He gave her a blank look. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve never told you anything but the truth about Lord Penvenan.”
“It is not what you told me that is at issue here; it is what you did not tell me that matters.”
She was right there. He needed to apply any acting skills he possessed to continue pretending as though her accusation didn’t hurt and now baffle him.
“What, pray tell,” he asked in his strongest slow, southern drawl, “did I neglect to tell you?”
One would think he was a lawyer with the way he’d learned to twist words so he told the exact truth without denying removing inconvenient bits and pieces. Neglect, indeed. He hadn’t told her many things, but not neglectfully. Those omissions had been quite deliberate.
“You didn’t tell me Lord Penvenan wishes to wed me so he can use my fortune to free his slaves.”
“He intends to do what?” Rowan shot upright so fast he nearly toppled forward off the stoop. “What are you talking about?”
“I think it grossly unsporting of you to try to spike his guns with me by stopping at telling me he owns slaves. I had—”
“I know nothing of him planning to free them.”
“—begun to think perhaps you’re an honest man—”
“More honest than most.”
“But I suppose I should have known better when you let me believe my brother sent you.”
“Indirectly he did. He sent Conan, who—”
“That is the late Lord Penvenan to you, regardless of—”
“Elizabeth, get off your high ropes and listen.” He stepped off the stoop and closed the distance between them. “Lord Penvenan and I’ve discussed him courting you, and he has never confided in me that he wants your dowry in order to free his slaves now or ever. On the contrary, I heard him say he would use your dowry to restart the mines.”
“As soon as we are wed, I presume.”
“Where did you hear this faradiddle about freeing the slaves?”
“He told my grandfather, so I cannot believe he did not tell his secretary. I’d think he would have to, since would not a secretary carry out the practicalities of such an endeavor?”
“One would think so, but this is the first I’ve heard of it.” He hesitated, considered for a moment, then added, “I don’t see how he can en masse. He has to replace them with free workers, and free workers who will work the rice fields are not that easy to come by. Or did you think he could exchange Cornish miners for field hands in a shipload or two?”
“I did not think.”
“You so rarely do before leaping to conclusions.”
“I—” Her eyes widened, her lower lip puffed out, and she snatched it back between her teeth.
Rowan sighed. “And so do I. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“As if you could.” She looked away. “What do I care that you cannot tell me the truth?”
What, indeed? She cared enough to make him absurdly happy.
Afraid he would say too much now, he turned his back on her and applied the knocker. This time the portal opened before Rowan released the brass ring.
“Do you expect me to jump up and run to the d— Mr. Curnow and . . . Elizabeth?” Morwenna herself stood in the opening, pale and still pretty despite her unbalanced bulk.
Rowan bowed. “We have come to see how you’re faring.”
“We did not come together,” Elizabeth added.
“You wouldn’t lower yourself.” Morwenna cast her cousin a narrow-eyed glare. “So to what do I owe this honor of a call from the big house?” Sarcasm dripped from her tone like water from a downspout.
From the corner of his eye, Rowan caught a flash of hurt in Elizabeth’s expression. Then she smoothed her features into her indifferent mask like a beautiful maiden carved of ice.
“I believe we both came to be assured that you’re all right,” Rowan said, still watching Elizabeth. “May we come in?”
“By all means.” Morwenna stepped back to allow them access.
Elizabeth swept past Rowan and paused just over the threshold. Her nostrils flared, then pinched, and she glanced around. “Where did you get the dogs?”
“Conan’s dogs.” Morwenna’s face worked. “I found them wandering in the woods the day after . . . after—”
“I never heard of Conan having big dogs.” Elizabeth moved farther into the entryway that was perhaps the size of a neckcloth. “Senara has not mentioned them once.”
“She hates dogs. I expect she was the one who set them loose.” Morwenna opened a door to the left of the entrance. “Oggy, Pastie, stay.”
“Oggy and Pastie?” Elizabeth laughed. It was such a clear, bright, and unexpected sound, Rowan smiled.
“Ridiculous names, I know.” A softness melted the hard, bitter lines around Morwenna’s mouth, a mouth too young and pretty to show such unhappiness. “But he loved pasties, oggies, as they are here in Cornwall. And if two dogs don’t look like pasties, it’s these two.”
They were some kind of deerhound, long and lean and elegant save for the water-matted coats. They rose, stretched, and ambled forward to sniff the newcomers.
Rowan watched Elizabeth, expecting her to shy away from large, wet tongues and shedding coats. But she held out her hands, one to each, and scratched the dogs behind their upright ears.
“Are you not big, beautiful boys?” she crooned to them in a gentle undertone. “Or are you a little girl, Pastie? I hope so. Oggy isn’t a nice name for a girl, is it?”
Rowan exchanged a glance with Morwenna. She didn’t look surprised.
“Elys has always liked dogs, and horses and cats too, I believe.” Morwenna looked at Elizabeth with something akin to sadness. “We played with all the animals, even the sheep, when we were children here together.”
“Were you friends then?” Rowan asked.
“As much as cousins can be. Our parents left us with the grandparents, so we were stranded here. Not that we cared. The four of us—Senara, too, sometimes—often played—” Her voice broke. She blinked hard several times, then turned away, rubbing her lower back. “Do you care if I sit?”
“Of course not.” Rowan turned back to Elizabeth, who now knelt before the dogs, holding the massive front paw of one and allowing the other to prop his muzzle on her shoulder.
She glanced up, smiling. “Are they not dear?”
“I believe they are deerhounds.” Rowan grinned too.
She wrinkled her nose in a way that made him want to kiss it. “That was a poor pun. Conan didn’t have these dogs before. He’d a yappy little terrier who hated everyone except him.”
“That was the one who disappeared,” Morwenna said.
“I heard.” Elizabeth stroked the female’s neck, and the male butted his head under her chin. “But I didn’t hear how.” She wrapped an arm around each dog despite the quantity of gray hair they left on her pelisse.
“Someone took it,” Morwenna said. “His rooms were locked.”
Elizabeth startled. “Why would anyone steal an old dog?”
“To remind him he might be the lord letting them use his beach and caves, but they—the smugglers—rule in these parts. And in the end—” Tears suddenly spilled down Morwenna’s cheeks. She covered her face with her hands, and her shoulders shook, though no sound emerged.
Rowan took a step forward, realized going to her comfort was inappropriate for a mere secretary, and went to Elizabeth instead to help her to her feet. The dogs abandoned her to rush to Morwenna’s side, laying their heads in her lap, nuzzling her arms.
Elizabeth took Rowan’s proffered hands and allowed him to raise her to her feet. She didn’t immediately let go, but stood staring at him with something like panic shadowing her eyes. “Morwenna never cries,” she said barely above a whisper.
“Apparently she does.” A glance over his shoulder showed him Morwenna wiping her eyes on the sleeves of her gown. “Miss Trelawny, can we do anything to help?”
“Can you bring Conan ba
ck to life? Or ensure I stay alive long enough to—” She laid her hands on her belly.
Elizabeth’s cheeks bloomed roses, and her hands tightened on Rowan’s. She held his gaze for a moment as though trying to say something to him she didn’t speak aloud, then she released him and crossed the room to kneel before her cousin.
The dogs shouldered against her, and she wrapped an arm around each as though needing their comfort and strength.
Rowan strode up behind her, wishing she’d lean against him for strength instead of a couple of smelly canines. He held his hands behind his back so he didn’t rest them on her shoulders or, even better, kneel beside her and take over support from the dogs.
Morwenna glanced from her cousin to Rowan, and back to Elizabeth. “Why are you on the floor, Elys? Or here at all?”
“Why are you still weeping for Conan?” Elizabeth released the dogs and spread her hands before her as though wanting to, but unable to bring herself to the point of reaching out to Morwenna. “I never knew the two of you were such particular friends, or that you even liked one another above half.”
“No.” Morwenna looked past Elizabeth, met Rowan’s gaze for a moment, then stared at her hands crossed over her belly. Her hair fell into her face and stuck on her still damp cheeks. She looked so young, too young to be a mother, sad, and alone without anyone to brush back her hair for her or bring her a handkerchief. Rowan’s heart ached for her and for Elizabeth, and a spark of rage against the older Trelawnys ignited inside him.
All the older Trelawnys deserved his wrath, the grandparents especially. They made claims of loving the Lord and wanting the best for their grandchildren, yet they showed no mercy to Drake or Morwenna. And they told Elizabeth some nonsense about Penvenan needing her dowry to free his slaves in order to manipulate her into marrying the new baron. Even if Penvenan had made up the bambury tale, the Trelawnys chose to impart the information to bend Elizabeth to their will. Under that kind of a regime, how could they expect their grandchildren to repent of their waywardness?
“You know the grandparents will likely lock you in your room if they learn you’ve been here,” Morwenna was saying.
“Yes, most likely.” Elizabeth didn’t move.
And Rowan ground his teeth. Elizabeth would never accept unconditional love with her family for examples.
“But I need to talk to you.” Elizabeth twisted her hands before her, then, at last, reached out and grasped her cousin’s. “Morwenna, Mr. Curnow believes Conan is the father of your baby. Is he right?”
Morwenna paled, and the knuckles of her hands grew so white her grip must hurt Elizabeth. Neither of them moved. Morwenna didn’t speak.
“Morwenna.” Elizabeth’s voice was so gentle, Rowan couldn’t resist reaching out to her and resting his hand on her shoulder. It felt as stiff as a horsehair-filled cushion. He rested his other hand on her other shoulder and began to gently knead the taut muscles.
She never moved her attention from Morwenna. “Row—um, Mr. Curnow thinks that is why you’re in danger.”
Morwenna shot a glance at Rowan, then dropped her eyes to his hands. A faint smile touched her lips. “He has interesting notions, does your Mr. Curnow.”
“He’s not my—” Elizabeth released her cousin’s hands and covered his. “Stop that.”
Rowan stopped, but didn’t move his hands. “Miss Morwenna, Conan asked me to watch over you and ensure your safety. Why would he do that if he didn’t think you were in danger? Why would he warn you of danger if it were not true? And why would you be in danger unless you know more of his death than you’ve said to the authorities? But then, he didn’t know he was going to die, so—”
“All right.” Morwenna flung up her hands. “Yes, it’s true. Conan is the father. So now that you know, Elizabeth, run home and tell the grandparents you know the truth behind my indecent condition.” She smiled with a twist to her upper lip. “Of course, then you have to admit you came calling on me without a chaperone and with this mere secretary of Lord Penvenan’s.”
CHAPTER 21
ELIZABETH’S HANDS CLUTCHED ROWAN’S, THEN SHE snatched them away and scrambled to her feet.
One of the dogs whined and pushed closer to Morwenna.
Morwenna fixed Elizabeth with her dark eyes shining, and a smile curving her lush little mouth. “They won’t be so quick to give you everything if they know how you carry on behind their backs.”
“I do not . . . carry on.” Elizabeth’s heart raced as though she were running.
She had carried on behind their backs the day before, deceived them for a few hours of play—hours that would lose her everything if they learned the truth, especially that embrace, the proposal, the temptation . . .
“I do not carry on,” she repeated. Not like you. And with Conan.
The truth confirmed sent a surge of pent-up energy through her, a desire to kick something.
“How could you?” She lashed out with words. “He is not—was not—lowborn like Sam Carn and the rest of your paramours, you trollop, you fusty—”
Gently, but firmly, Rowan laid his fingers across her lips. “Leave off the street cant, Elys.”
Elizabeth shoved his hand away. “Street cant suits her. Did you think he would marry you?”
Morwenna looked away, her chin wobbling. “Yes.”
“But he knew better than to ally himself—”
“I think that’s enough, Elizabeth.” That low, drawling voice cut across her taunt like a saber through an enemy.
She jerked back a step. “How dare you tell me when I’ve said enough?”
“Words once spoken can’t be taken back. I don’t want you to regret something you say.”
Elizabeth’s mouth went dry at the admonition from a man she thought she could manage like Morwenna managed men. He claimed he adored her. He wanted an alliance with her for something. He should let her get away with whatever she liked.
But of course he should not. And she did not want him to.
Her regard for him rose at the same time her regard for Conan plummeted.
“I never thought Conan would treat a lady, at least by birth, in such an immoral way.” She barely got the words out as her throat clogged with unshed tears. “He was kind and decent.”
“He was.” Morwenna’s tears fell freely. “And he intended to marry me.”
“Then why did he not?” Elizabeth lashed out the question.
“Do you know how difficult and expensive a special license is?” Morwenna demanded.
Elizabeth’s nostrils flared. “And you couldn’t have the banns called?”
“No.”
“Why not? He wanted to wed you in secret so he could keep from admitting he had taken the village—”
“I think,” Rowan broke in again, “we should let Miss Morwenna explain herself without epithets.”
Another rebuke. Elizabeth’s ears burned. Her cheeks blazed. She pressed her hands to her face and discovered they shook.
He sounded like he didn’t approve of her. He was looking at Morwenna with kindness, if not approval.
Knees suddenly weak, Elizabeth sank onto the nearest chair and fixed her gaze on her cousin. “Then tell me why no banns? You know the grandparents would have approved of the union.”
“They would love an alliance between the two houses, though they wanted Conan to marry you.” Morwenna wiped her eyes on her sleeve again.
Elizabeth reached into one of her pockets for a handkerchief, but Rowan got his out first.
Morwenna thanked him, wiped her eyes and nose, and continued.
“He feared for my safety. He feared if we did something as public as a reading of the banns in church, the gang would use me to keep him working with them.” She clutched, released, and clutched the handkerchief. “He even feared all the Trelawnys might be in danger, like Drake and you and even your parents and mine, if they ever come home, and the grandparents. He’s been afraid for Senara too, and wanted to sell Penmara, except for the entail, but
was considering abandoning it and moving to America. It’s not as though he’s doing—” She gulped. “It’s not as if he were doing the tenants any good, and the mines are all closed and . . .” She began to sob in raucous, hiccupping gasps.
The dogs crowded close to her. Rowan crouched before her and covered her restless hands with his. He murmured something Elizabeth couldn’t hear over Morwenna’s weeping. From the expression of compassion on his face, it was kind, soothing, even affectionate, as though he and Morwenna held a relationship about which Elizabeth knew nothing and no one intended to tell her. He appeared to care about Morwenna.
Elizabeth didn’t begrudge Morwenna the comfort. Why should she care if Lord Penvenan’s secretary offered Morwenna some understanding in her bereavement?
Because he says he loves you.
She was a vain cat, she was, begrudging Morwenna comfort because Rowan Curnow was the one doing the consoling. A horrifying notion shot through Elizabeth. What if Rowan offered to give Morwenna as much respectability as she could have? The baby would be his by law. They might be wrong about Grandpapa. He might be happy to give him Morwenna’s dowry, more than enough to set up a man for life.
Rowan didn’t need to marry Elizabeth for her inheritance. He could have Morwenna for hers—Morwenna who was so pretty even in her condition. Perhaps even more so. She was even beautiful weeping. She was small and possessed glossy ringlets, big dark eyes, and pink roses in her cheeks. No one would ever give her the sobriquet of ice-blue ice maiden.
Pain shot through Elizabeth’s heart, sharp enough she wished she could abandon her upbringing enough to howl like Morwenna. Elizabeth had allowed the less admirable side of her nature to break through her reserve because she thought what she said to Morwenna in front of Rowan Curnow didn’t matter. So what if he thought her vicious to her cousin? Morwenna had been more than vicious to Elizabeth all their lives, taunting her about her height, her straight hair, her pale eyes. One point Elizabeth always won over Morwenna was in good behavior, even in her tongue in front of others. Yet she’d behaved badly in that area today, and too late, with the words or implied epithets flung at her cousin, realized everyone in the room mattered. Morwenna had been hurt enough by Conan and now both his and her families, and needed kindness, not criticism. And Rowan mattered because he was Rowan. Kind and generous, forthright and intelligent Rowan Curnow—
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