Page 101 of Rival to Resist
He let out a laugh. “I would marry you this instant.”
“Mr. Yorke,” called out Mr. Hannaford, apparently feeling that, if any laughter was involved, the private conversation had lasted long enough. “The election must proceed. Do you accept what is written on these papers, or do you not?”
Frederick looked at Caroline again.
She was not trying to give him something that was not his; she wanted him to understand that, in her eyes and in her heart, her votes and everything she owned alreadywashis. He, and he alone, had the power to see that she could cast her votes the way she wished.
Once they married, her votes would become legally his. This was her one and only chance to cast them according to her own desires, even if her candidate lost.
Her wide, questioning eyes rested on him, and he felt a wave of love for her so strong, it made his legs weak.
“Very well,” he said.
“Thank you,” she whispered with relief.
“Mr. Yorke!” Mr. Hannaford’s patience had worn out entirely.
Wishing there was not an entire inn yard watching so that he might have at least kissed Caroline, Frederick strode quickly to the returning officer.
“Do you accept your nomination, Mr. Yorke?” he asked sternly.
Frederick handed him the papers. “I accept.” He stepped off to the side near Caroline’s steward, who nodded at him.
Mr. Hannaford gripped the papers with both hands and turned his attention to the crowd. “Then we shall proceed with the voting.”
“I would like to see those papers,” Oswald said.
The crowd buzzed, becoming more unruly with every interruption.
This third one was no more welcome to Mr. Hannafordthan the first two, but he seemed to resign himself and held out the papers.
Oswald took them and looked at them one by one. His steely gaze slid to Caroline.
Frederick was hard-pressed not to run over and turn both eyes black.
Oswald’s jaw feathered as he looked through the papers a second time, then handed them back to the officer, wordless.
The officer set them on the table with the clerks, then picked up another paper, which he referenced as he spoke. “The borough of Trelowen has eleven burgage tenements, each with one allotted vote. Mr. George Oswald, you hold in your possession multiple burgage tenements. For whom do you cast your four votes?”
Frederick’s head whipped around.
Four? Did he not have five now?
He must have had someone else buy the Prowse tenement. But who? And why? Oswald did not seem the type to give anyone else power when it might belong to him directly.
Perhaps he could not afford to buy the burgage.
“I cast all four for Mr. George Oswald,” he said, chin lifted.
A number of cheers sounded—and more than a few groans. Frederick was tolerably certain one had come from Aunt Eugenia.
The clerks scribbled quickly on the papers in front of them. “The tally,” one said in a bland, official voice, “is four votes for Mr. Oswald, zero for Mr. Yorke.”
Frederick suppressed an eye roll, for this show of mathematics was hardly necessary.
Hannaford continued, referencing his paper once again. “Lady Caroline Radcliffe isalsoin possession of multiple burgage tenements. Voting as proxy is her steward, Mr. Redworth. How do you cast your five votes, sir?”
Mr. Redworth stepped forward. “All five votes for Mr. Frederick Yorke.”
