Sophia’s eyes swung to hers. “Pardon? Oh, nothing.”
“Clearly it ain’t be nothin’.”
“It’s but a trivial matter, really. Nothing I cannot solve.”
Since when had Sophia ever held back her words? Gwynna’s intrigue grew. “Can I help ye with it?”
Sophia pulled her arm from Gwynna’s, wringing her fingers as they walked side by side. Her uncharacteristic agitation unsettled Gwynna’s nerves, like a breeze to a weakened flower, sending petals of her peace to scatter about the wind. What on earth was upsetting her friend?
Finally, Sophia responded. “As I said, it is nothing. But, well, Mr. Hawkins’s mother has a very dear friend, Mrs. Parnell, who will be passing through St. Just on her way to visit friends farther south. According to Mr. Hawkins, Mrs. Parnell is rather fussy. She is expecting a small party to entertain her when she comes for dinner at Fynwary, and it would offend both Mrs. Parnell and Mr. Hawkins’s mother if we did not provide one for her.”
Gwynna nodded, attempting to keep up with the particulars of high society. It all seemed rather complicated, unnecessarily so. How different would her own life be if her only concern was planning a dinner party?
“We invited the Causeys to join us,” Sophia continued, “but with Mrs. Causey approaching her confinement, they are to remain at home instead. And now I have no guests to come at all.”
Frankly, Gwynna would have told her mother-in-law’s friend to be happy with what she was given, but clearly, that was not an option.
“So what will ye do? Be there anyone else to ‘elp?”
“Well…” Slowly, her eyes slid up to meet Gwynna’s.
As realization struck, incredulous laughter bubbled from Gwynna’s mouth. “Ye want me to sit in on your dinner party? Ye are mad, Sophia.”
Sophia pulled in front of her, stopping their progression across the garden. With hands clasped together and raised under her chin as if she were praying, she faced Gwynna. “You must know I would never ask such a thing of you were I not entirely overcome with desperation, especially after hearing what else had occurred the night of the ball. But I’ve asked three other families, the Kendrickses, the Madderns, even Mr. and Mrs. Rennalls. No one is available to attend at such short notice. A public assembly is occurring that very night, and they’ve all made plans to attend.”
Gwynna shook her head. Sophia couldn’t be serious. She couldn’t possibly be asking Gwynna to go through such an ordeal again.
Yet, Sophia continued, reaching forward and grasping Gwynna’s forearm before Gwynna could say a word in protest. “You know my relationship with Mrs. Hawkins is on tender grounds. We’ve managed to form a friendship after a tentative beginning, but I should hate to do anything to ruin it now.”
“And ye think bringin’ a maiden to speak with your mother-in-law’s friend will be a way to impress her?” Gwynna released a self-deprecating laugh. “Ye know me fitty way o’ talkin’ be horrible. The noise of the ballroom muted it enough, but with no other guests ‘sides me, she be findin’ out that I ain’t be a lady in a second.”
“But you wouldn’t need to say a word. You know I love speaking and can go on for hours. I promise, you shan’t even have to make a single sound if you don’t wish to.”
Gwynna winced. She felt for Sophia’s plight. Really, she did. But how could Gwynna dress as a lady again? Never mind that she desired to wear another silk gown. Never mind that keeping up appearances would be far easier without Mr. Trevethan and half of St. Just in attendance. She couldn’t do it. Pretending to be a lady once was mad. Doing the same thing twice was simply asking for trouble.
“I be sorry, Sophia. But I can’t risk everythin’. Not again.”
Sophia’s expression fell. Though a feigned smile stretched her lips, the hope in her eyes swiftly fled. “Oh, that is all right. There really is nothing to apologize over. I should not have asked you to do such a thing.” She looked away. “Sometimes I forget what really matters. Who really matters.”
They continued forward, guilt chewing at Gwynna’s conscience, like a rat gnawing persistently in a floorboard to get to food. “What are ye to do then?”
Sophia drew a deep breath. “There is not much I can do. Mrs. Parnell must simply learn to be happy with Mr. Hawkins and me for company. If she or my mother-in-law are offended, that will be their fault alone. Besides, my husband’s opinion—and my friend’s—matter more to me than anyone else’s.”
Sophia’s manner had calmed, and her words conveyed sincerity, but Gwynna was still unsettled as she absentmindedly scratched the scar at the back of her upper arm.
How often had the Hawkinses helped Gwynna? How often had they come to her aid when her family was going hungry, or when they needed help with repairs at their home and Mr. Hawkins was the first to arrive?
Gwynna had wanted to repay their kindness, and now was her chance. But could she really take on her identity as Miss Joanna Bell again?
As the name entered her mind, her heart leapt. To wear another gown, to have her hair done, to actually remain the whole of the evening instead of ending it prematurely—all of it sounded far too appealing. But she couldn’t be that lady again…could she?
Gwynna chewed her bottom lip. Sophia had said the party would be small. Gwynna would only need to convince one woman of her status, and even if she didn’t, she could leave before any lasting suspicion occurred. She also wouldn’t have to convince her parents to allow her to leave, as she would be back long before midnight.
Maybe, just maybe…
With a sigh, she nodded. “Very well, Sophia. I’ll do it.”
Sophia instantly protested. “No, I’ll not have you sacrifice so much simply for the sake of my pride.”
“It be me own pride that be convincin’ me to do this. I want to finish me night as a lady.”
Hope twinkled in Sophia’s eyes. “But I was being selfish before. All is well. I can handle my mother-in-law, and Mrs. Parnell can—”
“Hush now, ‘fore I change me mind. I be goin’, and that be final.”
Sophia expelled a great sigh as she shot toward Gwynna with outstretched arms, nearly knocking her basket to the ground. “Oh, Gwynna. Heaven knows I don’t deserve a friend as wonderful as you. It certainly is no wonder Mr. Trevethan has fallen for you.”
Gwynna groaned, wriggling from her friend’s grasp as Sophia laughed at her own words.
After discussing a few plans for the party that would be held the following Wednesday, Gwynna departed from Fynwary Hall with a lighter step than when she’d arrived.
Yes, she may have agreed to do something spectacularly stupid again, but at least the situation would be more controlled this time.
And at least Mr. Jack Trevethan wouldn’t be there to spoil her fun.
* * *
That was Gwynna. Jack was sure of it. He peered out of the carriage window as the horses pulled to a stop in front of Fynwary Hall. Gwynna was crossing the grass, a basket in the crook of her arm as she walked away from the estate.
What had she been doing here, visiting a servant perhaps? Is that how she’d attended the ball?
“Are you going, Jack?”
He glanced to Amy, who awaited him to exit the carriage after Hugh and Father had already departed. “Oh, yes. Forgive me.”
He withdrew from the carriage with a brief glance at Fynwary Hall, its three-storied, beige stone reaching far above his head. Father had insisted they call upon the Hawkinses that afternoon, so Jack and his cousins had joined him after their time in town. Jack was certain he was going to be bored out of his wits visiting these people he hardly knew.
His afternoon was shaping up to be far better, now that he’d spotted the bal maiden.
As Hugh helped his sister from the carriage, Jack held his hands behind his back and seamlessly slipped off his gloves, tucking them into his jacket and smoothing them down without notice.
He brought up the rear of the small group and waited just a moment before halting
his progression.
“Oh, I believe I left my gloves on the carriage seat,” he said, eying the departing carriage as it turned around the edge of the house.
“Why the devil did you remove your gloves in the carriage?” Hugh asked.
Jack hadn’t thought of that. “I-I had a terrible itch.”
Hugh and Amy exchanged glances.
“Can you not simply wait to retrieve them until after our visit?” Amy suggested.
Jack’s footsteps crunched in the gravel as he backed away from the others. “I wouldn’t wish to appear underdressed.”
“We’ll wait for you, son,” Father said, securing his own gloves on his hands.
“Oh, there’s no need,” Jack said, already heading toward the carriage that was no longer visible. “You go on without me. I’ll be but a moment behind.”
He moved slowly until his family was shown inside. When the click of the door closing signaled he was alone, Jack veered away from the house and strode out across the grass.
Gwynna had gained much ground as Jack had attempted his escape, but his quickened pace allowed him to catch up with her swiftly.
However, a few steps away, his advance faltered. What on earth was he doing, chasing this woman down? What if someone from the house discovered him? How would he explain his behavior to them, or to Gwynna?
He had nearly convinced himself to turn around and slink back to Fynwary Hall, but at that exact moment, Gwynna glanced over her shoulder with a double take. “Mr. Trevethan?” She faced him directly. “What are ye doin’ here?”
He shrugged, attempting to gain his bearings. “Merely visiting Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins. Are you doing the same?”
He tossed her a haughty smile, hoping to draw attention away from his erratic behavior.
Really, chasing after a bal maiden. Was he mad?
Gwynna raised her chin indignantly at his comment. “Per’aps I was visitin’. Per’aps I be friends with Mrs. Hawkins. What do it matter to ye?”
Jack would have never guessed this woman, standing with straightened shoulders and a stalwart gaze, was the very same who’d scrambled across the floor to gather her belongings at the modiste’s shop.
When he didn’t respond, she shifted her basket to her other hand with a sigh. “Be ye needin’ somethin’ from me, sir? Be that why ye chased me down?”
He stiffened. Why had he torn across the grass to track her down? That same discomfort from before crept upon him again, a warmth seeping through his skin and overheating his body like a chicken roasting over a fire.
Is this what embarrassment felt like? He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt such a thing, always having had the upper hand with, well, everyone. But now, he had the sudden urge to escape in his carriage and leave his family behind to fend for themselves in finding a way home.
“Sir?”
He cleared his throat. “Yes, I was simply coming to ask if you were well after what occurred at the modiste’s.”
That was a good enough reason. As a gentleman he was required to ask after a woman’s health, even if that woman was a bal maiden.
Gwynna crossed her free arm over her stomach. “Yes, I be well.”
By her lowered eyes, Jack didn’t believe her, nor did he blame her if she was still upset. Mrs. Follett had behaved abysmally, attempting to charge an impoverished maiden for torn fabric, though the fault had been her own for having the silk drape to the floor.
Jack had been unable to stop himself from coming to her defense.
Be a champion to women, Jacky, his mother taught him long ago.
He’d been failing miserably at that very task for years.
“I ought to thank ye again,” Gwynna said, “and your…your friend, or whoever she be.”
She turned her head after her laden comment, and Jack narrowed his eyes. Why did she wish to know who Amy was?
“Yes, it was good of her to purchase the fabric. But then, my cousin has always been kind.”
“Oh, she be your cousin.” She was clearly feigning disinterest.
He concealed his smile. “Yes. Growing up together allowed us to form a relationship rather like a brother and sister.”
She took a step away without a response. “Well, if there be nothin’ further ye need, sir, I’d best be on my way. I’ve chores, see.”
“Of course. My apologies for keeping you.”
She nodded, eying him sidelong before turning and leaving him behind.
He stared after her for a moment, opening his mouth to call her back. But without a good enough reason to do so, he walked away himself, deep in thought as he justified his actions.
He was clearly just speaking with her because he was bored—bored of remaining at Father’s estate, bored with Hugh’s constant need for gaming, bored of Amy’s strange behavior.
Gwynna was just an easy distraction. Whenever he was around her, life seemed far more exciting.
The thought was supposed to calm his nerves, but his agitation increased until he joined the others in the sitting room.
“Sorry for the delay,” Jack said with a bow.
“Did you find your gloves?” Amy asked.
Blast. He’d forgotten to replace them. He pulled his hands behind his back. “I did, thank you.”
“Do come in, Mr. Trevethan,” Mr. Hawkins said, motioning him forward. “Your father was just informing us of the happenings at the mine.”
Wonderful. Jack moved across the room with a strained smile. The only way he’d want to listen to Father speak of the mine is if he talked of the bal maidens. He glanced toward the window, and a smile raised his lips.
Gwynna still traipsed across the countryside, basket swinging happily in her hand. Was she skipping?
“You seem taken with our grounds, Mr. Trevethan.” He turned as Mrs. Hawkins approached his side. “Perhaps you’d like to see them closer?”
She motioned him forward, and they walked to the window together.
“There,” Mrs. Hawkins continued, her voice so low, it reached no other ears but his, “now you shall have a better sight of her.”
The blood slipped from his face, leaving a cold clammy feeling to his skin. “Sorry, of whom?”
She motioned through the window with an innocent expression. “Gwynna.”
He tipped his head to the side, hoping he appeared nonchalant, though his mind was reeling. “Do you know her?”
“Of course. She is my dearest friend.”
Jack couldn’t quite grasp her words. Gwynna was, in actuality, friends with this fine lady?
“She told me this afternoon you have agreed to keep silent about her time at the ball.”
It was true. They were friends. He blinked multiple times to rid the shock from his eyes. “So you knew about her attending?”
“Knew? My dear sir, I’m the one who helped her carry it out. All was going splendidly well until a rogue mine owner’s son decided to end our fun prematurely.”
She raised an accusatory brow. Heavens, was it hot in that room. He stuck a cool finger between his neck and cravat, staring out the window again, but Gwynna was no longer in view.
“Yes, I-I apologized to her already.”
Finally he was receiving the answers for which he’d waited so long. No wonder Gwynna hadn’t told him herself. Though she’d hinted at her friendship with Mrs. Hawkins only moments before, there was no way he could have believed all of this were he not hearing it directly from Mrs. Hawkins.
Ah, here was his reasoning for pursuing Gwynna. He wished merely for answers. Now that he was receiving them, he was sure to leave the bal maiden alone.
He ignored the barren feeling rising within him at the thought. “Might I be so bold as to ask how the two of you became friends?”
“Certainly. A few months ago, before I married Mr. Hawkins, the Merricks brought me into their home after I had lost everything. They are the best sort of people. Kind, loving, forgiving.” Mrs. Hawkins stared out of the window, losing focus before blinking and facing Jack h
ead-on. “I would never allow anyone to hurt my friend. So I shall be the bold one now and ask you this, have you any ill intentions concerning Gwynna?”
Jack would’ve chuckled at her candor, had her stare not caused his laugh to shrivel back like a dying weed in the heat of the blazing sun.
He considered her question for a moment. For so long, he’d kissed women and set them aside without further contact, intending to do the very same with Gwynna. He’d never entertained any shame for his behavior for long, able to swallow the guilt and his mother’s imagined reprimands. But with Gwynna, something was different.
Perhaps it was the state of her hands from working at the mine, or the way she’d stopped the brawl on the beach. Or maybe it was because he’d finally realized that his harmless kissing game wasn’t so harmless after all.
He’d gotten to know her, seen the effect his behavior had on her, and now, the thought of hurting her almost hurt him.
“No, Mrs. Hawkins,” he finally replied. “I do not wish to hurt her.”
Mrs. Hawkins studied him for a long, silent moment. “I believe you, Mr. Trevethan. Now, I wonder…might I ask a favor of you?”
Chapter Eight
“You live here in St. Just, you say, Miss Bell?”
Mrs. Parnell’s loud voice echoed through the stillness of Fynwary Hall’s drawing room. As she spoke, Gwynna flinched again.
This was the third time she’d started at the woman’s words. Mrs. Parnell had clearly suffered hearing loss in her old age and now had to shout to hear her own voice.
“Yes, ma’am. I—”
“What was that?” Mrs. Parnell leaned forward.
“Yes, I have,” Gwynna repeated, still in a tone that matched the elegance of the room.
Or so at least she hoped.
She glanced to her right, where Sophia sat beside her on the white-cushioned sofa. She did not receive the reassurance she’d hoped for as her friend’s eyes pulled to the door again.
Whom was she expecting? The whole party was already in the room—Gwynna, Sophia, Mr. Hawkins by the marble hearth, and Mrs. Parnell, who sat nearby in a single chair that had clawed legs braced into the carpet like a cat ready to pounce with a mighty hiss.
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