For the Lady of Lowena (A Cornish Romance Book 2)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  “You do not value the victory in a game?”

  He pushed the hands he’d dealt across the table toward Mr. Singleton, Miss Kinsey, then Sophia. She reached for her cards too early, and the tips of her fingers brushed against the top of his hand.

  Their eyes met for a single moment, a connection made as strong as the fierce beating of her heart.

  Mr. Hawkins pulled back. “No, I do not. Especially not games that are played in London.”

  Sophia focused on her cards rather than on her fingers still tingling where they had touched. “I really cannot imagine why you do not enjoy London, sir. It is so lively and exciting, with such wonderful entertainment and people.”

  “Yes, if one can take pleasure in such company.”

  Perhaps this man was not the one who’d rescued her that morning. He was so sullen, she couldn’t make any sense of it. “What is there not to like of the company there?”

  “Plenty.”

  His voice was gruff, final. He wished to end their conversation, but why? Why did he dislike London, and why was he continually snubbing her kindness?

  Her mind was already in disarray when the final round began. She could not win with her last card, and she was fairly certain Mr. Singleton would find some way to ruin their chance of success.

  She scolded herself half-heartedly. Her mood had grown too dark to feel true remorse for her uncharitable thoughts.

  Sure enough, after Miss Kinsey played her final diamond, she and Mr. Hawkins took the round and the game.

  “It appears we have been bested, Miss Rosewall,” Mr. Singleton said. “Well done, Mr. Hawkins, Miss Kinsey. A noble victory, indeed.”

  Miss Kinsey stood from the table. “Excuse me,” she squeaked out before scurrying away.

  Mr. Hawkins stood, as well. “Allow me to join you, Miss Kinsey.”

  As he made to leave, something snapped within Sophia. Confusion, impatience, indignation. Everything she shouldn’t be feeling. Such emotion had not been caused by losing the game, by Miss Kinsey’s silence, or even by having a silly partner. They were caused by Mr. Hawkins’s sudden and inexplicable indifference toward her.

  She stood abruptly, holding her hand up to stop him from following Miss Kinsey. “Just a moment, sir. I asked you a question. You could at least show me the courtesy of responding with more than a single word.”

  He stared at her impassively.

  Sophia was only vaguely aware of Mr. Singleton stepping away from the table to join Miss Kinsey by the hearth, a look of discomfort on both of their faces.

  “What is there not to like about the company one finds in London?” she repeated.

  “Do you truly wish to know?” Mr. Hawkins asked.

  “I do.”

  He raised a careless brow, his words coming low and deep, so quickly she barely had time to process them. “I do not enjoy the people who are more concerned with their own looks and accomplishments than the feelings of others. It is a hunting ground. A place for them to play their game. The game of who can catch the richest husband.”

  Sophia’s eyes widened, shock striking her dumb.

  He took a step toward her, speaking so only she could hear. “I had hoped Cornwall would be exempt, but to my great dismay, you have shown me that these games also exist here.”

  His pointed look was unmistakable, his accusatory words penetrating her defenses.

  Her nostrils flared, and the veins in her neck pulsed as she struggled to maintain decorum. His words were distasteful, ungentlemanlike in the truest manner. How dare he, a perfect stranger, come into her home and accuse her of such things after only a few moments with her? He took issue with her flirtatious words, but what female didn’t flirt? And what gentleman, for that matter?

  She clenched her teeth. “Mr. Hawkins, how dare you—”

  “Good evening, Miss Rosewall,” he interrupted.

  With a curt bow, he left her side.

  Chapter Four

  Sophia stared after Mr. Hawkins. So he wasn’t jealous. He was simply a horrible, ungenerous, judgmental man. She ought to march right up to him and demand he retract his unfeeling words. But that would create a scene Mother would have to clean up later, and Sophia couldn’t do that to her.

  Instead, she smoothed her skirts, brushed back her ringlets, and raised her chin. She would show them how a proper member of Society ought to behave. She would rise above Mr. Hawkins’s comments and act poised and regal, something he could never do. Let Miss Kinsey have him all to herself. The two deserved each other.

  Sophia would rather enjoy her time with the true gentlemen in her home that evening.

  And enjoy them she did. She giggled and flirted to her heart’s content, though Mr. Hawkins’s judgmental eyes were upon her more often than not until the night ended and the party finally dispersed.

  She and Mother bade goodbye to their guests at the door with gracious words and curtsies. Sophia had lost sight of Mr. Hawkins as the group filed through the entryway and left Fynwary Hall, but she didn’t mind. She would not have said goodbye to him anyway.

  When the tall, double doors closed behind the last of the guests, Mother sighed. “Goodness, what an evening!” She linked her arm through Sophia’s and led them back to the drawing room. “You did well tonight, my dear. As charming as I have ever seen you, to be sure. Mr. Chester and Mr. Singleton both appear to be quite taken with you. Tell me, has your opinion of them changed? Might you consider either of them as a suitor?”

  After discovering that Mr. Singleton proved a poor whist partner—and no doubt Mr. Chester, as well—Sophia was bound and determined to never marry either of them. “I do not know, to be truthful. I fear they both lack…something.” A personality, perhaps? Intelligence? “But I will continue befriending them, of course.”

  Mother patted her hand. “You may as well, if only to help you discover what it is you wish for in a husband.” The swishing of their silk gowns filled the air as they walked down the corridor. “What did you think of Mr. Hawkins?”

  Sophia hesitated. “Well, he is handsome, I suppose. But I fear he is not as amiable as he appears to be.”

  “I did notice after whist that he hardly spoke. Did something occur between the two of you?”

  Sophia bit her tongue to prevent herself from clicking her teeth. “I’m afraid so, yes. He spoke rather bluntly and accused me of, well, never mind. He was simply not as gentlemanly as I hoped. Especially after he saved me from—” She froze. Mother’s eyes were upon her. Sophia scrambled for an answer that did not reveal the time she had spent with him on the beach. “Saved me from-from speaking with Miss Kinsey all evening.”

  Mother watched her for a moment before looking away. “Yes, I suppose that is fortunate then. She is a fine enough girl but far too silent to be amiable. At any rate, I am sorry to hear about Mr. Hawkins. Perhaps he may turn out to be a fine gentleman yet.”

  Sophia nodded, though she highly doubted her words. Mr. Hawkins was deplorable.

  She had every intention of saying as much to Father that very night, but as she followed her mother into the drawing room, her feet planted to the floor, tongue curbed.

  “Mr. Hawkins?” Mother said.

  Sure enough, the gentleman was still standing by the hearth, his tall figure commanding the attention of the room far more than Father’s slouched stance nearby.

  “We didn’t know you were still here,” Mother continued. She exchanged glances with Sophia. Had he heard their conversation outside the room? “If you were waiting for your horse, I’m sure he is ready by now.”

  Mr. Hawkins glanced to Father. “Thank you, Mrs. Rosewall, but your husband…”

  “I have asked Mr. Hawkins to stay behind for a moment.” Father’s voice was ragged, matching the weary crease of his brow. “Please, Mrs. Rosewall, Sophia. Do sit down.”

  Mother settled on the settee near the fire, but Sophia chose the seat farthest from Mr. Hawkins. He stood with his hands behind his back, holding as still as Sophia when she
was being measured for a new gown.

  His calm demeanor caused a wariness to come over her, especially when she compared it with her father’s uncharacteristic fidgeting. “Is everything all right, Father?”

  “There is something I wish to discuss that concerns us, all of us.”

  Sophia’s stomach swayed, unsettled. What on earth could Father have to say that involved all of them? Something business related, perhaps? Father owned the majority of the shares in his mine, Wheal Favour. Had Mr. Hawkins bullied his way into purchasing a few himself? That would certainly explain Father’s low spirits.

  Her blood boiled. She couldn’t stand for it, especially not after what Mr. Hawkins had said to her earlier. “Father, I must speak with you.”

  “In a moment, Sophia.” Father’s chest lifted as he drew in a breath. He faced them directly to show his composure, though his lined brow exposed his discontent. “Now, we know that the Rosewalls, like many landed gentry, have suffered our fair share of gossip in relation to our wealth and circumstances, as well as our standing with Wheal Favour.”

  Sophia nodded. She was well aware of the envious members of her own class starting rumors—rumors of their mine failing, scandals between family members, loss of wealth—purely to make themselves appear higher than the Rosewalls. In the end, the gossip always died out. Why would Father mention them now?

  He lowered his head as he continued. “The rumors in relation to the mine now, however, are true. You remember this last flooding incident. Well, the gentlemen with shares in Wheal Favour have collectively decided to cease funding the mine. So I have no other option but to sell.”

  Sophia gasped, holding a hand to her neck as her throat constricted. Wheal Favour had been in their family’s possession for generations. How could he sell such a legacy?

  She turned to Mother, whose skin glowed as white as Sophia’s newly ordered ball gown.

  “They have ended their support because of a simple accident?” Mother asked, her voice high-pitched.

  Father winced. “They have not been pleased with my decision to go against their advisements in regard to…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “In regard to a number of things. They warned me that they would either sell shares or pull their finances, should another accident occur, but—”

  “How is any of that in your control?” Mother asked, her nostrils flaring, a sure sign of her attempt to rein in her emotions.

  Father’s eyes shifted, guilt contorting his features, but he remained silent.

  “Could you not have purchased their shares? Found other investors?” Mother asked next.

  “No. That is what I must explain to you now.”

  Sophia hardly heard their words, her mind still attempting to sift through the information. Father had sold the mine, but to whom?

  Her eyes slowly trailed across the red, decorated carpet her slippers rested upon until her eyes landed on a pair of sand-stricken, knee-length boots.

  Of course it would be him.

  “I fear that—”

  “Have you sold it to Mr. Hawkins, Father?” she interrupted.

  Father’s jaw tensed. “How did you know?”

  His eyes shot to Mr. Hawkins, who instantly shook his head. Did Father truly think she was so daft as to not have deduced the answer herself? Why else would the man be standing there if he had not purchased their family’s mine?

  “Of course it is Mr. Hawkins,” she blurted out. “That is why he is here, is it not? To flaunt his new possession in front of us who suffer.”

  She raised a daring brow at Mr. Hawkins. His eyes narrowed, but he remained silent.

  “That is not why he is here, Sophia.” Father’s voice was firm, a tone he did not normally take with his only daughter. “I invited him to join us so you and your mother might see how amiable a gentleman he is. He would not triumph over our losses. He will take good care of Fynwary Hall, of that I am sure.”

  “What?” Mother blurted.

  “Fynwary Hall?” Sophia questioned at the same time. “Don’t you mean Wheal Favour?”

  Father’s mouth parted, his whole face flaming red. “Forgive me, I had hoped to share the news more gently, but I thought you had guessed that he had purchased…” He broke off with a sigh. “You misunderstood. Mr. Trevethan is the one who will be purchasing the mine. Mr. Hawkins will be purchasing, has purchased, our home.”

  Sophia frowned, shaking her head. He was teasing, that was all. She laughed dryly. “What a terrible joke, Father.”

  She looked to Mother for support, but her gaunt countenance did nothing for Sophia’s apprehension.

  “You must understand, Mrs. Rosewall,” Father began in a soft voice, his blue eyes haunted and stricken with grief, “I have done everything I possibly can to keep Fynwary Hall. There is nothing left to be done. I kept my financial failures to myself so you might both enjoy life for as long as possible in the way you are accustomed. But now things must change, and not for the better.”

  Sophia pulled back in a daze. Father was speaking the truth. He had actually sold their mine and their house. What were they to do for money? Where were they to live? The air continued to be pressed from her lungs. “How has this happened, Father?”

  He crossed the room to stand behind Mother’s settee, resting a hand on her shoulder. Mother visibly stiffened, still ghostly white.

  “When Wheal Favour was not fetching a profit a few years before,” Father explained, “I was forced to take out a number of loans, not only to fund the mine, but to pay for our extravagant living.” He swallowed. “When the mine was profitable again, I was able to repay one of the loans. But after the recent internal damage the mine has suffered due to the flooding, I have been unable to make payments. The bank has decided to call in the loans immediately, otherwise we could have leased the property. I haven’t the money to repay them, so short of my going to debtor’s prison and the bank seizing our property, I find our only option is to sell Wheal Favour and Fynwary Hall and use the money to satisfy the debts.”

  A knot tied in Sophia’s stomach, the blood fleeing from her face. Father had sold their house, and now Mr. Hawkins, the man who’d insulted her in her own home, would own Fynwary Hall.

  Her toes curled in her slippers. She could only imagine his impassive expression, the same look he’d carried most of the night, but she did not have the strength to look up at him. Not when her life had been stripped bare right before his eyes.

  “When must we leave, Mr. Rosewall?” Mother asked, staring at the wall behind Sophia, her voice void of emotion.

  Father hesitated, softly squeezing his wife’s shoulder. “In two days’ time.”

  Another pain pinched at Sophia’s heart. Two days. Two days were all they had left in the home she had been born and raised in, that Father had been born and raised in, and his father before. It was too much. The knot in her stomach contracted.

  Mother sniffed, closing her eyes. A single tear escaped her eyelashes and curved down her cheek. Father didn’t see, standing behind her, but Mr. Hawkins reached forth, extending his handkerchief.

  Mother accepted it with a simple nod, but Sophia still refused to look at him. Why was he there? Never mind that he was asked to be. Could neither he nor Father see that their world, their future, was hanging precariously in the balance? Veritably ending?

  Their future. Sophia’s future. Her heart sank. “Father, my dowry?

  Slowly, his eyes met hers. One look was enough. She knew the answer.

  Gone.

  She pressed a hand to her mouth. Her way of life, her future, everything she had in terms of securing a husband vanished from her sight. She could not blame Father, whose shame was so apparent, who had done his best to give his family a good life.

  She would blame who was responsible.

  With all embarrassment gone, anger billowed inside her. She turned to Mr. Hawkins, anticipating his heartless eyes. She would respond to them with a scowl that would leave him unmistaken as to how she felt about him. />
  But when their eyes met, she halted. He was not indifferent, nor was he proud. If Sophia didn’t know any better, she would have thought he looked pained. His brow was drawn high, his lips rigidly straight. His eyes reflected the despair felt so tangibly in the room.

  Why was he pained? Why should he be in despair? He must have been told the state of Father’s finances, yet he’d still been cruel to her that evening. He was not losing his home. He was gaining one. Another one.

  Sophia, on the other hand, was losing everything. For what sane gentleman would ever choose to marry a woman without the promise of a single shilling?

  Clarity rushed through her like a blast of wind pushing open an unlatched window. Mr. Hawkins’s behavior, his sudden change from that morning, now made sense. He had been the perfect example of generosity and kindness when he’d thought her to be a wealthy lady. But nearly the very moment he’d realized who she was—the daughter of a man who had lost everything—he’d shifted his attention from her to someone more deserving, a woman who was now more eligible than Sophia. Miss Kinsey.

  How dare the man? His discomfort was no doubt nothing more than a simple act.

  With a piercing glare, she stood to face him. “How could you, Mr. Hawkins?” His eyes met hers, hardening as she spoke. “How could you sit at our dinner table, impose on our party, stake your claim on our house before we have even left the premises?”

  “Sophia…”

  She hardly registered Father’s warning tone. “My father has not worked hard each and every day of his life to—”

  “Sophia.”

  “—have some self-proclaimed gentleman flaunt his wealth and position by throwing an honest family out of their rightful home. It is not fair. I will not stand for this. I will not—”

  “Sophia!”

  She turned wide eyes on her father. Never had he raised his voice so loudly. “But, Father, how can he expect us to leave in two days? The man—”

  “Mr. Hawkins,” Father interrupted, emphasizing his name, “has offered us every opportunity to remain here for as long as we need. It is I who has decided when to leave Fynwary Hall. I did so weeks ago.”