She opened her mouth to speak, but no words emerged. In no way could she say what she wanted to. Why were you talking to my cousin? Why can’t you stay here in Cornwall? How can I ever believe you love me?
“You should call on your cousin, Miss Trelawny,” Rowan said. “She’s lonely and frightened.”
Elizabeth took a half step closer. “Nothing’s happened to her, has it?”
“She has the dogs to guard her, but as her time draws near, she grows—” He broke off, his gaze flashing past her shoulder. “Good day, Miss Trelawny.” He passed her to go to the rear of the group of children and deposit the crate of slates on the grass.
Elizabeth stared after him for a moment, then continued to give her message to Mrs. Pascoe. After that, she turned to retrace her steps to where Grandmama directed all the festivities from the porch of the church.
Lord Penvenan reached her, likely the reason Rowan had strode away so abruptly.
“You look charming today, my dear.” His gaze swept her from the lilac bow on her hat to the white toes of her leather boots. She flinched away as though he’d touched her inappropriately. He didn’t yet have the right to look at her as though he were inspecting a new filly.
She dropped a slight curtsy. “Thank you, my lord. Are you enjoying yourself?”
“I just arrived.” He sounded annoyed.
Of course he would. She should have known he had just arrived.
“I came for the dancing,” he added.
“Oh dear.” Elizabeth glanced at the far end of the green where several musicians were gathering. “This isn’t like dancing in a ballroom, you know. It’s more like a frolic.”
She couldn’t imagine the staid baron kicking up his heels to hop and skip and whirl village girls around on his arm as Rowan had done at the horse fair. As she had been spun about at the horse fair. As they both had done before he drew her aside and kissed her, proposed to her, claimed he loved her.
Would Penvenan make claims of loving her, or just propose?
“It’s rather vigorous dancing.” She spoke too quickly.
Penvenan nodded. “I like to watch, so feel free to join in.”
Elizabeth looked at the first set forming in the golden light of the lowering sun. “That’s all right. I . . .”
The music began with a few tentative notes, then rose to a lilting and joyous melody. The dancers clapped, stomped, and began to move. They whirled past in a shimmering array of blue and crimson skirts and flowing hair, flashing smiles and glimpses of trim ankles.
“Perhaps one set.” She started across the green, Penvenan beside her. “If you truly don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I would enjoy watching you.”
She reached the end of the line of dancers. Sam Carn grasped her hands and spun her into the figure of the set. The movement sent her to the brief holds of miners and farmers, sons of the local gentry . . .
And Rowan Curnow.
He clasped her hand harder than necessary. For a moment, almost long enough to disrupt the rhythm of the lines, he held her gaze; then he handed her off to someone else and vanished into the endlessly shifting lines.
Feeling as though her boots had been created for feet twice the size of hers, Elizabeth freed herself from the set the next time she came to the head of the line. Penvenan waited for her. He grasped her hand and strode away from the revelers so swiftly she had to lengthen her stride to keep up with him. With a slight shift of her head, she caught sight of Rowan sauntering away from the dancers, his hands in his pockets, as though he didn’t have a care in the world.
Except he raised his head and met her gaze from across the growing greensward between them, and even at the distance, she saw his eyes looked bleak.
Her heart squeezed. She tried to tug her hand free of Penvenan’s. “I’d like to find something to drink, my lord.”
“In a bit we will.” He laced his fingers with hers, decreasing her chances of breaking free without a scene. “Let’s rest here a moment.” He climbed the steps to the church porch.
Grandmama had vacated the location sometime in the past half an hour.
Penvenan took a seat on a bench and drew Elizabeth down beside him. “We can talk undisturbed here.”
“I’m needed to help clean things up.”
“Not at all. You’ve done your share of work for one day.”
“But Grandmama—”
“Knows you’re here.” He smiled. He patted her hand. He dropped onto one knee before her.
Behind him, several people stopped to stare.
“My lord, we have an audience.” Her glance darted back to him, to the audience, to his lordship. “Please stand. I cannot accept—”
“I thought to wait a little longer to know one another better,” he continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “But I believe more time is merely wasting it.”
“Please, do not waste your breath on my account. I cannot—” She caught sight of Rowan on the far side of the green in conversation with Sam Carn. Her mouth went dry. Words dried like apples in an oven.
“I would be honored if you will consent to becoming my—”
Elizabeth stood. “My lord, I tried to spare you embarrassment, but I cannot accept your kind offer. I . . . I do not wish to wed anyone.” Seeing Rowan striding away from Sam Carn, she added, “Anyone I do not accept loves me.”
“Surely you know I do.” Penvenan remained on one knee.
Elizabeth edged away. “No, my lord, I have no reason to think or believe it. Now, please excuse me. I need to be alone.” She turned and entered the sanctuary.
Behind her the audience to the humiliating scene murmured. A few applauded.
Elizabeth didn’t stop inside the church. She continued up the aisle to the door behind the little-used choir stall, drew back the bolts, and descended the steps to a hedgerow-lined lane behind the church. Penvenan did not immediately pursue her. The church, the hall, and a half dozen houses and shops blocked the music and laughter from the lane. The crunch of Elizabeth’s boots sounded loud. The lane seemed unnaturally dark after the brightness of the open green. She needed to return there, to light and noise and so many people Penvenan couldn’t importune her to marry him again.
She should have nipped it in the bud before it happened. But until that last glimpse of Rowan before Penvenan dragged her onto the porch, she considered the marriage in the way of all arranged marriages—if they got on well enough, it was a good match. But she didn’t want good enough. She wanted to be loved. Not for a moment did she believe Penvenan loved her. Admired her perhaps, but not with soul-deep love. She knew she didn’t love him.
But he had decided to follow her. The footfalls crunched behind her, swift and heavy. She increased her pace. He mustn’t catch her alone, out of sight of the village. Another thirty yards brought the end of the building. She could round the corner to sunlight and air smelling of roasting meat, not damp earth and the scent of her own overly heated skin.
Thirty yards looked like thirty miles with the footfalls drawing near. She grabbed her skirt, ready to outright run. Twenty-five yards. Twenty.
The blow caught her between the shoulder blades. She staggered, emitting a gasping cry. The footfalls ceased. The shrubbery rustled.
She started to run, heard Rowan accusing her of always running, and spun to confront her pursuer, her attacker. Behind her, someone shouted her name. Before her, silver flashed in a shaft of sunlight between two roof peaks. She screamed and flung herself back and to the side—
And the blade merely tore through the sleeve of her spencer.
She sank to her knees, her hands pressed to her middle. If she had eaten all day, she would have been sick. Her stomach roiled as though a thousand gulls fought over one fish. Her head spun. But her gaze remained fixed on the slice of silver gleaming on the dusty track.
“Elys.” Rowan was there beside her, kneeling on the ground, his arm encircling her shoulders. “Did it hit you? Where are you hurt?”
�
��Just my sleeve. Something struck my back, and I lost my balance for a moment. And then—” Her eyes went out of focus, and she laid her head against his broad, solid shoulder, crushing her hat, sending her hair spilling over them both. “Someone threw a knife at me. I forgot I shouldn’t be alone and someone—” She began to shake. Her teeth chattered. Her chest heaved. Even the toes of her boots scraped against the ground. “Someone tried to ki-ki-kill—”
“Shh.” He shifted his position so he held her in both arms. “Hush, my beloved, hush. You’re safe now.”
“I’m not. I never will be.” She buried her face against the soft wool of his coat, inhaled the scent of the sea and sunshine-dried linen and him. His warmth seeped into her. She nestled closer, seeking shelter.
Except a killer ran free beyond the hedgerow.
“Who?” Her voice was a mere croak. “Why?”
“I don’t know who. He wore a hat pulled down too low to show his face. As for why . . .” His arms tightened. “You got yourself engaged to Lord Penvenan.”
“But I didn’t.” She raised her head and met his eyes, nearly black in the shadowy alleyway. “I turned him down. Didn’t everyone see me walking away from him?”
“They saw him follow you into the church and thought the two of you were”—he swallowed—“were making wedding plans.”
Nearly everyone in the parish had seen and presumed the betrothal was complete. And someone wished to harm those connected too closely with Penmara.
Another tremor ran through her. “It’s true, then. These men are serious in their threats. I may never be safe here. My home. My sanctuary. My only ref-refuge—” Tears blurred her vision, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
“Don’t cry.” He kissed her closed lids. “This will make the riding officers look harder to learn the identities of the local gang.” He kissed her cheek. “Maybe you and Morwenna should go away until this is over.”
She opened her mouth to protest this notion, and he kissed her.
She forgot about knives, fear, and envy of her cousin’s beauty. She forgot about Penvenan’s proposal and her need to always be good . . . She remembered how much she loved the warm firmness of Rowan’s lips on hers. She nestled against him and raised her hands to cup his face, her palms rasping on the stubble of a day’s whisker growth, his hair satin soft in contrast.
I love you. I love you. I must love you, rang in her head, rose to her lips, stopped as he kissed her again.
The revels receded into another world, the rhythm of the music lost beneath the pulse of her heart. Warmth stole through her, though a shiver skimmed over her skin.
“Miss Tre-law-ny?” The drawn out call of her name slammed Elizabeth back to the hard earth of Cornwall, the lane where a knife still lay in the dirt.
Rowan released his hold on her and caught hold of her hands to draw her to her feet. “Constable Carn, you’re just the man we need.”
“What happened?” The constable looked at Elizabeth. “We heard a scream. Was that you, Miss Trelawny?”
“Yes.” She began to fasten the top buttons on her spencer for warmth. “I was—”
Suddenly, the lane filled with more people—Lord Penvenan, Mr. Kitto, and Grandpapa. All but Grandpapa surrounded Rowan and the knife, as well as a fist-sized stone Elizabeth hadn’t noticed before.
Grandpapa grasped Elizabeth’s elbow with a strength belying his age. “I am sending you home with three of our servants. You will go to your room and stay there.” His face softened. “For your safety.”
“I need to stay here and help explain—”
“I was looking for Lord Penvenan to tell him I was returning to Penmara,” Rowan was explaining. “When I didn’t see anyone in the church, I came around back—”
“You can do your explaining to your grandmother and me. Right now, I think you need quiet and rest.” Grandpapa’s hold compelled her gently forward. “We will send for you when we settle things here.”
“But someone tried to hurt me.”
“I know.” A vein throbbed against Grandpapa’s temple as he touched her torn sleeve. “And Rowan Curnow conveniently rescued you.”
Elizabeth stiffened. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you need to be someplace less public than this. Now, here are your escorts. Go. Carn and I will question everyone here to learn if they saw anything.”
No one would have. No one ever did. If they knew nothing of Conan’s murder, they wouldn’t risk their lives and families for the Trelawny who had left them for London.
Grandpapa released her to the care of three footmen, none of whom would disobey his order to see she went nowhere but Bastion Point and stayed there.
Bastion Point, her sanctuary, her refuge, had become a prison.
CHAPTER 24
THE SUMMONS ARRIVED AN HOUR LATER. GRANDMAMA’S maid had arrived to assist Elizabeth in changing into a fresh dress and pin up her hair, then left her without more than a dozen words exchanged. At the end of an hour’s wait, a footman arrived to tell Elizabeth the grandparents awaited her on the terrace.
She descended with head high and indifferent mask in place. The long, silver fringe of her shawl hid a trembling in her hands as she stepped onto the terrace.
“Sit down.” Grandpapa indicated a chair with the bowl of his unlit pipe.
Elizabeth preferred to stand, but perched on the edge of the chair, her toes drawn beneath the hem of her spangled crepe gown.
“What were you doing in that back lane?” Grandpapa demanded without preamble.
Beside him, Grandmama poured cups of tea as though this were nothing more than a quiet evening at home without guests.
Elizabeth laced her fingers through her fringe and made herself look Grandpapa in the eye. “I slipped out the back door of the church to escape Lord Penvenan.”
“You acted as though he were some kind of villain, child,” Grandmama gently admonished.
Elizabeth ground her teeth. “He was making a fool of himself and me by proposing so publicly and then not taking my no for an answer.”
“But why was no your answer?” Grandpapa lifted a candle from the table and lit his pipe.
A smoke Elizabeth once found comforting and pleasant stung her nostrils and brought tears to her eyes. She blinked and looked away. “I don’t love him. Lately I haven’t even liked him enough to want to go on a ride with him, let alone spend a lifetime yoked with him.”
“Is it still the slave issue?” Grandmama asked.
Elizabeth looked from one grandparent to the other and nodded. “I believe he lied to you all about that. I believe he wants my money to reopen the mines.”
Grandmama slid a cup of tea across the table between her and Grandpapa. “Is that what Mr. Curnow says?”
“He does.”
“And how do you feel about this young man?” Grandpapa’s voice sounded like gravel.
Elizabeth focused on the third teacup. “I find him too attractive to consider marrying another man.”
“He seems to have too much interest in you,” Grandmama said.
Grandpapa removed his pipe from his mouth. “Penvenan is sending Curnow back to Charleston as soon as he can arrange passage.”
Elizabeth gripped her fringe. She froze her features. Nothing must give away the ripping open of her heart going on behind her frosty façade.
“He had his arm around you,” Grandpapa said. “And you weren’t protesting.”
“No, I was not. I was understandably distraught.”
And not wanting him to let her go for anything.
“We can all draw conclusions, Elizabeth,” Grandpapa said.
Elizabeth said nothing.
“Have you truly decided to overthrow the regard of a good man for an undeniably fine, but otherwise unsuitable young man?” Tears filled Grandmama’s green eyes. “Are you going the way of your brother and cousin?”
Elizabeth struggled for breath through her frozen throat, for words to pass her breaking heart. “I’ve n
o intention of going either Morwenna’s or Drake’s way, but I’ve chosen to overthrow the attentions of a good man, yes.”
But the grandparents were more concerned with her moral fiber and refusal of Penvenan’s proposal.
Her hands curled into fists on her lap.
“Oh, Elizabeth.” Grandmama shook her head.
Grandpapa’s teeth ground on the stem of his pipe.
Elizabeth rose and began to pace between terrace rail and the grouping of chairs, her hands clasped at her waist to calm the turmoil inside her. “Since I came home in April and Lord Penvenan decided to court me, I’ve done nothing but entertain dull matrons, ply my needle, and go for sedate walks or drives around the countryside. I am barely allowed to ride and then, again, only as sedately as someone on a job horse. I’ve enjoyed only a few gallops on the beach, and been forbidden to swim or go fishing. I may as well have stayed in London.” She pounded her fist on the stone balustrade for emphasis.
“I returned here because it is the only place I’ve ever felt like I do not have to pretend interest in things that bore me to tears. I came home not to be importuned to marry someone in whom I have little interest as a husband other than to please you.” Her mask began to slip.
“I came home to be loved because I am your granddaughter, not a social asset with the right connection. Yet I am confined like Bastion Point is Grosvenor Square and being importuned to marry another old man who wants me for my money. Even if Curnow is wrong and Penvenan wants my dowry to free his slaves, I’d rather give him the funds to free those people than sell my s-soul.”
She barely managed the last word before her throat closed altogether. Tears scalded her eyes, and she spun away to face the garden’s fragrant beauty.
Behind her, chair legs scraped on stone. Fabric rustled. The scent of lilacs flowed around her, though the blossoms had long since faded and fallen from their bushes. Grandmama’s hand closed over Elizabeth’s on the rail—thin, age-spotted, the knuckles growing thick with rheumatism.
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