Thank you for your time, sir. And may God bless you in this, your time of need.
Mr. Peter Trevethan
Sophia lowered the letter, scanning the desk. A list of names. Had Father not written it yet, or had he already sent it to Mr. Trevethan?
Frantically, she pushed aside the books. A small scrap of paper rested on the desk beneath them, with three simple names scratched in black ink. She reached down with her free hand, her fingers shaking as she clasped the paper in her hand.
It was Father’s writing, the rigid slant unmistakable. The paper was torn from the corner of a full piece, as if he’d been in a hurry.
Slowly, her eyes roved over the names.
Nicholas Hocking, 53
Robin Yeoman, 42
Jago Merrick, 17
Jago Merrick. Merrick.
“No,” Sophia breathed.
It was a simple coincidence. He wasn’t related to Gwynna. He couldn’t be.
Her mind sped through moment after moment she’d spent with Gwynna for evidence of her relationship with the young man. The moment they’d met on the cliffside. Sharing strawberries with the miners at Wheal Favour. Being wrapped in Gwynna’s blanket in the Merrick’s home.
But it wasn’t Gwynna’s blanket.
It was Jago’s.
Her memory was clear, as if it had happened that very evening. Mrs. Merrick had asked Gwynna to retrieve a blanket from Jago’s room. He must have died only a few weeks before, and they had wrapped his blanket around Sophia’s shoulders.
He was their son. Gwynna’s younger brother.
And Sophia had called his death inconsequential.
The door clicked. She looked up, refusing to move another inch. Welling tears blurred her vision, but she knew who stood before her.
“Father.”
“Sophia? What are you…”
His eyes fell on the scrap of paper in her hand. She held the list of names and the correspondence in the air. There was no reason to hide them. “Father. Were you advised to use another surveyor?”
The candle he held caused shadows to lengthen his features, his eyes gaunt and cheeks sunken. He remained standing in the doorway. Gone was the angry man from that morning, the defensiveness in his eyes vanished. Any other moment, his tall figure would have filled the small doorframe, but now he shrunk before her very eyes.
His voice was no louder than a whisper when he finally responded. “They did advise me to, yes.”
Her brow rose. “Why?”
She knew her questions were imposing, but she no longer cared. Nor, it appeared, did Father as he answered again in his somber tone. “Because they feared we were working the mine too far to the west. They wanted to pay for another survey of the land to ensure we were still a good distance away from the sea. But I refused.”
Why, Father?”
“Because I wished to use the funds instead to continue blasting through.”
Sophia’s chin shook. “Had you not continued working the mine, the shaft would not have flooded. Lives could have been spared.”
Father nodded, a barely discernible shift of his head. “Yes.”
She closed her eyes, tears spilling from the corners and sliding down her cheeks.
Lives could have been spared. Gwynna’s brother could have been spared.
A footstep creaked on the floor. Father’s voice sounded nearer. “You must understand, Sophia. It was a risk. One I regret every day. But if we would have found copper, our financial woes might have ended. We—”
“Why did you not complete the list?”
“What?”
She opened her eyes but kept her head down. “Why are there only three names listed, instead of six?”
He paused, his voice faltering with emotion as he spoke. “Because I cannot remember the names of all those who drowned.”
Sophia winced. More tears fell. Not from Father’s ignorance, but her own. After all, she was the one who had not remembered that a single death had even occurred.
“Sophia, please. You must believe me. I was doing what I thought was best for our family. The money—”
“And what of the miners and their families? Had you once considered what was best for them?”
The words were spoken from the deepest part of her heart, a place she had never explored. A place she had never wished to, for it was tormented with agony and guilt. Guilt she tried to pass on to her father. But she couldn’t do so any longer.
She raised her eyes to meet his own anguish. She could not blame him for his actions. Had she not been so demanding of his money, had she not begged for new dresses and Seasons in London, perhaps then Father would not have gone into debt. Perhaps then he would not have felt the need to risk the lives of those miners, simply to support his spoiled daughter’s selfishness.
How could the Merricks have even suffered her to be in their home? No wonder they could not bear to be near her any longer. No wonder the miners stared at her reproachfully. This, all of it, was no one’s fault but her own.
“You must forgive me, Sophia,” Father whispered, only proving to break her heart with more intensity. “I should have told you this before. I should have made better decisions financially.”
Her hands began to quiver in time with her chin, contrasting with her barely beating heart.
“Sophia?”
She couldn’t respond. Leaving her candle behind, she fled from the room, brushing past Father without another word. He called after her, but she did not stop until she reached her room, closing the door firmly behind her, though she knew he would not follow her.
He never did. No one ever did.
She leaned against the door, her forehead thumping against the cold wood as her shoulders shook from barely repressed sobs.
“Oh, Gwynna. I’m so sorry.”
* * *
“A letter for you, sir.”
Frederick set down his book and turned to the footman entering the library with a tray in hand.
“Thank you, Aaron,” he said as he accepted the letter.
Frederick eyed the correspondence. It should have been from his steward with an update on Dawnridge. But one look at his name written with overly flowing letters told him this was definitely not from his steward, but from someone he’d rather hoped had forgotten about him. At least enough to not write to him for another month or so.
“Mother,” he murmured.
“Pardon, sir?”
Frederick glanced to Aaron. He didn’t realize the footman still stood at his side. “Oh, nothing. Was there something else?”
“Not a letter, sir, but callers. Mrs. Maddern and Miss Kinsey have arrived.”
Frederick stifled a groan. “I’ll be down in just a moment.”
He waited for Aaron to leave before eying the letter again. He wasn’t going to open it. Not now, at any rate. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to read what his mother had to say.
For she always had something to say.
He stood from his seat with a hefty sigh and placed his book on the sofa. Crossing the room, he stared out of the window as he retied his cravat he’d loosened earlier.
How nice his stay in Cornwall had been without Mother’s constant prodding for him to marry. He didn’t need help in finding a spouse, though she liked to believe otherwise.
It was his belief that he was doing perfectly fine on his own. He knew what he wished for in a wife. Just not who he wished for as a wife.
A set of sparkling blue eyes and shining black hair appeared in his mind’s eye. The woman who possessed such striking features had not left his mind since the picnic. How could he not think of her? The honesty she’d shared with him, and her parted lips, so tempting, so inviting, flashed in every segment of his mind.
Living in Miss Rosewall’s own blasted house certainly didn’t help him forget her either. Every room he entered, every corridor he walked down, every window he peered without, thoughts of the woman occupied his attention.
Was this the room
she played in as a child? Had she run down these corridors as a girl, or learned to walk them gracefully as she grew older? How often was she supposed to have been meandering through the gardens, where her mother thought her to be, when she was really walking on the beach instead?
And the question he asked more than anything—when would he have the chance to see her again?
He hardly thought he’d be welcomed at Lowena Cottage. Her mother no doubt despised him, and her father would only allow him to enter their home for fear of possible repercussions.
And Miss Rosewall? He couldn’t be sure if she’d welcome his calling on her at all.
He stuck a finger between his cravat and neck. Why was tying a noose around one’s neck fashionable? Hanged be the person who created the style.
Though, perhaps that was not due to the cravat but his thoughts of Miss Rosewall instead. Thoughts that should be focused elsewhere.
He had two estates to run. A mine to support. Parties to attend. A wife to find. His mother’s letter to ignore. Mrs. Maddern to visit. Miss Kinsey to remember.
And Miss Rosewall to forget.
Chapter Thirteen
Sophia didn’t bother to call for Mrs. Cuff that evening. She’d already dressed herself hours ago in her simple, light blue gown. Her chemise was smoothed comfortably beneath her dress, and her stays were just snug enough for her to breathe easily. She’d managed to pin her natural curls back in a simple twist. It wasn’t stylish by any means, but at least it wasn’t falling chaotically from the side of her head. Besides, it didn’t matter what her hair looked like. Not for where she was going.
She fastened her dark blue Spencer jacket, donned her silk bonnet, then pulled on her wrist-length gloves and left her room. She had not intended on telling either of her parents where she was going, but as she closed her door behind her, she came face-to-face with Mother. Sophia stood back with a gasp.
“I’m sorry, my dear,” Mother said. “I thought you saw me.”
Sophia pressed a hand to her middle. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Mother outside of her room. “No, I didn’t. What are you doing about? Should you not be resting?”
“I needed to stretch my legs for a moment.” Mother’s eyes looked her up and down. “Are you going out?”
Sophia swallowed. “Yes, to a party. On Tregalwen Beach.”
Mother’s eyebrows rose. “The picnic must have been more pleasant than the Madderns’ ball then, if you still wish to be seen in your social circles.”
Sophia merely nodded. She had not told either of her parents much about the picnic, other than she’d had a pleasant time. She’d certainly not mentioned her moments with Mr. Hawkins. They didn’t need to know about that, just like Mother didn’t need to know that the gathering on Tregalwen was not to be within the Rosewalls’ typical social sphere.
“Will there be someone there to watch over you at Tregalwen?” she asked. There she was again, ensuring someone else performed her duty as chaperone.
“Yes, the Summerfields will be in attendance.” That was what Gwynna had said, hadn’t she?
“You must implore them to see you safely home.”
“I will,” Sophia lied. She wouldn’t need their help. She would be staying at the party no longer than it took her to apologize and flee.
“What of your friends, Miss Ward or Miss Kinsey? Will they be present, as well?”
Sophia could only pray for the contrary. “I am unsure. But I hope that one friend at least will be there.” If Gwynna could ever consider her a friend again.
That was more of what Mother didn’t need to know, that Sophia longed for companionship from a miner’s daughter more than any friend she’d ever had before.
“Are you well, Sophia?” Mother propped her head to one side. The cap on her head remained in place, but her natural curls, like Sophia’s, shifted. “You seem out of sorts.”
Sophia clasped her hands in front of her. She didn’t wish to answer any further questions. She wanted to leave. But Mother had not asked after her in weeks, and her resolve was threatened. Could she tell Mother all that had gone on, how Sophia must apologize to Gwynna, just as she had apologized to Mr. Hawkins, for her selfish, cruel ways?
No, she couldn’t. Mother wouldn’t understand. She would say that Mr. Hawkins was the one who needed to repent, and that Gwynna was not a person worthy of apologizing to.
Sophia stretched a smile across her lips and nodded. “I assure you, I am well. Merely anxious to depart.”
“Very well. I will not keep you any longer. I am pleased you wish to go. A young lady ought not be alone as you have been made to be.”
Sophia searched her mother’s eyes, noting the sorrow within them. “And what about yourself, Mother? It is not good for you to be alone either.”
“Oh, but I am not alone. Mrs. Cuff is a fine companion.”
Sophia hesitated. “And Father?”
Mother blinked, taken aback. “Well, of course your father is wonderful company. Though, he has been somewhat preoccupied of late.” She looked to his bedroom door.
Sophia knew her parents were drifting apart. She’d never once heard a complaint escape her mother’s lips about Father, but moving to Lowena had pulled them apart. They were lonely. Both of them were. Just as Sophia was.
“Mother, would you like to join me for the party?”
Mother’s eyes widened. “Oh, I couldn’t. No, I must stay here at Lowena, where I belong. And you must run along and enjoy your time with those who still accept you. That is where you belong, after all.”
Her smile was strained, as if it took every last bit of energy to produce it. With a nod of her head, she turned to her room and closed the door behind her.
Sophia’s shoulders fell, half from relief, half from disappointment. It was better that she had refused. She would not have enjoyed a party with multiple classes. Now Sophia could leave the beach as soon as she wished without explaining to Mother why the Rosewalls were unwelcome with the miners.
Still, the sorrow in her mother’s eyes, and in her father’s, was beginning to take a toll on her spirit.
With leaden footsteps, she quit the house. She didn’t have to worry about making haste for fear of Father stopping her. He avoided her as greatly as Sophia avoided him. Neither of them wished to discuss the revelation from the night before.
Sophia secured the door of the cottage behind her and crossed the long grass of the garden, reaching the stone wall encircling Lowena.
She stood before the view, struggling to gain control of her nerves as she stared out at the ocean, her worries trembling in her mind like dried leaves on a dying tree.
Dark clouds billowed above the water, blurring the line between storm and sea as soft raindrops began to fall. A cool wind blew toward her, curling the ends of her ribbons and fluttering her dress and dark curls.
Would they cancel the party due to the approaching storm? Perhaps Sophia ought to remain at the cottage to avoid the risk of being caught in the rain.
Her shoulders sunk. She was simply creating excuses to pander to her own fears and selfishness. She was far better, far safer, at Lowena, like her mother and father, where there was a barrier between herself and the storms of other’s thoughts and opinions.
The stone wall stood before her, insurmountable. She took a step back. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t face Gwynna, her family, the other miners. She couldn’t face the judgment, the possible rejection. The embarrassment of her own thoughtless words and actions. Yet, did she truly wish to live the rest of her life trapped within the cottage, within her own mind? Did she have a choice?
What is it you would like to do?
Mr. Hawkins’s words broke through her muddled thoughts, growing stronger and brighter until they cast out the whirling storm within her altogether.
What is it she would like to do?
An image flashed in her mind of Gwynna standing next to the brother Sophia would never meet. Her heart contracted, yet her mind
cleared. She knew what she wished to do. She wished to speak with Gwynna. Because Gwynna deserved an apology.
As she made her decision, a crack broke through the clouds, and the sun burst through the darkness of the storm. Light sparkled against the crests of the waves and the droplets of rain. Glowing, white mist sailed through the air on the wind, and a warmth filled her heart before the sun had even touched her.
She straightened, clasping her hands firmly before her and holding her chin level. With squared shoulders, she turned toward the gate.
She would speak with Gwynna. Even if she was rejected, ignored, set aside, she would speak with her. For this was what she wanted to do. With her own resolve and Heaven’s help, she could do it.
Crossing the cliffside with determination, Sophia pushed aside any lingering fears that threatened to cripple her resolution to make things right with the woman she prayed would still be her friend.
The sun disappeared again as the clouds blew farther north, taking the rain with them. But when she reached Tregalwen Beach a half hour’s walk south of Lowena, the sun shone once again, and the beach glowed in a golden light.
Sophia stood on top of the hill leading down to the sand. A single monolith stood tall in the shimmering sea. The wind had shifted, and the waves had calmed. But Sophia’s anxious heart had not.
The group was already gathering on Tregalwen. A large fire roasted a haunch of meat turning over the flames. A few women laid out blankets on the sand with trays for food as children chased each other across the beach, their laughter drifting on the breeze toward Sophia.
She spotted Gwynna instantly with Mr. Merrick. They moved together across the sand, rolling logs toward the fire where a few large pieces of driftwood were already set up.
Sophia blew out a shaking breath, forcing Mr. Hawkins’s words in her mind once more. His deep voice resounded in her memory, infusing her with confidence.
For the Lady of Lowena (A Cornish Romance Book 2) Page 18