“Are you not willing to sacrifice everything for Bastion Point?” Grandpapa asked.
Elizabeth whirled to face him. “I beg your pardon?”
The baby began to cry, and Miss Pross picked him up from the cradle. “He’s hungry.”
A beatific smile crossed Morwenna’s face, and she held out her arms.
The grandparents and Elizabeth left Morwenna to see to her baby and descended the steps to the blue sitting room. A footman hastened ahead of them to light candles. With light plentiful, Grandmama settled herself with her needlework.
Grandpapa halted Elizabeth in the center of the room, a hand on her shoulder. “I was proud of you today, Elizabeth. Shocked and appalled at your behavior in spending the night in the company of a gentleman, however innocently, but proud you came forward and saved a fine young man from his own destruction.”
“I had no choice. He didn’t save himself to save me.” She rested her head on Grandpapa’s shoulder wanting to weep, but drained of tears for one day. “He thought keeping my reputation intact and inheriting Bastion Point was more important to me than his life.”
“Obviously they’re not.” Grandpapa set her at arm’s length and looked into her eyes. “How do you feel about Bastion Point now? You know it’s yours.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I never earned it the way you asked. I never worked out what you meant by treasure.”
“But you did. You found the treasure of learning what is more important in life than a house and land and the security they bring—your faith in Jesus and willingness to put others before yourself. Those are the treasures worth having.”
“They are.” Elizabeth started to wring her fingers together at her waist, but stilled them and found something else to smile about. “I’d rather you save it for Morwenna. She needs a clear path to follow.”
“She’ll have Penmara now,” Grandpapa said. “It belongs to that infant upstairs, but she’s his natural guardian.”
“And Penmara will need more money than Austell Penvenan left behind. It’s why he wanted my dowry. Morwenna needs money to build Penmara into a true inheritance for her son. I’ll give up as much as I must, even all of it, so she can do that. I made Bastion Point too important to accept it. I nearly let Rowan hang rather than admit I was with him last night.”
“And the night you arrived in Cornwall.” Grandmother’s mouth was stern, but her eyes twinkled.
Elizabeth jerked back in surprise. “You knew?”
“We’re old, child, not unobservant.” Grandpapa patted her cheek. “My powers of reason haven’t all fled me.”
“Oh, well, um.” Elizabeth rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m appalled that I put property before honor.”
“And love?” Grandmama asked.
Elizabeth bowed her head.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed the grandparents exchange one of those glances that spoke volumes between them, then her grandfather turned back to Elizabeth. “I thought you might say that. And in that event, there’s someone cooling his heels in the garden, waiting to see you.”
“See me?” Elizabeth shoved her fingers into the tangled mass of her hair. She’d changed her dress, but scissors might be the only solution for her hair. “I look terrible.”
“I don’t think he cares what you look like,” Grandmama said.
“Go.” Grandpapa gave her a gentle push toward the door.
Knees wobbling like a newborn foal’s, Elizabeth made her way to the garden parlor and door onto the terrace. A dozen questions, accusations, and proclamations jostled one another through her head until she couldn’t think of two coherent words to put together. She halted on the top step of the terrace and glanced around to find him.
He glided from the shadows of the oak outside her bedchamber window, a stranger, a friend, the man she loved. He paused on the step below her so they stood at eye level. “Rowan Curnow Penvenan at your service, Miss Trelawny.”
The absurdity of the introduction after all they’d been through together loosened Elizabeth’s tongue. “Why didn’t you tell me? I was keeping enough other secrets well enough. Did you think I couldn’t keep yours?”
“I knew you could keep mine well enough.” He took her hand in his and led her down the steps. With her fingers pressed beneath his on the crook of his elbow, he began to stroll along a graveled path between beds of fragrant roses and flowering rhododendrons. “And will you hold it against me that I wanted you to love simple Rowan Curnow, secretary, rather than the son of, as you thought at the time, a peer of the realm?”
Elizabeth winced. “You thought I needed a lesson in humility.”
“I thought you needed to know your own heart free of debris like titles and money.”
She paused at the edge of the herb garden and faced him. “I’ve loved you for weeks.”
“I suspected you did, but nothing told me so clearly as you did when you walked into that church looking like a wanton to everyone there, but an angel to me.” He smoothed his thumb across her cheek.
A frisson of pleasure shivered through her. “As soon as I learned you’d been arrested I knew I had to do it. I didn’t care if you still wanted me as your wife or not. But of course I knew you did. Only a man who loved would be willing to sacrifice himself to protect others.” She tilted her head and peeked at him from beneath her lashes. “Of course, you might have been protecting Morwenna.”
“Only until she was safe.” He reclaimed her hand and resumed their promenade. “I’d have protected your name forever so you could have what you want.”
“Morwenna’s word alone might not have saved you. She may have married Conan a year ago, but her reputation hasn’t been the best since she was fifteen.” She squeezed the hard muscle of his forearm. “And if you’d hanged, I’d have lost what I want—you.”
“Are you sure? Really, really sure?” He stopped in the shadow of a peach tree this time and scrutinized her face. “Penvenan really did disinherit me, from the plantation anyway. It will be sold and the proceeds used to free and relocate the slaves, according to my father’s will. There is, however, a horse farm in Virginia, a house in Alexandria, another house in Philadelphia, and shares in a shipping interest out of New York. None are terribly prosperous, but together they do well enough by me.”
“I still have a substantial dowry, I suppose, but I gave up my claim to Bastion Point.”
He smiled. “I know.”
“You do?” She drew her brows together. “How? I just told Grandpapa.”
“I told him not to send you out to me unless you did.”
“Indeed.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
He laughed. “I didn’t want a wife tied to Cornwall by land and people she’d be responsible for.”
A wife.
Her knees nearly gave way, and her arms fell limply at her sides. There it was—the message she needed to make a momentous decision—the most momentous decision after giving her heart to the Lord.
She gulped. “You . . . you’re going back to America, then.”
“I am.” He took her hands in his. “Will you go with me, Elys? Will you marry me and start a life with me in America?”
She didn’t even have to think about it. “I will.” She kissed him, not at all like that desperate girl at the ball. Once and for all melting the ice-blue ice maiden he had called her.
“Your grandparents can see us, you know,” he murmured against her lips.
“Good. I hope all the servants can as well. It’s past time I stopped hiding my love for you.” And she drew him out of the shadows to kiss him in the light.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
TODAY, A MOVEMENT IS AFOOT IN CORNWALL TO RENEW the Cornish-English language. In the Regency, however, it was considered dead, though a few words lingered amongst the country folk. I’ve chosen not to include those words despite having searched high and low—and finally locating—a Cornish-English dictionary. Spelling and pronunciation are just too difficult.
I have also taken
the liberty to change the spelling of the hero’s name from the Cornish spelling, which is rightfully Ruan or Rouan. Those spellings, when spoken aloud by most English speakers, sound like “ruin.” Since that won’t do, I have chosen to spell the hero’s name in the more familiar English form of Rowan.
Why not simply change his name? When I ran several groupings of other Cornish names through a test group, they said they sounded like something they would find in a science fiction or fantasy novel, with the exception of the popular name Tristan. Tristan is a name I personally love . . . but so much so that I’ve already used it in another Regency romance.
As for the smugglers, they are romanticized in dozens of books, but they were anything but romantic. They were vicious, cruel, and intolerant of even a hint of treachery against them. Secrecy was of utmost importance. Their lives depended on anonymity and honor among thieves.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1. Obedience is a theme in A Lady’s Honor, and in the beginning, Elizabeth is acting against her parents’ wishes for her life. How does she justify this act of disobedience? How is she right? How is she wrong?
2. Elizabeth’s grandparents want her to earn her inheritance. How does this challenge contribute to her belief that love must be earned?
3. In what way, if any, are Elizabeth’s grandparents justified in how they treat her cousins Morwenna and Drake?
4. In the beginning, Rowan justifies his deception by omission. If he is right, how? Or do you think nothing justifies deceit? If you have ever had to mislead someone for a “good” reason, are you willing to share why and how?
5. What are the consequences of Rowan’s deception? How could he have behaved otherwise?
6. Why is believing in the unconditional love of Jesus difficult for Elizabeth?
7. What has helped you believe in unconditional love? Or what makes that belief difficult for you?
8. Why does Elizabeth cling to the material treasures of the world?
9. How do Rowan’s actions at the end of the story help Elizabeth to believe that Jesus loves her without reservation? What about Morwenna’s actions?
10. What wishes for their lives do Senara and Elizabeth have in common? How are they different?
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CONTRARY TO WHAT PEOPLE SAY, WRITING IS NOT A solitary profession. Without a host of people, I would never get through a novel. For this one, a horde of the usual and a few suspects held my sanity intact while I wrote this around a major move and a few other minor crises.
My thanks to Gina Welborn and Patty Smith Hall for reading early chapters to ensure I was on track, as well as taking my slightly panicked phone calls asking, “Does this make sense to you?” They weren’t afraid to say, “No, it doesn’t.” Kathleen Y’Barbo Turner read the entire manuscript and made some great suggestions for clarifying and tightening. The crew on the writer’s accountability Facebook group kept me working because when I reported I intended to finish no less than two thousand words in a specific time period, I knew they were watching to see if I would. They were also encouraging.
Closer to home, I cannot go without expressing my appreciation for my family, even if four of the members have four paws instead of only two. Nick, the crazy golden, gave me great excuses to get out of the house for walks. Bess, the obedient black Labrador, just makes me laugh, which is good for the soul. And the cats . . . Well, my husband says I talk about them far too much, but who can avoid talking about a pile of purring fur lying on one’s desk?
As for the two-legged member of my family, without my husband’s encouragement, I wouldn’t have started writing at all; therefore, he deserves the most thanks.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
RECIPIENT OF THE NATIONAL READERS Choice Award, Laurie Alice Eakes is the author of nine books and a novella, with four more books and two novellas scheduled for release. She is a writing teacher and speaker and has her master’s degree in creative writing. She also writes articles on writing, including “Writing from the Heart While Writing for the Market” for The ACFW Journal.
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