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

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  “I’ll tell her, miss.”

  Sophia nodded her thanks and returned to her room. She refused to allow the shabby interior to darken her mood. Not while she had hope yet. All she needed to do was wait for the hours to pass by, then she could go to the Madderns and carry out her strategy.

  With any luck, her life and her future would be changed forever, and this time for the better.

  * * *

  Frederick shifted his feet, fighting the urge to glance at the clock at the far side of the Maddern’s drawing room. He supposed he didn’t really need to check the time. He’d only just arrived, yet he couldn’t wait for when he could leave without causing offense.

  He stifled a yawn as the silence ticked by. He’d received a wonderful night’s sleep at Fynwary Hall the night before, and still, he struggled to remain alert.

  Perhaps that was simply due to his company. Miss Kinsey was kind, appeared intelligent, and was very pretty with her soft, blonde hair. But if she wasn’t the most painfully shy woman he’d ever come across. It was nearly impossible for him to carry on a conversation with her.

  “So you are from Kent?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you miss it there?”

  She nodded.

  “And your sisters, how are they faring without you?”

  A flicker of anguish crossed her face. “They are well, sir. But they miss me, as I miss them.”

  Her voice broke. He glanced to Mrs. Maddern in discomfort, but the middle-aged woman merely watched her niece with compassionate eyes.

  Wonderful. Not only was he failing in his attempt to encourage Miss Kinsey to speak, he was now causing her pain by the topics he chose. This visit was getting worse by the minute.

  “Kent is a beautiful county,” he said, changing the subject before both women could burst into tears. “I had the pleasure of visiting there a few years ago on business.”

  Miss Kinsey nodded.

  Mrs. Maddern sent Frederick an apologetic look. He smiled to ensure the woman that all was well.

  In truth, it was. He could be patient. He had all the time in the world to get to know Miss Kinsey better, to see if they matched well enough to wed. Of course, at this rate, it would take a lifetime to get to know Miss Kinsey’s true feelings, but he could be patient for a woman who was inherently good. A woman who didn’t flirt with every gentleman within her arm’s reach.

  “And how are your parents?” he asked in a rush. The silence had allowed his mind to stray to a place, to a woman, of whom he would no longer think.

  “They are well.”

  He continued in a soft voice, fearing she might run away like a skittish deer if he spoke any louder. “I do not know if they are anything like my own mother, but if they are, it must be a welcome relief to be away for a time. Parents can be difficult to maneuver.”

  Her eyes met his for one brief moment before dropping again to her hands. “I have never taken issue with my parents.”

  He swallowed his sigh. Yet another thing the two didn’t have in common.

  “Have you told Mr. Hawkins about your love of poetry?” Mrs. Maddern asked, attempting to draw her niece out, as well.

  Miss Kinsey shook her head. “No, but I do have a certain fondness for it.”

  Frederick’s smile weakened. Good heavens. He enjoyed reading as much as the next person, but poetry? He could not abide it. The writing was far too cryptic. He much preferred straight-forward, no-nonsense speech.

  “My niece is quite skilled in rehearsing certain poems. She has even written a few verses herself.”

  “Oh?” He could like poetry. He would just have to try a little harder to do so. “And how often do you write them?”

  “Often.”

  He nodded, wracking his brain for something further to say. Relief came in a different form when the Madderns’ footman entered the drawing room, pulling their attention away from the uncomfortable conversation.

  “Yes, what is it, Peterson?” Mrs. Maddern asked.

  “Miss Rosewall to see you, ma’am.”

  Frederick’s stomach dropped. Blast. What was the woman doing there? He far preferred speaking, or not speaking, with Miss Kinsey than being with Miss Rosewall again.

  He glanced to Mrs. Maddern. She was looking at him with widened eyes, no doubt wondering how the interaction between him and Miss Rosewall would be. After all, the whole of St. Just now knew that he owned Fynwary Hall.

  The footman stepped aside, and Miss Rosewall entered the room. He would never have thought this woman was capable of tripping in the sand, so gracefully she curtsied to them.

  Her lips curved, her eyebrows drawn high on her forehead, giving her a pleasant aura. She did not appear for the worse, living at the cottage. Perhaps the move had done her good, even eased the hatred she felt toward Frederick.

  But as her eyes fell on him, they hardened to an icy blue, and a coldness seeped through his person, slithering down his spine.

  “Miss Rosewall, do come in,” Mrs. Maddern said. Her eyes moved to Frederick’s once more. “We had no idea we’d have the pleasure of seeing you this morning.”

  Miss Rosewall moved farther into the room. “You must forgive me for calling without notice, Mrs. Maddern, Miss Kinsey. I simply did not have the opportunity to visit with the both of you enough at our dinner party, so I thought to make amends this morning.” She looked at Frederick. “Mr. Hawkins,” she greeted coolly.

  He responded with a stiff bow.

  She sat down on the only seat available—the sofa right next to where he stood—and raised her chin, her neck long and slender. She really was lovely.

  No. No, Miss Kinsey was lovely.

  “I trust you are both well,” Miss Rosewall asked the aunt and niece. “And Mr. Maddern?”

  “He is feeling must better, thank you,” Mrs. Maddern responded. “He is out riding this morning.”

  “Thank goodness you and Miss Kinsey have not suffered with the same cold.”

  “Indeed.” Mrs. Maddern skirted her eyes. “And how is your own family, Miss Rosewall?” Her question was laden with curiosity and hesitation.

  “We are doing very well, thank you.”

  Miss Rosewall had spoken so convincingly, Frederick would have believed her, had he thought she could ever be happy in reduced circumstances.

  “And your mother?” Mrs. Maddern pressed.

  Miss Rosewall sighed. “I see. You must have heard what has happened to my family.” She stared down at her folded hands. “We are doing better than one might suppose. Mother is tired, but that is to be expected after such an upheaval to our lives.”

  Sorrow thickly laced her voice, but as she glanced sidelong at Frederick, fury still lit her eyes.

  Frederick couldn’t believe it. She was actually playing the victim, no doubt hoping that he would appear as the one responsible for her new, pitiful existence.

  He would not allow that lie to spread, nor the woman to manipulate others to benefit herself.

  He clasped his hands behind his back, his nails digging into his palms. “Miss Kinsey, before we were interrupted, you mentioned liking poetry. Do you enjoy Shakespeare then?”

  Miss Rosewall seared up at him. She obviously did not wish the conversation steered to anyone but herself.

  “Yes, sir,” Miss Kinsey responded.

  “And do you prefer his sonnets or his plays?”

  “I haven’t a preference.”

  Miss Rosewall jumped in, her smooth tone grating at Frederick’s patience. “I myself adore Shakespeare’s plays. Miss Kinsey, have you had the opportunity to see one of them performed at the theatre?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Oh, you really ought to make that a priority. I’m certain you would enjoy it. There are times when I prefer the theatre to even a ball.”

  Frederick’s fists clenched tighter. He glanced toward her just as she moved her eyes away from him. How could he have ever thought those hollow, blue chasms were warm?


  He forced his attention on Miss Kinsey. What color of eyes did she have? He couldn’t tell with how low she hung her head.

  “Speaking of a ball,” Miss Rosewall continued, “I can hardly wait for yours. It has only been a few weeks since the assembly in St. Just, but it seems a lifetime ago since I’ve danced. Yours will be here before we know it.”

  Mrs. Maddern readjusted her skirts over her knees. “So you still wish to attend?”

  Miss Rosewall pulled in her brows. “Why, of course I do. I assume I am still invited?”

  “Of course you are, my dear, of course. I only thought that, what with the strain of you moving to Lowena Cottage, you would not have the energy to attend.”

  A small vein pulsed in Miss Rosewall’s otherwise unmoving neck. “Well, as we are all still enthusiastic, even after such a move, I can hardly think of a reason not to attend. Can you?”

  She looked to each person in the room, ending on Frederick. Her eyebrow raised daringly.

  Frederick itched to challenge her, as she challenged him, but Mrs. Maddern’s flustered response came first.

  “Oh, no, Miss Rosewall. Of course we are most pleased to have you attend. It will be a pleasure to have you be one of our primary dancers, along with my lovely niece, of course.”

  A satisfied expression unveiled on Miss Rosewall’s face. Mrs. Maddern, however, shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

  Frederick was certain the woman had not wished for Miss Rosewall to attend. The aunt was no doubt hoping that her niece might be allowed to blossom then.

  Miss Rosewall, however, did not care for anyone’s desires but her own. Such was evident as she continued speaking, entirely unaware of the growing restlessness in the room.

  “Oh, Mrs. Maddern, you have such a lovely home.” Her eyes trailed around the drawing room.

  The walls were a Saxon green and covered with images of ancestors and golden sconces. It was lovely. But Frederick kept his eyes on Miss Rosewall. She was up to something else now, though he wasn’t sure what.

  “I always feel so happy when I call here,” Miss Rosewall continued. “There is something about Benlett House that feels, well, that feels like home. Miss Kinsey is so very fortunate that you have taken her in with welcome arms and given her such a lovely place to call her own.”

  Frederick’s lips pressed flat. Miss Kinsey made no reaction, but Mrs. Maddern nodded her gratitude.

  Miss Rosewall’s head pivoted as she eyed the crown molding bordering the room. “So clean and tidy. And so spacious! You must have a great deal of spare rooms just collecting dust.” An airy laugh blew past her lips. “Oh, to have such space again. I fear Lowena Cottage is surely lacking in that regard. Of course, the cottage is lovely, if not a little dirty. And small. So small I hardly have room for any of my belongings.” She forced an exaggerated wince to her eye. “It is a struggle. But I am managing as best I can.”

  Frederick clenched his jaw, his muscles twitching. There it was, the true reasoning behind her call. He could hardly believe her audacity.

  A look of discomfort crossed Mrs. Maddern’s features. She was no doubt aware of Miss Rosewall’s workings. “Under the circumstances, we’re certainly glad you’re doing as well as you are, Miss Rosewall.”

  “Yes, we are doing remarkably well.” Miss Rosewall looked past Frederick to the hearth, rubbing her upper arms and raising her shoulders. “How very warm it is in here. No doubt due to that lovely fire. The cottage has very little heat, I’m afraid. I do hope I will not catch a cold while living there. Miss Kinsey, you must enjoy the warmth here, as well.”

  Miss Kinsey’s eyes traveled up, then fell straight back down, her voice softer than usual. “Indeed, I do.”

  “Though you must get lonely, at times, do you not?” Miss Rosewall pressed.

  Frederick longed to groan at her blatant hinting.

  “Aunt and Uncle are very fine company,” Miss Kinsey said. “I could not wish for more than that.”

  A gracious response from a gracious woman. Unlike Miss Rosewall, who continued to speak only for her benefit.

  “Oh yes, your aunt is of the highest quality. But you really ought to have a companion your age. Don’t you agree, Mrs. Maddern? Would your niece not benefit with someone to guide her through the norms of social graces? Someone who could be near her, why, even live at Benlett House if you wished it.”

  Unbelievable. Frederick could hardly keep his temper checked. She was playing another game, a game to get out of Lowena Cottage and into Benlett House by using Miss Kinsey’s innocence and Mrs. Maddern’s kindness.

  Frederick had seen the cottage from afar that very morning on his way to visit the Madderns. It was small, and the roof and a few of the windows were badly in need of repair—repairs he, as landlord, had every intention of seeing to. But it was the largest house that Fynwary Hall leased to others, not to mention more than sufficient for a family of three whose father had no more income than a small share in a weakened mine.

  Did Miss Rosewall not realize how fortunate she was to not be living in the poor house? Was she so ungrateful to not even appreciate the fact that she had a roof over her head?

  No, she was oblivious to it all and was now willing to leave her parents behind so that she alone might enjoy a life of leisure.

  The silence in the drawing room was palpable. Unbearable. Mrs. Maddern avoided Miss Rosewall’s penetrating gaze, obviously unsure of how to proceed.

  From his viewpoint, Frederick could see Miss Kinsey’s rounded eyes as she stared at the carpet. She looked ready to run from the room, as skittish as any fawn he’d ever seen.

  If Miss Kinsey was a fawn…Miss Rosewall was the fox.

  The wily, conniving fox.

  As a child, Frederick hadn’t been able to stand up to his father’s manipulation. But he was no longer a child, and he would not allow Miss Rosewall’s games to proceed.

  His voice shattered the silence. “Well I, for one, believe Miss Kinsey has a fine companion in Mrs. Maddern. After all, who better to share one’s home and time with than a loving member of one’s own family?” He turned to Miss Rosewall, whose eyes flashed heatedly up at him. “And you must agree, Miss Rosewall. How grateful you must be to have your mother as your companion, and you as hers. She would certainly be miserable without both her husband and her daughter with her at Lowena Cottage.”

  Miss Rosewall’s chin jutted forth, her brow lowering menacingly over her eyes.

  “Oh, goodness, yes,” Mrs. Maddern said, sighing with obvious relief. “Just imagine your poor mother without you by her side. Your father, too. You know how they dote on you. Just as I dote on my niece. Claire, you have noticed the very same, that the Rosewalls love their daughter wholeheartedly, have you not?”

  Frederick was surprised with how quickly Miss Kinsey nodded. “Indeed, they do.” Her voice was loud. Well, louder than usual.

  “I have noticed the very same,” Frederick agreed, if only to place more kindling onto Mrs. Maddern’s fire of resolve. “They would miss you a dreadful amount.”

  Miss Rosewall pursed her lips, unamused with what had just occurred. Frederick, on the other hand, could not be more pleased. He sent a smile in her direction, a smile that was not returned, which only pushed him to continue his own game.

  “In fact, I’m certain your mother is missing you this very moment, Miss Rosewall. Why do you not allow me to escort you home?”

  “I hardly think that is necessary,” she replied, venom thick in her voice.

  Mrs. Maddern stood, Miss Kinsey following suit. “Oh, what a lovely idea, Mr. Hawkins,” Mrs. Maddern said. “So generous. You must accept his offer, Miss Rosewall. After all, you really ought not be walking around unaccompanied.”

  “But I only just arrived,” Miss Rosewall said. “And I have something else I wish to discuss with—”

  “Come, come, Miss Rosewall,” Frederick said, extending his hand to where she was still seated. “I insist.”

  Now it was Miss Rosewall who could
not find a way to protest, what with three people clearly wishing for her to take her leave. With flared nostrils, she stood, brushing past his outstretched hand.

  Frederick hid his gratified smirk.

  “Good day, Mrs. Maddern, Miss Kinsey,” she said. She paused at the door only long enough to curtsy, barely suffering a glance at Frederick before mumbling for him to make haste. Without awaiting a response, she marched from the room.

  Finally satisfied that Miss Rosewall would not confront Mrs. Maddern and her niece with any more unreasonable requests, Frederick bade farewell to them both, making his way from the drawing room and through the house.

  Miss Rosewall was nowhere in sight. It was no surprise that she would leave without him. Truth be told, he was relieved. A walk home with Miss Rosewall was not how he wished to spend his morning.

  He quit the house and retrieved his horse from the groom, greeting the chestnut gelding with a rub to his forelock.

  “That was not amusing, Mr. Hawkins.”

  Frederick whirled around at the voice, coming face-to-face with Miss Rosewall, who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. She stood with her arms folded, lips pursed, and nose in the air.

  She’d undoubtedly decided to wait for him simply to scold him for foiling her plan. “Oh, are you still here?”

  He tugged on his gloves. He could hear the impatient tapping of her boot on the gravel, though her foot was hidden beneath her skirts.

  “Of course I am still here,” she said. “Though I would still be in there”—she waved her arm toward the house—“had you not rudely pulled me away from my friends, causing me the greatest of impositions.”

  He scoffed, stroking his horse’s neck. He’d made up his mind long ago to never be goaded into an argument, but this woman had a spectacular ability to break down the walls of his determination.

  “And what of the imposition you would have caused the Madderns,” he said, “had I allowed your selfish plan to—”

  “Selfish?”

  Finally he met her eyes. There was more fire in them then he’d imagined. Blast, if she didn’t look just as alluring when she was angry as when she was happy. Her full lips pouted, and her frowning, dark eyebrows caused her eyes to become even more pronounced.