She trudged up the steps, unfastening the cloak around her neck. Mrs. Merrick’s cloak. She’d forgotten to give it back to Gwynna before they left. As she slid the threadbare fabric from around her shoulders, the scent of the Merrick’s home—fire, stew, and old wood—lingered around her.
A strange ache pierced her heart. She brought the cloak to her nose as she made her way to her room, willing herself to remember the warmth she’d felt as she entered her cold, dark chambers.
She didn’t bother to ring the bell for Mrs. Cuff to help her dress, nor for Edith to light a fire. She pulled her gown off herself, leaving it on the floor as she donned a dry night dress and slipped into bed. Her mattress sloped to one side as she laid her head against her flat pillow.
The rain plinked against her window. The ocean’s waves splashed on the rocks beneath the cottage. As the strain from the evening pressed down upon her, the loneliness of her quiet room echoing in her ears, she clasped the cloak to her chest and wept.
Chapter Eight
“Madderns. Miss Kinsey. Rennalls. Summerfields. That should do it.”
Frederick raised his quill from the paper, finishing off his list aloud. This picnic he was planning would be a small affair. Small and simple. That would give him ample opportunity to finally draw Miss Kinsey from her shell and get to know her better. Heaven knew he had no success in that regard at the ball last night.
The ball.
Frederick tapped the tip of the pen up and down on the paper, the drops of ink creating a blot that slowly grew, spreading through the thin veins of the parchment.
He’d enjoyed himself as best he could at Benlett House the night before, dancing, eating, and conversing until the early hours of the morning. But a pall had been cast over his time there after seeing Miss Rosewall overcome with…grief? Disbelief? Fear?
He rubbed his chin with his left hand. Whatever emotion he had seen, it had been enough to send Miss Rosewall fleeing from the ball. And it had been enough to actually make him consider asking her for a dance. Thank goodness she’d left before she would have embarrassed him by her sure decline of his offer.
Frederick eyed the large ink circle on the paper, though he barely registered its growing width. The look in Miss Rosewall’s eyes had haunted him, and the fact that she had not readily dismissed him as she was known to do.
Had someone been cruel to her? Had she overheard the rumors about her, that she should not be at the ball, that no gentleman would now dance with her? Either way, as a gentleman, he needed to ensure she was well.
Her family’s cottage was still in need of repairs. Perhaps he would call on them to see what else needed fixing, and to ascertain for himself if Miss Rosewall was all right. Knowing such would surely allow him to move on.
Then he could finish his plans for the picnic and look forward to getting to know Miss Kinsey without his persistent thoughts of Miss Rosewall insistently getting in his way.
* * *
Sophia didn’t leave her room the day after the ball. She hardly left her bed. What was the point of doing so when she had nowhere to go, no one to see?
Mrs. Cuff brought her meals throughout the day, but Sophia merely nibbled at each plate. She wasn’t sure if the bland food was due to Mrs. Cuff’s inability to cook or to Sophia’s darkened mood. Either way, her appetite had vanished after eating the Merricks’ stew. As did her desire to do anything at all.
She had attempted to read a book but couldn’t become engrossed in the storyline. Next, she’d considered stitching but couldn’t be bothered to finish the handkerchief she was embroidering for herself. There was no purpose furthering the talent if she couldn’t one day showcase her ability in her own household.
Mrs. Cuff had eventually offered to fetch her drawing supplies, but Sophia wasn’t sure she’d be able to form any sort of picture, so cold were her fingers in her frigid room, even with the fire lit. She had stuffed an old chemise into the crack in her window to block out the draft, but it did little to drown out the sound of the storming sea.
The sea.
How it mocked her with its freedom, when all she had was her prison at Lowena Cottage.
With a pillow to her ears, she had slept most of the day away. The next morning, however, as the bright sun washed over her through the window, Sophia rolled out of bed with a groan. She had been awake for hours, merely wasting away staring off at nothing in particular. It had to be nearing ten o’clock. She needed to stretch her legs. Did she even know how to use them any longer?
Instead of the cold, wooden floor she’d expected to feel on her toes, her feet landed on a scratchy fabric. She peered down to see Mrs. Merrick’s cloak sprawled out across the floor.
Sophia winced. She’d forgotten all about the cloak. It must have tumbled from her bed the night of the ball. She glanced over her shoulder to the window, light glinting against the glass, preventing any view she might have had.
At least the sun had come out. Mrs. Merrick might have needed the cloak in yesterday’s storm, but she wouldn’t in today’s weather. That was fortunate, for Sophia really wasn’t up to walking that morning.
But as she stared at the worn, shabby fabric, she shook her head at her selfish idleness. Of course Mrs. Merrick would need her cloak sooner rather than later. She certainly would not have another in her possession.
Though it had been dark inside the Merricks’ home, it was clear they were a poverty-stricken family with little money to spare, even for food. Had Sophia usurped one of their meals by devouring so much of their stew? With three mouths to feed—or was it four? They’d mentioned another name that night, Gwynna’s brother, perhaps. Had she eaten his helping?
Guilt turned her conscience. How could Sophia have been so thoughtless? If the Merricks couldn’t afford more food, they certainly couldn’t purchase another cloak, even should they need it. Sophia hadn’t the funds to acquire new outerwear either now, but at least the ones she had were thicker than a spare sheet of paper.
The answer was simple. She needed to set aside her indolence and return the cloak. She wasn’t entirely certain where Gwynna lived, but most of Father’s tenants, previous tenants, were housed north of Fynwary Hall. Sophia would merely cross over the open fields to find her way, and to remain unseen. She couldn’t bear the thought of facing anyone from her own class. Her old class. That especially included the Merricks’ landlord.
Sophia had done well to prevent her mind from dwelling on Mr. Hawkins, but as thoughts of him now infiltrated her mind, her shoulders slouched.
She had recognized the look he had given her the night of the ball, that clear desire to help. It was the same look he had when he’d rescued her from the tide, and it was that same desire that made him speak with Miss Kinsey at the Rosewall’s dinner party. It was the pure desire to be a gentleman.
He was more of a gentleman than Mr. Chester and Mr. Singleton, though she couldn’t blame the two of them for their avoidance of her. She would have done the very same had she seen someone attempt to be who she no longer was.
Their actions had injured her pride. But Mr. Hawkins’s behavior had bruised her conscience. Even her very heart. How could she have ever blamed him for Father’s mistakes? She needed to make matters right with him, to apologize. But that would mean admitting to her foolishness, and that was not something she had the courage to do.
She moved to ring her servants’ bell, but her hand paused on the handle. Mrs. Cuff would no doubt be sitting with Mother, and Edith, who knew what that girl got up to during the day?
Sophia pulled her hand away, tapping her fingers against her nightdress. She couldn’t wait for Mrs. Cuff to help dress her in another hour or two. She needed to be about her task immediately before she had the chance to talk herself out of it.
She would dress herself.
She laid her lavender walking dress, her simplest option, on the bed, then removed her night dress and set about her task. The chemise was easy enough to don, but lacing her stays proved far more
difficult. She struggled with tightening the back-laced garment for nearly ten minutes before making do with what she had. They were not as fitted as she preferred and caused her dress to droop slightly across her front, but she hardly thought Gwynna Merrick would take notice or care if Sophia looked a little worse for wear. Besides, her Spencer jacket was sure to hide her upper dress anyway.
Her next task of seeing to her hair proved even more difficult than dressing. She hadn’t bothered to have her locks put in curling rags the night before, so her black tresses hung about her face in a wavy mess. She wouldn’t risk the chance of singeing her hair with a hot iron—had she even brought hers from Fynwary Hall?—so she did her best twisting up the unruly mane before securing it with pins.
When she finished, she eyed herself in the small mirror on her desk, only able to look at one side of her hair at a time. The twist was lopsided, but her bonnet would cover most of it. The curls hanging near her temples didn’t look terrible, either. She’d almost forgotten what her natural curls looked like, having always preferred the ringlets her lady’s maid had formed.
She set down her mirror and donned her green Spencer jacket and straw poke bonnet. It didn’t really matter how she looked. No one would notice either way. Except, perhaps, Mother.
Draping Mrs. Merrick’s cloak over her arm, Sophia left her room and crossed the corridor to her mother’s, though she wasn’t sure if she should even disturb her. They hadn’t spoken since before the ball. Would Mother even notice Sophia’s absence from the cottage that morning?
Either way, leaving without alerting someone of her whereabouts seemed ill-advised. With a sigh, she tapped lightly on the door.
To her surprise, Mother responded. “Come in.”
Sophia slowly opened the door and poked her head inside. “Mother?”
“Sophia? How are you, my dear?” Her voice sounded wispy, as if making the slightest sound took all of her energy.
Sophia entered the room, closing the door behind her. She caught the strong scent of smelling salts and tea. “I am well. And you?”
She weakly blinked. “Slightly better.”
The move had been a struggle far more for Mother than the rest of the family. Sophia couldn’t help but wonder if her weakness was due to the exertion of moving, or simply because Mother could not bear the thought of her new way of life.
“Where is Mrs. Cuff?” Sophia asked.
“She has gone to fetch more tea. Thank goodness she is as attentive as she is. I might be more ill, otherwise.”
More ill? Mother couldn’t be any paler than she was. Her cheeks were sunken in and her lips, dry.
“Are you going out?” she asked, motioning to Sophia’s bonnet.
Sophia nodded.
Wariness crossed Mother’s muted eyes. “May I ask where you are going?”
Sophia swallowed. “To deliver a basket to the poor.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. Gwynna’s family was poor. Mother simply would not understand why Sophia would wish to visit those who were once their tenants.
Her eyes softened at Sophia’s believable lie. “How kind you are, Sophia. Even when we have little for ourselves, you still think of others.”
Sophia stared at the cloak over her arm. If that were true, she would’ve returned the cover yesterday instead of moping about her room. She certainly would not have lied simply to save herself from Mother’s disapproval.
“Did you enjoy the ball?” Mother asked.
Sophia folded her arms across her front. “I always do, don’t I?
“Your father told me you left early. I do hope that wasn’t due to any poor conduct you received.”
Sophia’s eyes snapped up. Did Mother know? She looked innocent enough, but if Father had suspected ill-treatment, then Mother must have, as well. That was no doubt the reason she had refused to attend the ball herself. Still, Sophia didn’t wish to discuss it. She’d much rather forget about the whole affair.
“No,” she responded. “I left because I grew too warm and needed a walk in the fresh air.”
“I hope you reached home before the rain began.”
Sophia smoothed the cloak over her arm. “No, but I was seen to.”
Mother didn’t hear her response, her attention drawn to Mrs. Cuff bustling in through the door with a tray of tea, her wide girth skirting around Sophia.
“Miss Rosewall, you be needin’ anything?” she asked. Her accent was strong, but nowhere near as thick as Gwynna’s.
“No, thank you. I was just on my way out. Do feel better, Mother.”
“I will, dear.”
With a departing nod, Sophia took her leave. That was the most she had spoken with Mother since leaving Fynwary Hall. Mother had never been much of a conversationalist but speaking with her was certainly better than conversing with the spiders in her bedroom.
Sophia quit the house, closing the old door behind her with a quick tug, anxious to be on her way. But when she faced forward, her feet stopped dead in their tracks.
For a solid week, there had been nothing but clouds and rain, excepting her first day at the cottage, when she’d been distracted with her plan to escape the house.
Now, a blue sky stretched out before her, ending only where it kissed the sapphire sea. Calm waves lapped at the white sand below the cottage, leaving darkened marks on the shore before slinking back to the rest of the water. A small trail curved round the land from Lowena to the beach, pink wildflowers lining the pathway.
Lowena might be a prison, but at least it allowed her spectacular views. How had she missed such an incredible sight with the sea practically at her doorstep?
Sophia walked up to the stone wall encircling the cottage, but before she could lift the latch on the wooden gate, a sweet scent tickled her nose.
Was that…strawberries? She turned her head, sniffing again until she spotted a small patch growing near the side of the wall. The smell was far too tantalizing to keep away. She made for them, pulling one from the vine and sinking her teeth into the fruit.
The flavor spread throughout her mouth like the waves sliding up the sand below. The sweetness made her jaw smart, her tongue to tingle.
If this wasn’t the most delicious thing she’d ever eaten, she didn’t know what was. She reached for another, the sun shining on the red fruit brighter than any ruby.
There was more than enough here for Mrs. Cuff to attempt a pie. Or perhaps Sophia ought to take a basket to Gwynna’s family. That would take care of one lie Sophia had told Mother.
Edith could pick the strawberries faster than Sophia, but with no idea where the girl had got to, Sophia decided to get started on her own.
She glanced around, her eyes falling on a small basket that held thick gardening gloves and a small spade. She set the items near the house then went back to the vines and knelt in the grass before the strawberries.
After picking enough to fill her basket and continuing to sample far more than she needed to, Sophia stood, brushed off her skirts, then made once more for the gate.
She hesitated. She didn’t wish to risk the chance of meeting anyone, but Mrs. Merrick deserved having her cloak returned to her. Sophia would simply have to do it.
With squared shoulders, she walked through the gate. It closed with a loud clack behind her. She blew out a heavy breath. She had done it. She had left the cottage. That was something her own mother couldn’t even do.
Sophia’s confidence grew with each step she took, especially as the sights around her distracted her from her fears of being seen.
She really could not have chosen a more beautiful day to venture out. The rain had brightened the world around her, despite the excess in mud it caused. Orange butterflies flitted past. Honeybees hummed as they moved from pink sea thrift to yellow gorse. A soft breeze swayed the tall grass, mimicking the movements of the waves. Occasionally, the smell of the strawberries in her basket mixed with the sea’s scent. So pleasant had Sophia begun to feel that she unwittingly hummed a tune as she
traversed.
However, when she caught sight of a few small homes in the distance, memories of the other night pressed on her mind. Life was different now. She could never go back to the way things were. Her life, her future, her family’s future, all of it hung precariously before her, casting a dark shadow over her short-lived hope.
She struggled to keep one foot in front of the other. Why was she there with her basket of strawberries? This would not improve the Merrick’s situation any more than it would improve her own at the cottage. It was a silly notion. A choice befitting a fool. She should return to Lowena, behind the safety of the stone wall. At least there she didn’t have to worry about what others thought of her.
She reached the small settlements, intent on leaving the cloak on the Merrick’s doorstep without a knock. But as she looked around her, she had no idea which home was theirs.
Five houses stood on either side of a small, dirt path, each establishment smaller than the next. It had been so dark the other night, and she had been so weary, that she could not remember if Gwynna’s home had been on the left or the right.
She stood in the center of the pathway, glancing at each hovel that possessed no more than two windows, a flat roof, and wooden walls. She had not seen the houses in the daylight since she was a child and Father had taken her to show her their tenants. Mother had brought baskets for the poor only a few times before tasking the servants to do the job instead.
Sophia couldn’t imagine living in such a place. Lowena, at least, could claim a view. These only faced each other and a few decaying trees.
A door opened to the left of her, and she started. Her first instinct was to run and hide, cringing at the attention that would come with her standing in such a place.
When a young woman exited her house with a basket in hand, Sophia paused. Was that Gwynna? She looked a great deal different in the daylight. Her simple brown dress was mostly covered with a grey, stained apron, but her hair held back with that same faded scrap of fabric was unmistakable.
For the Lady of Lowena (A Cornish Romance Book 2) Page 11