calling,” Mrs. Rosewall said. She did not lower her chin as she stared down at him. “But I do apologize. We have much to tend to at the moment. We hardly have time for a social visit. You see, we are to travel to—”

  “I know,” he said, his eyes remaining on Miss Rosewall. “And I should have expected it all along.”

  Even from the bottom of the stairs, Frederick could see the tears in her eyes. Her sadness was a ruse. She wasn’t heartbroken to leave him. It was all just a game to get what she wanted.

  Suddenly, he wondered why the devil he cared if the woman left. He ought to be glad. Now he would not have to spend another moment of heartache with her.

  He shook his head, taking a few steps back before quitting the house without a word.

  “Frederick, wait! Please!”

  Mrs. Rosewall gasped, Miss Rosewall called again, but Frederick closed the door behind him, ignoring the way his heart throbbed at her use of his given name.

  He had not moved halfway through the garden before the door opened and closed again.

  “Please, you must allow me to explain,” Miss Rosewall said, coming up fast behind him.

  “Must I?” he questioned over his shoulder. “There is no need. I understand you perfectly, Miss Rosewall.”

  “No, you cannot know what has caused me to follow my parents to Yorkshire.”

  She was running to keep up with him, and when he abruptly turned, she nearly ran into him.

  “I do know,” he spat out. “I know all too well. You have not changed. You are the same as you have always been.”

  She recoiled. “How can you say such a thing? After what—”

  “Because you are still the same, Miss Rosewall! Even after all this time. You are still choosing wealth, still choosing better circumstances over m—”

  He stopped. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t reveal the brunt of his pain, the very reason he was there now, so troubled with her choices. It wa
s all just a blinder, placed over his eyes to prevent him from dwelling on the fact that she had chosen wealth and position over him.

  “But I haven’t chosen wealth. I only go to Yorkshire for—”

  “Yourself,” he finished for her, his voice cold, biting. “You go for yourself, to have the better life you so longed for. Never mind what I could have offered you and your family. Never mind the life we might have shared together.”

  She shook her head with ferocity, her voice faltering. “No, please. My decision was not made lightly.”

  Confusion and pain shrouded his heart. “No, but it was made by you, wasn’t it? It was your decision to leave.”

  Her lips parted, sorrow turning her brow. “Yes, but not—”

  The door opened behind them, and Mrs. Rosewall stepped over the threshold. “Sophia? Sophia, we mustn’t delay. Aunt June and your intended will be awaiting our arrival, and there is still much to be done.”

  Miss Rosewall winced, turning back to Frederick with a look of pleading.

  Her intended. Miss Rosewall’s intended. It should’ve been him, but he wasn’t enough for her. He was never enough.

  “Please,” Miss Rosewall whispered, taking a step toward him.

  “Sophia?” her mother called out.

  Frederick backed away. “Do enjoy yourself in Yorkshire, Miss Rosewall.” His voice was calm as he replaced his hat. “I trust you will. For how could you not, being with people as empty as yourself?”

  The words fell from his mouth before he could think better of them. He could not look at her again, knowing the pain he might see in her eyes after his harsh attack. He mounted his horse and rode away in a mad dash, leaving the cottage and Miss Rosewall behind. How he regretted going to her home, spending so much time with her, meeting the woman at all.

  And how he regretted falling in love with her.

  * * *

  A steady stream of tears fell from Sophia’s eyes as Mr. Hawkins rode away from Lowena, from herself, and from her life.

  With heavy footsteps, she returned to her mother who stood waiting for her in the doorway.

  “Sophia, what in the world is going on?”

  Her feigned jovial nature from before, put on for Mr. Hawkins’s benefit, was now gone, replaced with shock.

  But Sophia couldn’t speak of the matter. The pain was too raw.

  “Nothing, Mother,” she said, walking by her to enter the house.

  She moved past Mrs. Cuff’s stunned expression and headed to the stairs. Father had disappeared.

  “Nothing?” Mother spoke after her. “Mr. Hawkins has barged into our home, you have called him by his Christian name, then the two of you shout outside for all of Cornwall to hear. You tell me that is nothing?”

  Sophia didn’t respond as she walked up the steps, her hand sliding along the banister. She had always been afraid of picking up splinters by using the uneven wood of the handrail. Now, any pain would be a welcome distraction from the agony within her heart.

  “Sophia?” Mother called at the bottom of the stairs. “Do you…do you have a relationship with that man?”

  Sophia paused, turning to stare down at her mother from the top step. “No. I do not.”

  Not anymore.

  She moved to her room and closed the door behind her. Countless times, she had done the very same, hoping, praying one of her parents would follow her into her room.

  Now, as her mother knocked and allowed herself into the privacy of Sophia’s chamber, Sophia longed to be alone.

  “Please, Mother. Not right now.” She sat at the edge of her bed, her back facing the door.

  “But, my dear,” Mother said, coming to stand before her, “you must explain to me what has just occurred.”

  Sophia wiped the tears sliding down her cheeks. “I can’t.”

  Mother sighed with a perplexed brow. She sat down on the bed beside Sophia. “Sophia, dear, do you have feelings for Mr. Hawkins?”

  Sophia’s brows pulled together. “I do.”

  Mother sat back, blinking in surprise. “Well, this is unexpected.”

  Sophia reached under her pillow for the handkerchief from Mr. Hawkins, the one she’d kept from the picnic, after he’d dabbed it on her brow. She could just imagine the musky scent it once held before she’d had the fabric washed, and a fresh wave of sorrow rendered her unable to formulate a single word.

  Mother pursed her lips. “Can you explain to me how these feelings have come about? How you could have fallen in love with the very man who started the collapse of our family?”

  Sophia’s heart bent. “He has saved our family, Mother.” She turned away, lowering her voice. “He has saved me.”

  “That is entirely untrue. Aunt June has saved us. She has offered us wealth, improvements on our housing and connections. The chance to escape the rumors around our name. A new life. Mr. Hawkins has done nothing of the sort.”

  Sophia stared, dumbfounded at Mother’s ignorance. “He purchased our home, saving Father from debtor’s prison. He offered us the chance to live free of charge at Lowena before he even came to know us. He was the only gentleman who did not reject me when he saw my fall from grace.” She paused, staring toward the window, the sound of the waves softly splashing beneath them. “And he offered me kindness and friendship, when no one else would give me the same.”

  Mother’s nostrils flared. Of course she would take offense at Sophia’s words. She was not used to hearing her daughter speak the truth. No one was. Except Mr. Hawkins.

  Mother leaned forward, clutching Sophia’s hand in her own. “My dear, you are not thinking clearly. You are not in love with Mr. Hawkins, only the idea of Mr. Hawkins. The idea of taking residence at Fynwary Hall again, of having wealth and propriety once more associated with your name.”

  Slowly, she met Mother’s eyes, her mouth agape. “How could you think so little of me to believe I would marry Mr. Hawkins for his wealth, to return to Fynwary Hall? I wish to marry for love, as you and Father did.”

  Mother raised her chin. “Love is all well and fine. But having a means to survive does wonders for the happiness of a relationship.”

  Sophia stared. Did Mother mean to say she was happy in her marriage only when wealth was involved? Of course that is what she meant. Sophia had seen the evidence the moment they left Fynwary Hall, and the moment they received word that their poor living conditions would end.

  Sophia’s brows pulled together in disgust. How could her parents live such a way? How could Sophia have ever considered living the same way?

  Mother reached forward, trying to take her hand, but Sophia pulled away, standing and crossing the room to stare out of the window.

  Mother remained seated on the bed. “Sophia, please, try to see reason. In Yorkshire, your troubles would be forgotten. You could begin again, away from the gossip surrounding your name. In marrying Mr. Thompson, you would have twice the wealth and twice the reach in Society that Mr. Hawkins could ever offer you. That is, if he had ever truly considered you for a wife.”

  The words cut deeply. Mother would have her believe that Sophia was worth nothing without a dowry. But Mr. Hawkins had intended to marry Sophia. Had he not? Had love not shown for her in his eyes, despite the mistakes she’d made, despite her many flaws?

  Her head drooped forward, her eyes sliding along the glass of the window as she leaned against the ledge. Her finger brushed against something cold and smooth.

  The shell.

  With her eyes, she caressed the perfect ridges, the smooth blend of colors. The large crack at the bottom.

  Mistakes, flaws.

  The words breathed back life into her heart, one thump, two. Faster and faster as her thoughts took flight.

  Mr. Hawkins had said that flaws made a person unique, beautiful, because then one could change. Well, Sophia was more aware of her flaws than ever, and she could change. She had changed. She merely needed to remind Mr. Hawkins, and herself, how greatly she had.

  Would he accept her,
even after he believed that she was leaving him for a wealthier gentleman, harming him the way he’d been so harmed by others?

  She ran a finger along the crack of the shell. Even if he did not accept her, she had to try. Now.

  Whirling on her heel, Sophia made for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Mother burst out.

  “To find Mr. Hawkins.”

  Her fingers stretched toward the door, but Mother’s soft words from behind made her hand freeze midair.

  “And what about us?” she asked. “If you choose Mr. Hawkins, and he miraculously chooses you, then what happens to me and your father?”

  Sophia spoke over her shoulder. “You will come live with us at Fynwary Hall. Or Mr. Hawkins could give you money to—”

  “You and I both know your father would never accept such charity.”

  “But you will accept it from Aunt June?”

  She could only imagine Mother’s nostrils flaring at Sophia’s impudence. “We are not happy here, Sophia. We cannot be, with so many of our old friends knowing so much of what has gone on.”

  She stood from the bed and approached Sophia. “When Aunt June’s offer came, your father and I felt joy for the first time since coming to Lowena.”

  Sophia’s back curved, the weight of her mother’s words falling on her shoulders again.

  “We were happy, my dear,” Mother said, reaching out to wipe the tears falling from Sophia’s eyes. “Your father and I discovered our love again, for each other and for you. If you choose to remain here and not go to Yorkshire, what if our love is never to be seen, never to be felt again?”

  Sophia pulled away from Mother’s touch. She couldn’t think, so crippled she was between her duty to her parents and her love for Mr. Hawkins.

  But she had to make a choice, and she knew what, and who, it would be.

  “Mother, how is it fair for you to ask me to give up my love for the love you already have, but choose not to see?”

  Mother’s eyes hardened. “Sophia, you know nothing of—”

  The door opened with a click, swinging wide until it bounced softly against the wall. Father stood in the doorway. He ducked his head to enter the room beneath the low frame, then straightened to his full height.