She’d longed to see him ever since he’d delivered her into her parents’ arms. Now that the moment was here, however, she fiddled anxiously with her crib-bag, running the strings through her fingers over and over again.
Were they coming to tell her the game was over? That Ruth Ayer had told them about her crimes and Gwynna would now be handed over to the constable? Jack would speak in her defense, wouldn’t he?
“Merrick, Gwynna,” Mr. Peter Trevethan greeted with a smile.
He didn’t look angry or concerned. That was a good start.
She rose beside her father. “What can we do for ye?” Father asked, his mistrusting eyes lingering on Jack.
Papa hadn’t accepted the delicacy from Sophia on her visit to see how Gwynna fared. “I be happy with me own food,” he’d grumbled, leaving the women to themselves.
He’d done his best to forget Sophia’s past and her father’s actions, but sometimes, Gwynna knew it was hard for him to be around Sophia, if only because of the memories it produced of Jago. Still, he was trying to forgive.
But then, Jack hadn’t done anything to require father’s forgiveness. At least nothing that Papa knew about. So why was he so mistrusting of the gentleman?
“I ought to be asking if there is anything we can do for you,” Mr. Peter Trevethan said, “especially your daughter.” He faced her. “My son has told me you suffered an accident here. I’m terribly sorry. If you wish, you may leave today with full-pay.”
Gwynna slunk behind Papa, uncomfortable as all three pairs of eyes fell on her. “Oh, ‘tis no trouble, sir. I can work.”
“If you insist. But rest assured, it will not happen again. My son here is helping me to ensure the safety of the grounds.”
Gwynna stole a look at Jack. He watched her beneath his dark eyelashes. Was this true? Was he working with his father to improve the mine?
Mr. Trevethan turned to Papa. “Now, Merrick. I wonder, might I have a word alone for a moment?”
Papa tipped his brow. “I, sir?”
“Yes, I won’t keep you for long.”
Papa nodded, wringing his cap in his hands. His hair fell over his eyes as he glanced from Gwynna to Jack, then he left to follow Mr. Trevethan a short distance away.
Gwynna shifted her boots uneasily. She and Jack were in no way alone—what with the maidens sitting farther down the cliffside, miners walking up and down the pathway, and children playing along the heather above—but they’d been left alone.
All eyes could see them. They shouldn’t linger with one another, especially after the rumors Ruth had started.
“How are you, Gwynna?” Jack asked softly, nodding his head to a widow who hobbled down the cliffside on the arm of a young woman.
“I be fine, sir. But we oughtn’t be speakin’ now. Others will see.”
“I know, but I wish to speak with you about something.”
His eyes warmed, even danced. He wished to speak with her? Her chest swelled, like the air caught beneath a sea’s waves, producing bubbles at the surface. She wished to speak with him in return—all about how she had spoken with her parents about Jago’s death and now felt more hopeful than ever.
But it was too risky. Even now, she caught the two maidens below watching them both with curious glances. “Not here, sir,” she whispered. “Not now.”
“Then when?”
“I don’t know. Me father, he be anxious to keep me safe. And the rumors…”
She cast her eyes around again. Papa was still watching them, despite Mr. Trevethan speaking to him, and the maidens took to whispering to one another.
Jack looked to the ground to feign disinterest. “Then what about this evening? Under the cover of the stars. Near the ruins of Penharrow.”
Butterflies took flight in her chest at the idea. Could she go along with Jack’s suggestion, float along easily with the wind? Or would she be caught in an uncontrollable draft, careening out of safety’s grasp?
It all boiled down to one question—was seeing Jack worth the risk?
“Yes,” she declared at once. “I’ll meet ye there.”
His expression brightened just as Papa returned to her side.
“Excuse me,” Jack said, nodding to Papa before sending a covert smile to Gwynna.
Gwynna didn’t return it, fearful Papa might see.
As Jack walked away, rejoining his father near the counthouse, Papa tossed his head gruffly toward him. “What he be sayin’ to ye, Gwynna?” he asked, his suspicion thicker than the shaft’s walls below.
“Merely ensurin’ I be well after me fall.”
He gave her a disbelieving look. Had he spotted the blush rushing to her cheeks?
“What did Mr. Trevethan want ye for?” she asked.
Thankfully, her distraction worked. A whisper of a smile touched his dirty, chapped lips. “He be promotin’ I, to work above grass half days.”
Gwynna’s mouth parted in a look of surprise. “Papa, that be wonderful! Oh, I be that happy for ye. Did he say why?”
“No, simply told me I be doin’ a fine job. He also wishes for me to give more advice on matters of the shaft.”
“Oh, I be so pleased. Mama’ll sure to be so, as well.”
Half-days above grass. That meant half the time to worry over his safety below ground. What a blessing this was!
“That not be all, though,” Papa continued. “He also be payin’ I greater wages. Which means ye won’t have to work any longer.”
Gwynna’s smile faded, disappointment nudging its heavy elbow between her ribs. Stop working at the mine? She had to admit, no longer partaking in the back-breaking work would be far easier. Spalling wasn’t ever a leisurely walk. But how would she receive that same sort of accomplishment if she remained indoors, doing all the chores she despised—washing, scrubbing, laundry, cooking?
And if she stopped working at the mines, would she ever see Jack again? Or was he still planning to leave Cornwall?
Papa pressed a hand on her shoulder. “I know ye wish to work here, Gwynna, but ye don’t need to worry about it now. We’ll speak later, yes?”
“Yes, Papa.”
Her obedient response was muted by the bell signaling the end of their break. Gwynna secured her bag around her waist beneath her towser to sneak what remained of her pasty as she continued working. Once finished, she took a step forward, but Papa’s hand stopped her.
“One more thing, daugh’er.” His voice lowered. “I want ye to be careful with that Jack Trevethan. There be somethin’ about him that…that can’t be trusted. Understood?”
She longed to protest, to say Jack could be trusted, but then how would she explain how she knew that? Instead, she replied with obedience again. “Yes, Papa.”
He leaned forward, kissing her on her cheek, then they joined the other miners as they marched down the cliffside.
Just before he entered the engine house, Gwynna called after him. “Papa, ‘fore I forget. I be goin’ to Sophia’s tonight. She be wishin’ to show me her new dresses she just purchased.”
He pulled a face. “Dresses? Ain’t she seen ye enough day ‘fore last?”
“She be my friend, Papa.”
He replaced his cap with a heavy sigh. “Fine. I’ll be at the Causeys tonight, clearin’ the remainin’ fields. Remember to tell Mama ‘fore ye go.”
“Yes, Papa.”
He tipped his cap then entered the building.
Gwynna stared at the door for a moment, dazing off as she wondered if she really ought to be sneaking out in the dead of the night to meet with the one man Papa had forbidden her from seeing.
Then Jack’s dancing eyes appeared in her mind’s eye. She needed to go that evening, if only to see what he’d been so excited to speak with her about. Was it that he was remaining in Cornwall? That he’d had a hand in Papa’s promotion?
She tried to lessen her anticipation, but as it weeded out the rest of her guilt, she kept her eagerness close to her chest.
Yes, she would go t
hat evening. Just as soon as she stopped by Sophia’s house for an unplanned visit so she might prevent herself from completely lying to her parents again.
Chapter Thirteen
Gwynna firmly closed the inn door behind her, glad to be rid of the dark, stale air that permeated the Golden Arms, though the meeting she’d had at the inn had been more than pleasant. Lieutenant Edmund Harris had been surprisingly grateful to receive his box back.
Knowing naval officers enjoyed their drinks at the inn, Gwynna had first sought the sailor there. Surely a good deed of returning one’s property would counteract her decision to lie once again.
She’d found Lieutenant Harris easily enough, speaking at the far side of the inn with Mr. Honeysett, a young, local fisherman, and his sister, Poppy Honeysett. The recently turned sixteen-year-old girl could often be found trailing alongside her brother, all the while fawning up at Lieutenant Harris.
Gwynna couldn’t blame her. The lieutenant was a handsome man, and his kindness had been exceptional the few times he’d spoken with Gwynna during small, friendly gatherings on the beach.
Gwynna had pulled the lieutenant aside once she’d entered the inn and delivered the box Kerensa had let her keep, praying he would not look inside. “I found this washed up on Tregalwen Beach, sir. I believe it be yours?”
His eyes had rounded with joy and surprise. “Good heavens. I never thought I’d see this again. Thank you, Gwynna.”
“I-I be sorry your belongings be gone. I found it empty, see.” She’d have to find a different good deed now for lying. Again.
“Oh, worry not. I’ve already replaced the items.” His eyes hadn’t left the box, running his hands along the smooth edges. “But this I could never have replaced. It belonged to my father, who shared my name. He passed before I left for the navy.”
Not only had Gwynna been filled with considerable delight, she was also overcome with relief for having followed her instinct in keeping the box for the lieutenant.
And now that the task had been complete, she was on to the next—Sophia, then Jack.
With a chipper step and brightened spirit, Gwynna left the inn and set forth down the street. She pulled in her lips to prevent the same smile that had been hungrily attempting to lap at her mouth all day.
She could not wait to see Jack, to learn what he’d wished to speak with her about. Would he express his desire to no longer run back to Bath? Share with her news of some exciting progress at the mine?
The sun shone through the alleyways between the shops, creating long, rectangular shadows, appearing as darkened, dusty rugs across the road. A carriage rolled by, the horses’ tack jingling and hooves clopping along the street. With no crowds to maneuver, due to the lateness of the evening, Gwynna strolled down the road with a light step.
That is, until she spotted Jack standing outside of the bakery, his back toward her.
Her grin could not be suppressed. No one else was on the street. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to disobey her parents after all. She and Jack could find someplace private nearby to speak, or perhaps outside of town.
She made her way toward him then froze in the middle of the street. He wasn’t alone. A woman stood before him, previously hidden by his broad shoulders.
Miss Paxton?
Gwynna rubbed the base of her throat that suddenly constricted.
Neither Miss Paxton nor Jack spoke, though they stared at one another with such intent eyes, Gwynna could only imagine of what they’d been speaking. Especially when Jack snatched Miss Paxton’s hand in his, pulling her toward the nearest alleyway, away from Gwynna and the street.
Sense screamed at Gwynna to keep moving, to not interfere with whatever she had just interrupted. But as she watched them flee down the alley and disappear round the corner to the back of the bakery, her feet propelled forward on their own.
Jack had said he and Miss Paxton were cousins, friends, that was all. But the look Miss Paxton had given him, it was far too close to the look Gwynna knew she’d revealed herself after the dinner party—when she had clearly desired Jack’s kiss.
Gwynna slunk down the alleyway on the tips of her toes, silent but for the fierce beating of her heart.
Their whispers reached her ears, but she could make out no words. She reached the end of the alleyway and peered around the corner.
Jack stood by the outer wall of the bakery, his hands falling from Miss Paxton’s shoulders as she stood on her tiptoes. The woman’s eyes closed, and her lips parted as she leaned toward him.
Gwynna jerked back behind the side wall, pressing a hand over her mouth to stifle any gasp that might have escaped before she tore up the alleyway and back to the main road. She didn’t stop, continuing her quick pace until she left the town behind.
Miss Paxton was kissing him. Of course he was kissing her back. Why would he say no to her, a beautiful, accomplished lady? He’d admitted before it was all just a game to him, kissing every woman he could.
Every woman but Gwynna, whom he’d apparently grown a special resistance to. Or perhaps it was just bal maidens, in general?
“Fool,” she muttered to herself, cradling her side as she stopped to catch her breath.
Why had she expected it to be different with her? He’d said herself they were only friends. She ought to count herself fortunate they were only friends. Anything more, and things would get far too complicated.
Birds chirped as they flocked together overhead. A warm breeze swayed the grass back and forth with lazy breaths. A purple haze shrouded the land, but the quiet calm of the countryside merely mocked the torment inside of her.
Clenching her fists together, she tramped across the pathway. It was silly to feel discouraged, betrayed. She and Jack had no understanding between them. He’d made his friendly intentions clear right after the ball, having come to his senses afterward and wishing for nothing but friendship.
After all, what had she expected? That he could love her for her? That they could be together, a bal maiden and a gentleman? She really was daft.
Half-tempted to run home, Gwynna hesitated when she came to converging paths. No, she couldn’t return to her parents yet. Not when she was in such a state. Sophia would help her. Sophia would speak sense to her mind.
She took the right pathway that led to Fynwary Hall, but Sophia was not there.
“Have ye any idea when she be returnin’ from the dinner party?” she asked the butler as she stood at Fynwary’s front door.
“Not until late, miss. But I’ll inform her of your calling.”
She expressed her gratitude then wandered away from Fynwary until she reached the cliffsides. The sun was no longer shining, having ducked behind the layer of clouds that laid straight across the horizon, like a lazy hound sprawled out on his master’s pillow.
Now what was she to do? Jack might already be at Penharrow. If he was still planning to meet her, of course. He would probably be loath to leave Miss Paxton and her affections.
Her lip curled in disgust. Perhaps she should return home, ease her guilt, leave Jack—Mr. Trevethan—at Penharrow to question where she was. But then, would she not always wonder what he’d wanted to tell her?
With determined steps, she moved in the direction of the ruins. She needed to go. Not to hear what he had to say, but to share what she had to say. She would meet with him to tell him they could no longer see each other.
Papa was right. Jack Trevethan was not to be trusted.
* * *
Jack was glad to have arrived at Penharrow first. He needed a moment to gather his wits after what had occurred in town. He’d always been so careful around Amy. How could he have even allowed such a thing to happen?
He dismounted his horse, tying him to a neglected stump of wood nearby before turning to the engine house. He blew out a heavy breath, the memory of Amy overheating his skin. He removed his hat, jacket, and cravat as they constricted his breathing, placing them on one of the half-standing walls. Still agitated, he unbuttoned his wais
tcoat halfway, the evening breeze finally cooling his sweating skin as he ruffled his hair, shaking aside any remaining thought of Amy.
He didn’t want to think about her any longer, nor how everything between them had just changed in a matter of moments. He wanted to focus instead on—
“Sir?”
Gwynna. Instantly, her smooth voice eased the scowl down the center of his brow.
His heart skipped in anticipation as he turned to greet her. “There you are. I was…” He stopped, his eagerness slipping as she stood a few paces away from him, the usual sparkle in her eye nowhere to be seen. “Are you unwell?”
Her expression remained stoic, her lips in an unbending line. “No, sir. I be fine.”
Jack’s brow pursed. She certainly didn’t look fine. “Are you quite certain?”
“Yes, sir. What did ye wish to speak with me about?”
Jack frantically grasped for the joy he’d felt earlier—before all that had occurred between him and Amy, before Gwynna’s staidness shadowed his happiness—but it slipped away like a retreating wave.
“It can wait until you are feeling more…yourself.”
Gwynna shook her head, displaying a strained smile. “No, sir. Please, tell me now.”
Clearly, she did not wish to discuss whatever was bothering her, and Jack didn’t wish to push her into sharing something she didn’t want to. Perhaps if he spoke of his good news, she’d cheer up.
He forced an easy tone. “I’ve nothing to say that is so very spectacular, but I wanted to share it with you all the same.”
She turned to the sea. Was she still listening to him? “Yes, sir?”
She was listening. He continued cautiously. “I spoke with my father today. Not for long. But we carried on a conversation without anger or even a semblance of annoyance.”
Near the Ruins of Penharrow (A Cornish Romance Book 3) Page 22