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

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  “Jack, my apologies for keeping you waiting,” Father said in hushed tones. “You remember Mr. Farnsworth and Mr. Pinnick?”

  Jack nodded to them both, recognizing them from his first few days in Cornwall.

  “Pleasure to—”

  His words were lost to the clatter that sounded near the door. Gwynna scrambled forward, gathering the empty bowl and spoon she’d dropped to the floor near her father’s cot.

  “Pleasure to see you both again,” Jack tried again, though rather distractedly.

  Gwynna ducked her head behind her raised shoulders. Was she hiding from someone?

  “And you, Mr. Trevethan,” Mr. Farnsworth said with a jolly smile.

  Mr. Pinnick simply mumbled an intelligible comment then shuffled his boots noisily toward the snapping fire.

  A few miners stirred. Gwynna, however, shifted her entire body in the opposite direction so her back was facing Mr. Pinnick.

  Jack narrowed his eyes. She was hiding.

  “I was told I’d never have to come here again,” Mr. Pinnick grumbled as he warmed his hands by the fire. “Now it’s even filthier. Filled to the brim with rubbish.”

  Jack remembered Mr. Pinnick from his first day at the mine. The gentleman had been in a remarkably bad mood then, same as today. Why in heaven’s name did Mr. Pinnick invest in a business of which he clearly did not approve?

  Father took a step forward, drawing Jack’s attention toward him. “Mr. Farnsworth here provided much of the funds to help with the timbers,” he whispered, placing a hand on the gentleman’s shoulder. “We are all so grateful for them, especially now.”

  Jack tore his eyes from Gwynna. “Indeed, we are grateful.”

  Mr. Farnsworth humbly tipped his head. “I was more than happy to do so. Our miners must be protected.”

  “They are indispensable,” Father agreed.

  “Indispensable?” Mr. Pinnick’s voice boomed throughout the room, though he appeared to be speaking to himself again. “They are expendable.”

  Father and Mr. Farnsworth exchanged wary glances, as if they’d expected such an outburst. But Jack stared at Mr. Pinnick with a disbelieving scowl. How dare the man say such a thing before the very men who’d risked their lives for his investment?

  Gwynna leaned toward her father, whispering something in his ear. Jack honed in as Mr. Merrick’s brow contorted with worry.

  Jack’s insides twisted. What had Gwynna told her father?

  Mr. Merrick jerked his head toward the door, and Gwynna nodded, placing the wooden bowl and spoon on his cot before sailing toward the door.

  “Wait just a moment.”

  Mr. Pinnick’s voice pierced the silence in the room. A few miners fluttered their eyes open. Gwynna’s hand froze on the handle of the door, though she kept her eyes down.

  “You…” Mr. Pinnick pointed at her, moving his finger up and down as if to place where he’d seen her. “I know you.”

  Gwynna looked away. “Yes, sir. I be a maiden here.”

  “No, not from here.” He narrowed his dark eyes, his tone dangerously low. “You were at the ball…at Fynwary.”

  Jack’s lips parted, the breath rushing from his lungs.

  Gwynna had been discovered.

  * * *

  Horror sunk so deep in Gwynna’s chest, she could hardly breathe. Would she never be able to leave behind the mistake she’d made in attending that ball?

  “Ball, sir? I ain’t be at no ball.” Her voice trembled. She needed to buoy her courage.

  Mr. Pinnick’s brow drew together as he took a step toward her. “No, I know you were there. Dressed in a pink gown. Dancing with Mr. Davy.”

  “Me daugh’er ain’t done nothin’ o’ the sort,” Papa grumbled, wincing as he shifted on his cot.

  Mr. Pinnick’s eyes didn’t waver from Gwynna.

  She swallowed hard. The gentleman would readily turn her over to the constable if given the opportunity. Would he rally a group of upper class men and women who took exception to her actions? Put her in Bodmin to make an example of her? She’d heard awful tales about the jail—sharing rooms with multiple women, having no food, no light, no exercise for days.

  Even if the Hawkinses helped her to avoid being sent away, Gwynna would still lose her work if she was discovered. Now Papa had been promoted, her family could afford such a thing, but suppose her father was also removed from Favour for having such a daughter? Her whole family would be shunned, ridiculed for her selfish actions.

  Anything Papa said in her defense would not be believed, and Jack…Jack was no longer obliged to shield her. Without Sophia and Mr. Hawkins present to help, Gwynna needed to defend herself.

  Though she longed to square her shoulders and boldly declare her candor, playing the submissive maiden would serve her better, and the less confidence she had, the less recognizable she’d be as the self-assured lady she’d played before.

  She breathed slowly. “I ain’t be knowin’ no Mr. Davy, sir. And I own nothin’ but this and a dress for church.” She stretched out her brown skirts for added affect. “How could I be affordin’ a pink gown fitty for a ball?”

  Each set of eyes shifted from Gwynna to Mr. Pinnick and back, the air stilted in the room. She kept her attention from Jack, though, unable to bear the regret he must feel for intertwining his life with hers.

  Mr. Pinnick sneered. “There are other ways for you to have obtained a gown.”

  The blood sunk from her face. Thievery was a much greater crime than dressing above one’s station. She could hang for such a thing. She’d teased Jack once that she’d stolen the dress, but Mr. Pinnick was serious.

  “I ain’t be pinchin’ nothin’, sir.” At least in that regard, she was telling the truth.

  Mr. Peter Trevethan stepped across the room toward them, lowering his voice, though there was no need. Every word resounded about the small counthouse. “Mr. Pinnick, you must be mistaken. The Merricks are a fine family. What you are accusing this young woman of is—”

  “I know of what I’m accusing her!” Mr. Pinnick snapped. “She stole a gown, dressed well above her station, and slipped into a ball she was not invited to.” He shot angry eyes back at Gwynna. “Did you, or did you not, maiden?”

  The miners and surgeon awaited with bated breath. Even the counthouse woman had ducked her head outside of the kitchen to hear Gwynna’s answer, the signature scowl missing as she eagerly watched the commotion.

  “No, sir.” Gwynna’s voice shook. “That ain’t true.”

  How she regretted ever attending that cursed ball. How she regretted her pride in wishing for such an evening of frivolity.

  Mr. Pinnick shook his head with disgust. “Thank goodness it is the word of a gentleman over a miner’s daughter. I will see justice is served. Anyone else who attended the ball will surely side with me.”

  Gwynna swallowed. She was finished.

  “I most assuredly will not side with you.”

  The deep voice from across the room drifted toward her, cradling her fears and sending comforting ribbons of warmth throughout her body.

  Jack.

  He stepped past his gaping father and gawking miners to stand directly before Mr. Pinnick. “I was at the ball, but I will not side with you.”

  Mr. Pinnick scowled. “And why is that?”

  “Because she was not the woman in attendance.” He studied Gwynna. “I remember the lady in pink you described, dancing with Mr. Davy. How could a man forget her beauty?”

  Would her face ever resume its normal color?

  Mr. Pinnick pumped his head up and down. “Then you must see that this woman is her.”

  Jack motioned to Gwynna. “As lovely as this maiden is, she does not hold herself as regally as the woman did at the ball.”

  Lovely. The word was meant to assuage the necessary harshness of his words, Gwynna was sure of it. She lowered her shoulders further, forgetting everything Sophia had ever taught her about proper posture. Doing so now was sure to save her life.<
br />
  Mr. Pinnick studied her, his upper lip curled in disgust. “Lovely? Her pose is severely lacking, but I disagree. A bal maiden could never be lovely.”

  Jack tipped his head with feigned confusion. “Then forgive me, Mr. Pinnick, but I cannot understand how you can confuse her with the incomparable beauty of the lady at the ball?”

  Mr. Pinnick fiddled with his hat in his hands, shifting his eyes from Jack to Gwynna, then to the others around the room. A blush crawled up his cheeks. “I-I suppose you must be right, Mr. Trevethan. I don’t know what I was thinking. How could this—” he gestured to Gwynna “—ever pass as a true lady?”

  Gwynna’s pride picked up its head, but she could do nothing but squelch her desire to defend herself. But when Jack took a step forward, fists clenched, anger twitching his jaw, she knew she didn’t need to. Jack’s reaction was more than enough for her.

  Before he could say something and lose his cover, as well as Gwynna’s, she delivered an off-centered curtsy.

  “Ye be right, sir. I could ne’er be a lady.”

  With a fleeting glance at Jack’s focused gaze, she fled from the counthouse, leaving the dangers behind her—Mr. Pinnick and his threats, the curious eyes of the miners…and Jack’s protection, which made her love him all the more.

  * * *

  Mr. Pinnick left the counthouse shortly after Gwynna, mumbling something about having another business matter to attend to. Jack wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Pinnick withdrew his investment from the mine. The man was sure to be humiliated for having nearly been caught calling a bal maiden attractive.

  “What in heaven’s name was that about?” Father asked in a whisper, stepping up beside Jack.

  Jack shrugged. He wasn’t about to explain what he knew. “Perhaps he has had more port than he ought to have.”

  Father laughed a mirthless chuckle before turning to Mr. Merrick. “I’m terribly sorry for his accusation.”

  Mr. Merrick glanced warily to Jack, then placed a hand over his head with a wince. “It be well, sir.”

  Jack knew Mr. Merrick wasn’t feigning a headache, what with the pulsing in his own brow. He never wished to go through such an ordeal again.

  “Jack, did you truly see the woman in pink at the ball?” Father asked, his voice soft. “Or were you simply defending the maiden?”

  Jack shifted his attention to the miners around them. They pulled away with contrived disinterest, but Jack would say nothing to place Gwynna in further harm.

  “I did see her. She was…stunning.”

  Father maintained his stare, but Jack averted his eyes. He could not say the words for which Father searched, “But the lady in pink was not Gwynna.”

  Mr. Merrick’s penetrating gaze settled on Jack once again.

  Jack pulled away, unnerved. “I must leave for Coffrow Place now, Father. I’ve delayed my departure for too long as it is.”

  Father placed his hand on Jack’s shoulder and motioned to the door. “I’ll walk you out, son.”

  Jack resisted the urge to wiggle away from Father’s touch. He knew what was coming—a reprimand, advice, questions.

  They left the counthouse. Just as Jack suspected, after Jack had placed his jacket and hat near his horse, Father pulled him to the side of the small structure, where Jack had once teased Gwynna by snatching her bonnet. How long ago that now seemed.

  Once they were alone, Father faced him with a hesitant whisper. “Jack, might you explain to me what the devil just happened back there?”

  “How am I to know more? Mr. Pinnick mistook Gwynna Merrick for a lady.”

  “And was he wrong?”

  Jack stuck his tongue in his cheek, trying to buy more time before he had to answer the question. But he soon realized, the longer he waited to respond, the more the truth slipped out from his hesitance.

  Father’s mouth parted in shock. “It’s true then? She stole the gown and—”

  “No, no.” Jack shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. “No, she wouldn’t stoop to such a thing, Father. She merely…”

  His words trailed off. Jack had revealed too much of what he knew about Gwynna.

  Father narrowed his eyes. “How do you know?”

  Jack took a deep breath, holding it as he once again attempted to concoct an answer that didn’t make him sound like an utter scoundrel—or a crazed gentleman. But he simply blew out his breath between pursed lips.

  Father’s eyes widened, and he rubbed a hand against the side of his face. “So they’re true then, the rumors?”

  “Rumors?” Jack questioned, a last ditch effort to feign innocence.

  He knew about the rumors. It was impossible to work at a mine, to live in Society, even to walk down the street and avoid hearing rumors about oneself and others.

  “They’ve been spreading around the mine for weeks.” Father leaned forward, his words barely audible. “You’ve fallen in love with a bal maiden.”

  Jack raised a hand to his brow, a shield for his eyes. Hearing the words aloud solidified his feelings for Gwynna even more. How he longed to be with her. How he longed to share his life with her, even with Mr. Merrick’s disapproval and Father’s censure that was sure to be soon expressed.

  But he and Gwynna could not be together. There was too much for her to lose.

  Father’s words muffled as his fingers rubbed against his lips. “How on earth could this have happened?”

  The culmination of the last few weeks threatened to shove the last of Jack’s patience over the edge of the cliff it was perched upon. But he couldn’t allow his own frustrations to bruise the tentative relationship he’d finally formed with his father.

  He raised a steadying hand and spoke with measured breaths. “I am not in the mood to be lectured today, Father. Heaven knows I’ve berated myself enough these past few weeks to last a lifetime.”

  “But, I…How did you…I don’t…”

  “I cannot answer your questions with any more logic than you could summon now. I don’t know how it happened.”

  That was a lie. Jack knew full well how it happened.

  He’d been witness to this remarkable woman’s strength, positivity, and goodness, and without Society to judge him, he’d fallen in love with her. Her stamina at the mine, her ability to end the ferocious fight between maidens, her defense and protection of herself and her loved ones—all of this simply poured nourishing water on his already flourishing feelings.

  She was everything to him. And he’d given her up.

  The realization of what he’d done seeped inside him, weighing him down until his back hunched over.

  “Jack, what is it?” Father ducked his head lower to meet his eyes.

  Jack shook his head, staring at the walls of the counthouse, its brown, cracked wood as splintered as his heart. “I can’t explain to you how it all came about. Only that I am completely lost without her.”

  Father was silent for a moment then blew out a heavy sigh. “I admit, I am rather at a loss for words, son. I thought perhaps you might be in love with Amy.”

  “No, I am not.”

  Yet another relationship he’d effectually ruined. Loving Amy would have been far easier and would have prevented a great deal of grief.

  “Is that why you are to go to London instead of Bath with the Paxtons?”

  Jack winced. “Yes.”

  A few days before, he’d caught Hugh and Amy leaving in their carriage. Amy had avoided him like an illness ever since her declaration of love, and Hugh had told Jack they were to leave straight for Bath.

  “I do not blame you, Jack,” Hugh had said, uncharacteristically solemn as he stood a good distance from the carriage. “My sister has always had fanciful ideas. She thought you inviting her to Cornwall was a significant sign of your love for her.”

  Jack had leaned forward, speaking in earnest. “I am sorry to have hurt her so terribly. That was never my intention.”

  “I know. But still, I think it best if you do not return with u
s to Bath. At least not for a fortnight or more.”

  Jack had accepted at once then finally understood the significance of the situation. He no longer had friends, or a home. He couldn’t remain in Cornwall without Gwynna, no matter the small progress he’d made with his father. And now he couldn’t return to Bath either. Renting a place in London was his only option.

  In a matter of days, he’d lost everything he’d ever known—but nothing stung so poignantly as the loss of his love.

  “Is that fine shade of purple on your face from Hugh?” Father asked, returning Jack to the present.

  Jack softly touched the tender bruise on his cheek. “No. This was courtesy of Travers Merrick.”

  Father chuckled. “Trust you to fall in love with a woman whose father’s strength surpasses your own.”

  Jack smiled despite himself. It was his fault. He’d had fair warning.

  Father sobered. “So…I suppose you wish to-to marry her then?”

  What did it matter what Jack wished to do? “Worry not, Father. A marriage cannot occur between us.”

  “And why is that?”

  Jack regarded him dubiously. “Do not pretend you are unaware of our class difference, Father.”

  “So that is the reason you will not wed, because she is of the working class?”

  “No, of course not.” Jack didn’t wish for their conversation to continue—speaking would only result in feelings being shared—but he couldn’t let Father believe such a thing. “I care not about her class.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Jack shifted his boots, ruffled under Father’s questioning. “What does it matter to you? Do you wish for me to marry her?”

  A smile tugged at one side of Father’s mouth. “If this maiden is behind your desires to improve the mine and our relationship, if she is the reason you wish to remain in Cornwall indefinitely, I see no reason to complain about her, lower class or not.”

  Jack gaped. He’d been expecting words of warning, maybe even a harsh reprimand, but support? Encouragement? He opened his mouth but merely sputtered nonsensical sounds.

  “Jack, I am the last person on earth who has any right to instruct you on matters. Had I raised you and been the father I ought to have been, perhaps I’d feel more of a right to do so.”