Near the Ruins of Penharrow (A Cornish Romance Book 3)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  Gwynna peered over her shoulder, anxious to apologize to Jack. She only managed a single glance at the ghostly shadows dancing beneath his eyes before Father’s departure abandoned him to the darkness.

  Papa released Gwynna’s hand as they tore across the countryside. She had to jog to keep up with his furious pace.

  “Papa, wait. I can explain—”

  “No, Gwynna.”

  His words were final, and Gwynna tucked in her chin. She’d never seen her father so upset with her. Try as she might, she could not blame him. She’d betrayed him and Mama both. She deserved all the anger he leveled at her.

  What had she been thinking? Sneaking away, risking so much—her safety, her parents’ respect, their livelihood—for what? A kiss from Jack? She knew better. She should have behaved better.

  Eventually, Papa’s pace slowed, though he still did not speak a word.

  With each step that brought her farther away from Penharrow, farther away from Jack, her spirits were only pulled closer to the ground until she could bear the weight no longer.

  “I be sorry, Papa,” she whispered.

  He was silent for a moment. Had he heard her, or was he still unable to speak because of his anger?

  “Gwynna, I can’t…” He broke off with a groan of frustration. “I can’t understand what ye be thinkin’.”

  She stared down at the grass they walked across, unable to face his disappointed expression.

  “I didn’t want to believe ye could lie to me in such a way,” he said. “I saw Mrs. Hawkins at the Causey’s this evenin’, instead of meetin’ with ye. That be when I knew the rumors travelin’ round the mine be true.”

  Gwynna winced. The betrayal in his tone cut her conscience. Of course he’d heard the rumors. She wouldn’t be surprised if Jack’s father had, as well.

  He continued. “Now I wonder what else be the truth? Have ye been dressin’ as a lady, too?”

  Gwynna sighed, every breath that left her body impossible to draw in again without acute pain. “Yes, sir.”

  He ran his hand over his mouth. “How could ye do it? Did we not do enough for ye to be happy with what ye have? Do ye not understand the risk involved?”

  She couldn’t bear the guilt. “I be more than happy with me life, Papa. And I be more than aware o’ the risks, but Sophia and I—”

  He groaned. “I should’ve known she’d be involved. I curse the day I encouraged ye to become friends.”

  Humbly, Gwynna shook her head. “No, Father. Ye mustn’t blame her. She be the sole reason I wasn’t caught.”

  He eyed her warily, shaking his head in dismay. He deserved an explanation, but what could she say? “I…I just wanted one night o’ fun. One night to be free, to feel what it be like to be a lady. To dance and dress up and be flattered. Had I known what it would do, had I known how it would affect ye and Mama both, I…I wouldn’t have done any of it.”

  She winced at her own words, but they were true. Had she known her actions would have led to such heartache, would have led to her falling in love with Jack, she never would have done it. Now she had to suffer with ashamed parents, an aching soul, and unreciprocated love.

  Papa sighed, his thin shoulders falling forward. “We be more worried o’er how it be affectin’ ye, Gwynny.”

  She eyed him with confusion. If that were the case, why had he reacted so violently? “I assure ye, Papa, no harm has come to me.”

  “Except givin’ your heart away.”

  She knew he couldn’t see her blush, but she ducked her head all the same. “It be nothin’ I can’t bear.”

  He winced. “Has he expressed his love to ye?”

  The memory of his kiss still pressed on her mouth. “No, least not aloud.”

  Papa sighed heavily, looking out into the darkness. The lantern’s light cast black shadows across his face. “I don’t wish to break your heart, daugh’er, but I must, if only to avoid it bein’ broken by another.”

  Worry greedily ate what was left of her hope. “What do ye mean?”

  He began carefully, as if every last drop of his energy was used to speak. “Do ye remember me speakin’ o’ Meraud?”

  She attempted to shift conversations. “A little.”

  Meraud, Papa’s youngest sister, had lived with the Merricks before Gwynna was born, as well as two of his other adult sisters who worked full-time at the mine.

  One by one, his sisters had moved away, except for Meraud. Though she died before Gwynna ever met her, she knew her aunt and Papa were the closest of their siblings.

  “Then ye must remember that she died while givin’ birth,” Father continued.

  “And the child.”

  “Yes. And…do ye recall any mention of a father?”

  Gwynna paused. She couldn’t recall a single mention of him. “I assumed he died, too.”

  Papa huffed a mirthless laugh. “In a way, I s’pose he did. He left her ‘fore she even had the baby.” He stopped walking, eying Gwynna squarely. “Gwynna, the father was an agent at the mine.”

  Gwynna recoiled. She’d heard stories of such things happening, but she had no idea her own aunt had been so closely entangled in the issue.

  “I would’ve told ye sooner, but I don’t like speakin’ much of it.” Papa’s tone was gruff, as if to hide his emotion. “The man had claimed to love her, had even gone so far as to say he wished to marry her. ‘Course he left her just after he received what he wanted. And then she died ‘cause of ‘im.”

  Tears gathered in the center of her eyes. Papa’s earlier aggression made sense now. He was afraid of losing Gwynna. But he didn’t need to be. Jack had never truly disrespected her. He hadn’t even expressed his love for her, nor declared his desire to marry her.

  He hadn’t done anything but kiss her.

  “I know why ye be tellin’ me this, Papa, but ye needn’t worry about Mr. Trevethan and me. We-we only kissed. But I ain’t be seein’ ‘im again.”

  Papa’s expression remained unchanged. “Are ye certain? ‘Cause men like him…they be after only one thing.”

  She didn’t believe Jack was like the man who’d injured Meraud. He’d only ever treated Gwynna with respect. Still, saying so wouldn’t help her father’s worries.

  Instead, she nodded. “Yes, Papa. I understand.”

  But as she made her way home with him, uncertainty spun about her mind. Jack had been hinting for something more between him and Gwynna. But such a thing didn’t matter now. A marriage between them would never work. Neither would a friendship.

  She’d meant what she’d said to Papa.

  She would never see Jack again, never mind how sick her stomach was at the thought.

  * * *

  Leather cracked as Jack shifted in his saddle, hoping to alleviate the discomfort of the hard seat against his backside. The warm sun burned into his shoulders, contrasting from the cold letter he’d tucked between his shirt and waistcoat—now pressing icily against his chest.

  If only he could tear it to pieces and let it fly away with the wind and out to the sea.

  But he couldn’t. He needed to deliver it to Gwynna. She deserved an explanation.

  He rolled his jaw, the muscles still protesting from Mr. Merrick’s fist two days past. A purple bruise had stretched across his cheekbone, but most of the swelling had dissipated near his lip and eye.

  Gwynna had been right all those days ago. Jack would’ve been wise to avoid her father. Mr. Merrick was far stronger than he appeared, just like his daughter. But it wasn’t the physical strike that had injured Jack the most.

  Ye’d tear her family apart.

  Your mother would be ashamed.

  Ye don’t deserve me daugh’er.

  Jack winced. He’d been a fool that night, wrapped up in Gwynna’s smile and amber eyes, her warm embrace. He’d somehow convinced himself that he could kiss her with no consequences, like every other woman.

  Though the guilt was more poignant than usual, it was what the affection had done to
his soul that had the worst affect.

  But he wouldn’t dwell on how his chest now pinched tightly together, as if his lungs no longer inflated at the mere thought of not being with Gwynna.

  He never should have allowed himself to form an attachment to her, to kiss her sweet lips. The physical pull he had for Gwynna was always stirring. But to have his heart involved in a kiss for the first time in his life…

  Although, he shouldn’t dwell on those thoughts. Their lives were too separate. Their personalities too different. Their desires too conflicting. He’d planned to never marry so he might live a life of leisure. Remaining in Cornwall, making amends with Father…falling in love with a remarkable woman—they’d all been fanciful dreams.

  And fanciful dreams were never reality.

  * * *

  Gwynna stepped about the room with her broom, gathering dirt and dust and spare pieces of food from the floor. Silence filled the air, apart from the straw scraping against the wood.

  The sound barely reached her ears. Thoughts of what had occurred between her and Jack two days before left little room for any other musings.

  She’d tried to remain unaffected by the fact that she would never be with him. She’d tried to convince herself that she didn’t love him.

  But it was no use. She needed to accept the facts. She loved him, but she could not be with him. And it was her own foolish choices that brought her to this anguish. Now she would have to suffer through it alone.

  She swept the dust toward the entrance, opening the door to expel the dirt outside, but she paused mid-sweep when she discovered a folded piece of parchment at the foot of the door.

  “Be ye leavin’, Gwynna?” Mama called from her bedroom where she folded the laundry that had finally dried that day in the afternoon sun.

  “No. Just sweepin’ out the dust.”

  Gwynna bent down to retrieve the paper, only to realize it was a letter. She swung her eyes back and forth outside the door, but whoever had delivered the note was already gone.

  She rested the broom against her shoulder and turned the letter back to front, closing the door, the dust pile long forgotten. Eying the writing scrawled across the top of it, she recognized her name.

  Could this be from Jack? Did he not know she couldn’t read?

  With concentrated eyes, she broke open the red waxed seal and unfolded the letter. Anxiously, she scoured the words for any she recognized, but it was no use. She should’ve taken Sophia’s offer to teach Gwynna how to read.

  Mama entered the room with a pile of grey, folded sheets. “What be that then?”

  Gwynna’s first instinct was to hide the letter, play it off as a spare piece of waste, but hadn’t lying started this mess?

  Mama hadn’t scolded Gwynna when she’d returned from Penharrow. Though she’d been upset with Gwynna’s lies, she’d understood the ache of her daughter’s heart.

  If she hadn’t been so understanding, Gwynna would have felt far more disconcerted with revealing the note. And with Papa working at the Causeys that evening…

  “I-I believe it be a letter from Ja—from Mr. Jack Trevethan.”

  Mama’s expression grew solemn. “If your father knew…”

  “I know, Mama, but I didn’t ask ‘im to send it. And I don’t know what he be sayin’.”

  “Don’t he know ye can’t read?” Mama asked, settling the sheets on a nearby chair and moving to stand beside her. “Ye really ought to throw it in the fire straightaway.”

  The thought of burning his words—whatever they said—wounded Gwynna to the core. She held it against her chest. “Please, Mama, don’t make me be rid of it. Least not ‘til I know what he be sayin’.”

  “Are ye goin’ to ask your father to read it for ye then?” Mama asked with a dubious expression.

  “No, but Sophia might.”

  “Be ye think it wise to go to her, after what ‘appened?”

  Gwynna sighed. The words on the page begged to be read. She turned to Mama with a look of pleading. “Please. I must know, just this once. To see if he be well after Papa hurt ‘im.”

  Mama pursed her lips, then reached for the letter herself. “Fine. Let me be seein’ if I can read any o’ these words first.”

  Gwynna clasped the broom handle, anxiously waiting as Mama concentrated on the letters.

  She continued, squinting as if she couldn’t see the words clearly. “Town,” she murmured. “No…Bath…Lon…Lond…”

  Urgency rang in Gwynna’s ears. Bath. London.

  Jack was leaving.

  Mama ended with a sigh. “I be sorry, daugh’er. I can’t make any more of it out.”

  Gwynna tried to maintain a level-head, but she tapped her fingers to her thigh. “Mama…I must go to Sophia. I must know what be in the note.”

  Mama gave her a look of warning. “Gwynna…”

  “I know Papa doesn’t want me round her, but he can’t keep me away forever. And I ‘ave to know what it says.”

  To her relief, Mama sighed. “Very well, but ye make sure ye be home ‘fore your Papa be, or he’ll come lookin’ for ye again.”

  “Thank ye, Mama!” She swiftly untied her apron and set the broom aside. “I’ll be home soon, I promise.”

  She pressed a kiss to Mama’s cheek then sprinted out the door, skirts held high with the letter between her fingers. She left the small homes behind then forced her pace to slow.

  It was still early evening. She would have time enough to see Sophia and return before Papa did.

  She crossed the countryside toward Fynwary, poring over the letter again to see if she could glean more information before she arrived. She tripped over a divot in the ground. Perhaps it was safer to see where she was walking.

  Her steps faltered again, however, when she spotted a gentleman on a horse directly ahead of her at a slow pace, his broad shoulders sunken, but unmistakable.

  “Jack,” she breathed.

  Father would be livid if he discovered them together again. But then, was it not smarter to go straight to the source for the content of the letter?

  She ran toward him, calling out for him.

  “Jack!”

  He didn’t stop. Two more shouts, then he finally turned in his saddle. She waved to him, but he didn’t respond, merely reining in his horse and turning to face her as he dismounted.

  “Jack,” she said as she reached him. “I…”

  His wary look stopped her. “What are you doing here?”

  She eyed his purple cheekbone and the small, dried cut near his lip. She’d caused that injury by her reckless behavior. “I need to speak with ye.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t explain more than what is in the letter, Gwynna.”

  With an embarrassed, hopeless laugh, she raised the letter in her hands. “I can’t read, Jack.”

  * * *

  A dull ache spread through Jack’s chest. How could he have done something so exceptionally stupid? How could he not have realized she couldn’t read?

  “I be sorry,” she said in a timid voice, clearly reading his silence as disapproval.

  He tugged at his cravat. “Do not apologize. I’m the one who made the mistake.”

  “It be all right,” she said with a reassuring smile, though her cheeks were shaded in pink. Just like the color of her lips.

  He closed his eyes. “No, it isn’t all right. This is precisely the reason we cannot…” He broke off in a sigh. “It is precisely why I’m leaving Cornwall.”

  “Because I can’t read?” Her voice broke.

  “No, no.” Could he say nothing right? “No, it has nothing to do with your inability to read. That is the least of my concerns.”

  “Has somethin’ ‘appened then with your father? Or…or be it about what occurred between us? I can leave ye alone, Jack. We don’t even ‘ave to be friends anymore, if ye still with to stay.”

  Her willingness to help, to sacrifice so much for him, twisted his insides. He dipped his chin, how could he explain his reaso
ning? That he could no longer reside in Cornwall because being near Gwynna and not being with Gwynna would be too torturous.

  “Does this say why ye be leavin’?” She raised the letter.

  That blasted letter. Why had he even written it? “Yes, it merely explains that I shall be leaving Cornwall to no longer disrupt your life.”

  “But ye haven’t disrupted me life.”

  “How can you say that, Gwynna? I have threatened you, caused rumors to assail you, encouraged you to disobey your parents. Kissed you in the darkness like the despicable man I am. I have disrupted your life.”

  “Ye haven’t, Jack. Ye’ve only made it better. I know we could never be. No gent could ever marry a maiden.”

  He longed to cry out how wrong she was, how he would give anything to marry her, to disrupt the plans for his future and spend the rest of his life with her, but he clenched his jaw to remain silent.

  Gwynna took a step toward him. “When we were at Penharrow, I felt somethin’ for ye.” Gwynna wrung her hands, the paper crumpling in her grip. “And I think ye felt somethin’ for I, too…Didn’t ye?”

  With ragged breaths, Jack bore into Gwynna’s eyes. All he wanted was before him, right within his reach. Peace. Joy. Gwynna. He never thought he’d be happy again after his mother’s death, and she—this bal maiden with dirt strewn across her cheek, her hair tied back in that awful, scanty rag—had changed that.

  But this was why he needed to leave Cornwall. Gwynna would be giving him everything if they married. Jack would undeniably improve her circumstances, as well, giving her endless love and a vast home with whatever food and finery she wished. He’d longed to offer all of that and more the moment they’d kissed, but reality settled in soon after. As did Mr. Merrick’s fist.

  Both of their classes would ridicule her for rising above her station, no matter what Jack said in her defense. How could he agree to put her through such torment? She would be giving up too much. Her peace, her way of life, her freedom. Even her family.

  “Ye’d tear we, her family, apart,” her father had said.