“Well, of course I have. But women tend to—”
“So it be well for ye to defend your rights, but not for we?” She stopped walking, facing him directly. “This be our way o’ life, sir. Per’aps ye ought to learn it ‘fore ye judge.”
His lips parted as he stared down at her. Her cheeks no longer held the red rouge from the night before, replaced instead with dirt from the mine and a healthy ruddiness, no doubt due to her fight. Her hair was twisted back with that same tatty rag from the counthouse, a few stringy strands sliding out from beneath it.
Even still, she had remarkably pretty features. Full lips, though slightly chapped. A petite nose. Amber eyes in the shape of the wide almonds he’d once eaten from the top of a blancmange in Bath.
And the way she stood there, proud and sure of herself, even before a gentleman, was appealing. Appealing and intimidating.
He struggled for something to say under her watchful, accusatory eyes. Why was he faltering for words? He’d never done so before.
“I suppose I’m simply unaccustomed to your ways. I found myself imagining the ladies from the ball last night behaving in the same way and found it rather shocking. Can you imagine them, pulling one another’s hair pins out because of a misplaced glove?”
Was it just his imagination, or did he truly cause a smile on her pretty lips? It was gone before he could tell.
“Well, as I said ‘fore, I be no lady.” She walked away. “Good day, sir.”
She clearly didn’t wish to speak with him any longer, just as she hadn’t before. And yet…
“Where did you learn to fight in such a way?” he asked, catching up with her again. “By practice?”
“Me father and brother taught me.”
“You have a brother? Does he work at the mine, too?”
She pulled her eyes away so he couldn’t see them. “He used to. He died a few months back.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
She didn’t respond. Was her brother’s death the reason she left Wheal Favour? What made her come back?
One question at a time, Jacky. Mama always said he’d had an inquiring mind. Father had said too inquiring.
“To be clear,” Gwynna said, drawing his attention back to the present, “we don’t be fightin’ daily, as I’m sure ye be thinkin’.”
He tossed his shoulders up and down in a guilty shrug.
“And I don’t take to violence, neither. Father be the best man that I know. He taught that words be better than fists. But when words don’t work, a shoulder should do the trick.”
He pushed up his lips, impressed. “I’d best stay clear of your father then.”
Her humorless eyes didn’t flicker. “Yes, ye should.”
He pulled back. This woman, this bal maiden, was fascinating.
He’d been stunned when she’d turned him down at the ball. So stunned, in fact, that he’d been unable to devote any real attention to flirting and coaxing other women, resulting in a loss to Hugh, who’d ended the evening with the intoxicated girl in the yellow dress.
Jack didn’t mind losing this time. He’d been too preoccupied with thoughts of Gwynna, who had appeared so regal that she’d tricked everyone in the room into believing she was a lady. She couldn’t be a complete rascal, though, not with how she stopped the fight rather than egging them on. The other maidens must respect her a great deal to have listened to her.
He glanced over his shoulder, but the girls were no longer visible on the beach as he and Gwynna had moved farther away. “Did all of those maidens work at Wheal Favour?”
Gwynna studied him. “Will they be gettin’ into trouble if I answer that?”
“No, I’m merely curious.”
She scrutinized him as they walked side-by-side. He couldn’t blame her for her hesitance. He hadn’t exactly been trustworthy, what with all his threats, even if he had been teasing. For the most part.
Finally, she responded. “Only the girls who stayed back with me work at your father’s mine.”
“But all of them listened to you when you told them to stop?”
“Yes, sir. ‘Cause I told ‘em ye would alert the constable and your father.”
Ah, there was that elusive smile. Only the corners of her lips tipped up, but it did funny things to his stomach.
“So you used me to inflict fear within them?”
“Be I not right to do so? Why wouldn’t ye tell, after threatenin’ to reveal me, when I was only havin’ a little harmless fun at a ball?”
“So that is what you were doing, simply taking pleasure in a night away?”
She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Be that difficult to believe that a maiden be wantin’ an evenin’ of pleasure?” Her gaze dropped to the path they walked across. “I only wanted one night to be someone else, but I couldn’t even do that ‘cause…”
Jack winced at the sudden ache in his chest, as if he’d been the one to be thumped by the stocky bal maiden. “Because…of me,” he finished.
She didn’t respond.
They walked in silence for a few moments. Why should Jack feel culpable? This woman was the one who made the silly decision to dress like a lady. If he hadn’t discovered her, someone would have.
Another path veered off from their own, and Gwynna took a few steps on it. “This be the way to me home. I’d best return now ‘fore Mama starts to worry.”
He nodded. He wasn’t about to follow her, in case her father was at home and really was as good with his fists as Gwynna had suggested.
Not that Jack was doing anything wrong, of course. He was merely talking with her. Never mind that it was strange for a gentleman to be pursuing—not pursuing.
He chuckled tensely to himself, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. Pursuing made it sound like he wished to court the maiden, which he obviously did not. They were from two very different worlds, worlds that could not come together without colliding catastrophically.
He was simply asking questions of a maiden.
Still, as she walked away, he felt that same pull to her that he’d had the night before. The same pull that had caused him to ask for a dance, and the one that had been hindered when that dance did not occur.
“Gwynna?” he called out before he could stop himself.
She turned around, the wind blowing her tendrils under her smooth, soot-covered jaw. “Yes, sir?”
“I was never going to tell, you know.”
She stared.
“About you at the ball. I had no intention of really telling anyone.”
She tipped her head in disbelief.
“Truthfully,” Jack pressed, taking a step forward. “I was merely having a bit of fun, but I can see it was not aptly timed.”
She narrowed her eyes pointedly. “So ye be teasin’ then ‘bout bringin’ me out to the gardens?”
Discomfited with the seriousness of their conversation, he attempted a joke, spreading a smile across his lips once more. “Well, I’d never say no to a kiss.”
She crinkled her nose as she turned away.
What was the matter with her? Women usually fawned over his smiles.
“No, no. Please, wait.” What was the matter with him? Why did he care so very much to have her know the truth?
He hesitated when she turned around with a passive look. “What do ye want, sir? I be afeared that I can’t give me trust to ye.”
“You can, actually. If my mother taught me anything, it was to be true to my word.”
Which is how he found himself in Cornwall, visiting Father. She’d made Jack promise not to abandon him completely.
“Your father didn’t teach ye the same?”
He pulled his attention to the sea. “Father taught me other things.”
How to put work before all else. How to forget one’s family.
He cleared his throat and faced Gwynna, who watched him expectantly. “You have my word. I will not tell another soul about your evening at the ball, nor about the fight on the beach.”<
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Their eyes met. Jack held his breath, expecting Gwynna to brush him aside and return home.
To his surprise and pleasure, she nodded. “Very well. I believe ye. Thank ye, sir.”
He tipped his head in a small bow. When he straightened, she was already walking away.
He followed the sway of her skirts near her calves. A lady wouldn’t be caught dead with such high skirts, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain about the sight.
Her words from earlier echoed in his mind. “I ain’t be no lady.”
A smile played on his lips, his eyes lingering on her legs. No, Gwynna certainly wasn’t a lady. But if a bal maiden could dress as a proper woman one night—then tackle another to the ground the next—she was undeniably remarkable, lady or not.
Chapter Five
Jack closed his bedroom door behind him and slipped on his riding gloves. He set down the corridor absentmindedly, filtering through the options as to where he ought to ride with his cousins that morning, when he glanced up at the painting of a horse on the wall.
Interesting, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen that one.
He halted, looking from side to side. He hadn’t been down here since he was a child, before he’d been sent away. It was the corridor he avoided almost as much as he avoided his father—the corridor that led to his mother’s old room.
Guardedly, he studied the third door on the right, her door. The smooth dark wood, the square paneling. His chest tightened uncomfortably. With Mother’s weak constitution, they’d spent hours together in that very room. Memories of what had occurred there saturated his mind—reading with Mama in the mornings, slipping in late at night when he’d had night terrors, wiping her brow when she’d taken a turn for the worse and the nurse was resting.
Father was absent during it all.
Anger burned Jack’s insides, as it did whenever he considered his own inability to save his mother—and his father’s decision not to.
As his scowl grew, so seemed the door until it towered above him, ready to swallow him whole. He blinked, willing the door to return to its regular size before he spun swiftly away.
How had he allowed himself to become so distracted as to walk down that corridor? He shook his head, securing his gloves as he headed for Hugh and Amy, who awaited his arrival in the front hall.
“There you are,” Amy said with a broad smile. “Hugh was just about to set forth in search of you.”
Jack gave a polite smile, though his nerves were still rattled. “My apologies for the delay. My valet couldn’t find my gloves.”
“That’s all right, isn’t it?” Hugh said. “Now tell us, Jack. Where have you decided to take us this morning?”
“Well, I thought—”
The front door opened, interrupting his words as Father stepped inside.
“Ah, good morning to you all.” His red cheeks and cheerful countenance grated on Jack’s nerves. How could the man be so happy after all that had occurred in this house?
“Going out riding, I see,” Father continued. “Whereabouts?”
Father’s smile faltered when he caught sight of Jack’s glower.
With a deep breath, Jack put out his anger like a candle snuffer to a flame. It wouldn’t do to despise the man again. Mama wouldn’t have approved. A simple dislike would suffice, but he needed a distraction if he was to ignore Father’s many faults.
He raised his brow innocuously. He knew just the thing.
“I was going to lead the way toward Golowduyn Lighthouse, as I’ve not seen the structure since I was a child.”
Father nodded, handing his hat and gloves to a footman. “Ah, marvelous. Mr. and Mrs. Kendricks run the lamps now. I do believe they hold tours for those interested.”
Jack brushed aside the information. “Yes, it would be a fine outing. But then I thought…perhaps another tour around the mine would be even better.”
Father’s brow rose. He was clearly surprised Jack would wish to go back, after his son’s less-than-enthusiastic response to it during their last visit. “Oh?”
“I know you’ve just come from there, but Hugh has expressed a desire to see it, and Amy might find it interesting. Or she could simply keep to tea in the counthouse.”
“Oh, yes, I should like that very much,” Hugh agreed.
Amy’s eyes merely trailed away disinterestedly.
“Perhaps we might even be allowed down the shaft this time,” Jack suggested. “And the bal maidens are always fascinating to watch.”
There was one maiden in particular he was keen on watching today, one he hadn’t seen working, when last he was at the mine. Gwynna would certainly provide the perfect distraction, even if he couldn’t speak with her.
Father squinted one eye, hesitating. “I’d be happy to show you around again, but about the shaft…I don’t know, son. It’s quite dangerous.”
“Come now, Father,” Jack said with a coaxing smile. “How else am I to learn the ways of our new family business if I can’t take part in every aspect of it?”
Instantly, Father’s shoulders straightened, his eyes brightening. “Well, I suppose we can do so, if you really wish to.”
Jack should have felt worse about moving the strings of his father’s will in just the right way to get what he wished, but he didn’t.
Once Father had retrieved his gloves and hat from the footman, Jack exchanged excited looks with Hugh and urged a sighing Amy to come along as they moved out into the bright sunshine.
After a rainy day yesterday spent indoors playing chess and whist, Jack relished the feel of the sunshine once more. He was in high spirits, despite his trek down the wrong corridor—and having to spend more time with Father—for Amy and Hugh were there, and they would provide the perfect diversion.
As they rode for Wheal Favour, Hugh moved farther ahead with Father and spoke of the investors of the mine, and Jack held back with Amy. Typically, she would prattle away about some dress she’d just purchased or the latest gossip sailing about Bath.
But today, her mouth was uncharacteristically still, like the night of the ball.
“Are you well, Amy?” he asked.
She glanced up at him, blinking mutely before seeming to come out of a deep thought. “Oh, very well, thank you. Just admiring the beautiful scenery.”
Then her eyes dropped back down to the chestnut mane of her horse.
Jack eyed her for a moment before shrugging and actually admiring the scenery. Amy was a kind woman and quite intelligent. As a young girl, she’d clearly been interested in him, but he’d only ever considered her a sister, so the fascination soon subsided, and they became friends. But ever since coming to Cornwall…
He shifted in his saddle. No, he was done thinking of his troubles. If Amy wished to remain cryptic, then he’d let her be.
He raised his chin, eying the blue skies above. An occasional cloud would pass by the sun, creating a chill with the brisk wind, but as the clouds passed, the warmth sunk into his dark jacket and rested on his shoulders.
The sea soon appeared on the horizon, sparkling as it carried a vessel across its waters, white sails drawn and billowing. Jack had missed this view, and he would miss it again once he left.
They reached the mine shortly, leaving their horses tied near the counthouse. As Amy situated herself near the small fire with Mrs. Harvey, the mine captain’s wife who’d come for a visit, Jack and Hugh were instructed to move to the side room.
An earthy smell permeated the small space as they removed their jackets, waistcoats, and cravats, and replaced them with musty, oversized clothing to protect their white shirts and pressed breeches.
“I wonder who died in these to make them smell so poorly,” Hugh joked as he threaded his arm through the sleeve of a black jacket.
Jack’s smile broke. Days ago he would’ve laughed but knowing Gwynna’s own brother had died in the mines had stolen all humor from such a comment.
When they were properly covered with caps to
protect their heads, they left the counthouse and traipsed down the muddy hill to the lower cliff, following Mr. Harvey and Father, who’d also changed into protective wear.
Jack blended in more naturally with the other miners now that he was dressed as one of them, but a few bal maidens still stopped their work to greet him with broad smiles, some of them saucily winking at him before breaking into fits of giggles.
Amused with the attention, he quickly scanned for any sign of Gwynna. Where were the spallers anyway? Father had said they used long-handled hammers, but the only tools he could see were spades and shorter mallets.
As they approached the engine house and shaft, however, Jack finally caught sight of her. He smiled at first, proud of his discovery, then his pace slowed until he stopped altogether.
He’d seen the maidens working before, walking the rounds with his father, on occasion with his mother from afar, but Gwynna…she was so thin, so petite. How was she doing such work?
The other spaller nearby was thicker, smashing into the ground twice before managing to strike the ore with her blunt hammer and obliterating it from her sheer power.
Gwynna, however, placed the ore in the mud with her boot, pulled back, then swung straight toward the rock with finesse.
Crack!
She landed blow after blow without error, directly onto each rock she set her eye on. Her face was red from exertion, her skirts and apron splattered with mud and soot, but she didn’t pause in her work, and Jack remained unseen.
How was this sustainable? How could a woman of her size—or any person, really—go on in such a way for so many hours? Of course he’d seen bal maidens before, but only ever as a child, unable to appreciate their tenacity.
These women were incomparable to those in Bath’s society, those women who would shrink walking a mere half a mile or swoon after a single dance. What Gwynna was doing was nothing short of incredible.
“Jack? Are you coming?”
Jack plucked his attention away from Gwynna and made for the engine house, where Hugh held the crooked, wooden door open for him.
“Captured in the presence of their filthy beauty?” Hugh chuckled, motioning to the maidens.
Near the Ruins of Penharrow (A Cornish Romance Book 3) Page 8