With renewed confidence, she raised her chin—“A lady never walks with her head hung low, Gwynna,” Sophia had said—and sauntered through the crowds. She passed by older women seated on cushioned chairs and a group of giggling girls sipping drinks from shining glasses.
She wouldn’t mind a drink right now, but she couldn’t afford her tongue any looseness. Instead, she moved to the refreshment table, dodging behind a young woman’s oversized feather to hide from the footmen. After pouring herself a small glass of lemonade, she stepped a short distance away from the servants and took a sip. The cool liquid slid down her throat and spread through her limbs like a frozen fire. She longed to down the entire glass in one swig, but Sophia had warned her against such behavior.
Instead, Gwynna took another miniscule taste and swirled the drink around in her mouth, watching the dancers and wondering how she’d grown so comfortable so quickly.
Perhaps she was born to be a lady.
She eyed her lemonade, the cloudy yellow liquid slightly frosting the glass. She’d better avoid this drink, too. The sugar was going straight to her head.
Instead of putting it aside, however, she happily took another drink. What did it matter if she was carefree and confident?
No one would recognize her that evening anyway.
* * *
Jack entered the bustling ballroom with a satisfied smile. The dancing had already begun, and the music was lively. This would be just the sort of thing to distract him.
The weight from his shoulders shifted—it never completely departed—and he removed any lingering thoughts about Father and the new investors’ meeting from which he’d excused himself.
“You’re leaving?” Father had asked. “But we’ve hardly begun.”
“My apologies, Father, but I believe my cousins are anxious for entertainment this evening.”
It hadn’t been a lie. Jack’s cousins, Hugh and Amy Paxton, whom he’d brought with him from Bath, weren’t accustomed to sitting at home often. So when Father’s business acquaintance—a Mr. Hawkins, was it?—had invited him to attend a ball that evening, he’d readily agreed.
The Paxton siblings had proven valuable assets in keeping Jack busy and away from Father, for they required entertainment often. Apart from the first day, of course, when they’d chosen to rest at home while Jack was coerced into spending the day at the mine with Father.
It was unfortunate Hugh and Amy’s parents were off gallivanting around the Lake District. They could have provided even more of a distraction.
Jack set aside his thoughts and pulled his mind back to the present. He’d never been inside Fynwary Hall, always passing it from the outside with Mama on their occasional carriage ride to St. Just. It was a grand house, from what he’d seen of it, but he’d been witness to more lavish ballrooms in Bath. Either way, he was more interested in admiring the women than the lights or flooring. Ladies were the best sort of distraction, even more so than a drink or gambling, as he’d discovered since kicking the habits.
Women didn’t leave him with splitting headaches and regret.
Not usually, anyway. And not with too much regret that he wasn’t able to shuffle it to the back of his mind where he could no longer feel the effects of it.
“It certainly is livelier than I imagined it to be.” Hugh, standing at Jack’s left, eagerly eyed the women around him. “You told us Cornwall was quite lacking in a societal aspect, cousin.”
“That is because he does not like Cornwall. Do you, Jack?”
Jack turned to Hugh’s sister, Amy, who stood on the other side of Jack. She raised a blonde brow and curved her lip.
“I’m not particularly partial to it, no,” he replied.
That wasn’t exactly true. He’d once loved living in Cornwall, being near the ocean and enjoying the sights as any Cornishman did. He’d wandered the cliffsides with Mama hundreds of times as she’d point out the jackdaws and seagulls, the pink sea thrift and yellow gorse.
Now, Cornwall was simply tainted with the memory of her death.
“I really am impressed with the quality of females here,” Hugh continued. “They are much better than I anticipated.”
Two women passed by, smiling behind their flitting fans. Jack tipped his head in greeting.
“Hugh,” Amy scolded once they passed, leaning forward past Jack to scowl at her brother. “You mustn’t speak such things. We are not livestock to be appraised.”
Hugh smirked. “Are you not valued in the same regard? Breeding, beauty, ability to birth?” He paused, raising his brow. “Weight. Am I not correct in saying so, Jack?”
Jack didn’t understand Hugh’s incessant teasing of his poor sister, but he wasn’t about to jump in between yet another sibling argument. The carriage ride to Cornwall had been filled with their quarreling.
Amy’s lips tightened in a frown. “You will never marry, brother.”
“Who says I wish to marry? Jack and I shall remain single forever, by choice. Will we not, cousin?”
Jack and Hugh had spent most of their growing up together in Bath, privately tutored at Hugh’s home before attending Cambridge. There, they’d decided that they would never marry. Hugh said remaining single was easier, and while Jack agreed, his dislike for marriage ran far deeper than a desire for ease of life. Mama’s death had seen to that.
“Yes, I’m afraid marriage is not in my future,” he finally agreed.
Abruptly, Amy spun on her heel and stalked away across the ballroom. Jack stared after her in confusion. Typically, she could rebuff Hugh’s teasing with her own wit, but since coming to Cornwall, she’d been behaving strangely.
“What’s the matter with her?” he asked.
“Womanly troubles. I’d put my money on it, if I were a betting man. Which I am.” Hugh grinned. “Speaking of which, shall we agree upon the usual wager this evening?”
Jack waited until Amy disappeared into the masses before he responded. “We may as well do something to make the evening more entertaining.”
“Excellent. The prize?”
Jack observed a woman in a deep green gown as she performed the steps to the dance flawlessly. “If you win, I’ll buy you a drink. If I win…you must agree to never leave me alone with my father again.”
He ignored Hugh’s pensive gaze by finding a woman dressed in white to stare at next.
“Jack, you’ll have to speak with him at some point. You know that’s why he brought you to Cornwall in the first place, to discuss your future here.”
“I have no future here.”
“You haven’t any desire to speak with him? Not even the slightest? He is your father, after all.”
Jack bristled. “In word alone. My father is not like yours.”
Mr. Paxton, Father’s distant cousin and Hugh and Amy’s father, was a kind gentleman. He’d attempted to take Jack in as his own, but Jack didn’t need another father. Not when his own had disappointed him so greatly.
Instead, he’d kept him at arm’s length—the same distance he kept everyone.
Hugh smoothed his fingers along the side of his hair, the nervous tick that signaled his desire to end a conversation. Jack was more than willing to oblige.
“So, have we an agreement?” Jack asked.
“Yes, I will agree to those terms. And you?”
Jack nodded.
“Then let the best blackguard win.” Hugh winked, then slipped seamlessly into the crowds.
Jack stared after him, straightening his jacket lapel as he attempted to disregard the guilt that always accompanied the game he played with his cousin—seeing who could end their evening with a kiss from a lady first. The wager was just a little something to make otherwise dull evenings livelier, as Jack was not inclined to the mundanity of social events.
After three years of the game, however, assuaging his conscience was getting more and more difficult. This was not due to his worry over what people might think of him for later evading those women whom he’d kissed. Most of them
treated him with the same avoidance anyway. Nor was the guilt due to his deservedly spoiled reputation, as he cared very little for Society’s opinions.
Any thought of his mother, though, and he was finished. He could only imagine how appalled she’d be of him using women in such a way—taking their affections to dam his emotions like the annoying, perpetual river that they were.
That was the reason he did not dwell on her for too long. Thoughts of Mama, or any memory of his lost childhood, led only to sorrow, which in turn led to drinking.
The one thing that helped him avoid doing just that?
Women.
But now wasn’t the time for such thoughts, not when so much was at stake. He knew Hugh would help him avoid his father if he obtained the first kiss or not, but the man had won the last three times, and Jack was in need of a victory—and a kiss.
He linked his hands behind his back and scoured the room. A woman in yellow laughed heartily nearby, doubling over at whatever her friend had said to her. Drink sloshed from the top of her glass, and she pulled back with a hand to her mouth.
Jack needed someone jolly, someone who wouldn’t mind sneaking outside to the rose gardens he’d spotted from the window. This woman dressed like the sunshine was not one to be considered, though, as she could hardly give coherent consent.
Even though he enjoyed kissing women as much as the next man, he wasn’t a total blackguard like Hugh had suggested.
He stepped around the room, nearing the refreshment table and spotting another young woman with a large feather nearly shading her head from the light cast by the chandeliers. Her eyes trailed up and down his person with a demure smile.
She would do nicely.
He took a step toward her, but after a quick glance to the left of her, he paused, captured instead by a woman in a soft pink gown, swaying from side to side.
She glanced around her, as if ensuring she was not being watched, then in one swift movement, she swigged the rest of her lemonade.
A silent laugh escaped Jack’s lips. He’d never seen a woman do such a thing before.
When the last drop had been swallowed, she lowered the glass to the table, swiped her glove across her mouth, then straightened.
His eyes dropped to her arm. A small red stain of rouge marked the spot on her glove where she’d touched her lips, but she didn’t notice, walking through the crowd with a contented smile.
Unwittingly, he took a few steps forward as she weaved her way round the couples. Now that the glass no longer hid half of her face, he could better see her pretty features. He narrowed his eyes. There was something familiar about her.
Every other woman in the room, with their colorful dresses and feather headpieces, fled from his mind as he tried to place the lady in pink.
He’d absolutely seen her before, but where? In Bath? A woman he’d passed by on the street? Or was she someone from his childhood?
She seemed in an entirely different world as she watched those around her. Her full lips held the hint of a smile, as if she was keeping a secret, and her eyes…
They met his across the room, and suddenly, he knew. Those amber eyes, sparkling in the ballroom—wide, innocent, and suddenly filled with fright—were the same as those he’d taken notice of in the dim light of the counthouse at Wheal Favour.
Now what exactly was a bal maiden doing, attending a ball dressed as a lady?
Chapter Three
Gwynna’s mouth parted, her eyes rounding as shock usurped her ability to move. The lemonade she’d just gulped down bubbled in her stomach.
He was here. Why was he here?
Mr. Jack Trevethan’s eyes honed in on her, a half-smile tugging at his lips. An invisible force latched her feet to the ground, preventing her escape until he advanced toward her.
Finally, his movement jerked her limbs awake.
Whirling around, she fled through the crowds, ignoring the looks of surprise by those she rushed past.
A quick glance over her shoulder affirmed that she’d escaped just in time. The gentleman was no longer in sight, but if he was there, would his father be also? Could she remain at the ball a moment longer and risk being discovered by them both?
Her lungs burned as if she’d breathed in powdered ore. What a fool she’d been that evening, thinking she could leave her true life behind. Her deceit of others, her arrogance, had brought her down swiftly. She deserved to be discovered.
She ducked past the footmen by the refreshment table and skipped past the dancers until she spotted Sophia walking near the edge of the room, arm-in-arm with her husband.
The Hawkinses were a perfect painting of joy, their doting eyes focused on only each other as they made their way through the crowds.
Gwynna and Sophia had agreed to keep some distance between each other to avoid suspicion from others about their closeness, but she had no choice but to break their directive now. She was leaving the ball, that very minute.
As she approached, Sophia’s eyes brightened, but her brow soon crumpled with worry. “What has happened?”
“Mr. Trevethan,” Gwynna began breathlessly, “he be here, lookin’ right at me.”
Sophia shook her head, lowering her voice. “No, he said he couldn’t attend this evening.”
“Mr. Jack Trevethan,” Gwynna clarified.
“Ah, yes.”
Sophia and Gwynna swung their eyes up to meet Mr. Hawkins as he casually piped up.
“You knew of his attendance?” Sophia asked her husband.
Taken aback, he nodded matter-of-factly. “Of course. I invited him to attend only this morning, while I was on business with his father.”
Gwynna’s hands flew to her cheeks, and Sophia flinched, the only tell of her calm exterior faltering. “My dear, do you not see the problem you’ve created?”
He glanced between the women before his eyes rounded. “Gwynna, you know Jack Trevethan?”
Gwynna nodded, her hands sliding down her cheeks before dropping to her sides. “I met ‘im, not four days past.”
Regret sunk in his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I truly hadn’t any notion. I thought, what with him arriving only a few days ago, he wouldn’t know you. When I met with him, he and his cousins seemed rather desperate for entertainment, so I thought tonight…”
Sophia placed a comforting hand on his upper arm. “All is well, my dear. It was a simple mistake.”
“‘Tis true,” Gwynna agreed, not blind to his suffering. “I don’t blame ye for not knowin’. But…I’d best leave now, ‘fore he has chance to see me closer.”
Sophia hesitated. “Are you quite certain? You haven’t even had the opportunity to dance yet.”
“It be for the best, Sophia.”
Sophia wrung her hands together. “Are you certain he established it was you?” She faced her husband. “You hardly recognized her from across the room. Isn’t that right, my dear?”
Mr. Hawkins affirmed his wife’s words with a nod.
Gwynna glanced over her shoulder for what had to be the hundredth time. What she wouldn’t give to move their conversation to the alcove behind the curtains, but the host and hostess couldn’t very well disappear from their own ball.
“Per’aps that be the truth, but…” Her words trailed off. The regret in Mr. Hawkins’s eyes, and the pleading in Sophia’s, made her hesitate. “Ye really believe he didn’t recognize me?”
The husband and wife simultaneously nodded. Mr. Hawkins leaned forward. “Even if he did, he might keep quiet on the matter. He seemed a decent fellow, quite like his father.”
Gwynna longed to believe his words, hope trickling into the empty chasm of her chest. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to leave early. Perhaps she could remain hidden or simply—
“Excuse me?”
Her stomach dropped, the sinking sensation causing her legs to drain of all feeling. It was he. It had to be Mr. Jack Trevethan.
She couldn’t stifle her sigh of relief when she turned to see not Mr. Trevethan standing beside
her, but another gentleman entirely.
“Pardon me for interrupting,” the man continued, “but Mrs. Hawkins asked for me to find her earlier.” He cast a hesitant glance at Sophia.
If Gwynna wasn’t scared out of her wits, she’d probably find him very handsome, what with his softened brow and kind countenance. Now, she could hardly appreciate his good looks.
Sophia finally responded, and relief swiped across the gentleman’s face. “Oh, yes, of course. I’m so happy you’ve found us. Allow me to introduce to you my friend and Mr. Hawkins’s cousin, Miss Joanna Bell. Miss Bell, this is Mr. Graham Davy.”
Gwynna blanched. Mr. Hawkins’s cousin? Joanna Bell? She shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course Sophia would still expect her to play the part of the lady, to use the false identity they’d chosen for her weeks ago.
She most certainly was no longer in the mood to play these games, but she couldn’t very well allow this Mr. Davy to know Sophia was lying.
“Good evenin’,” she forced out.
Mr. Davy bowed, and Gwynna returned the gesture with a curtsy, though it felt far less graceful than she’d hoped. At least she’d remembered to move slowly. Sophia had told her it wasn’t ladylike to “bounce up like a spring wildflower.”
“A pleasure, Miss Bell,” Mr. Davy said. “Mrs. Hawkins has spoken of your keen ability to dance, and I am anxious to discover the talent for myself. That is, if you are not yet occupied for the next set.”
Her mouth opened and closed in silence, not unlike a beached fish, which, incidentally, she was feeling more like every second—unable to breathe, out of place, an imposter.
How could she be expected to dance, knowing Mr. Trevethan’s eyes could find her at any moment? It was hard enough to remember all the steps without the added pressure.
Sophia’s laughter broke through the silence. “As you can see, Mr. Davy, our cousin is incorrigibly shy. I’m certain she would love to dance with you, providing you do most of the talking.”
Gwynna had a mind to tug on one of Sophia’s perfectly curled ringlets, but when she spotted the look of pleading in her friend’s eye, she was struck with understanding and shame.
Near the Ruins of Penharrow (A Cornish Romance Book 3) Page 4