Page 9 of Rival to Resist
Mr. Yorke smiled at Oswald. “Very good of you to be concerned about the value of my time, Mr. Oswald. But I maintain—and with no disrespect to yourself, good sir—that I am the best candidate to stand for Trelowen. And, since we are evidently issuing warnings, allow me to say this: I am not easily deterred.” His eyes fixed on Caroline’s for a moment, full of challenge and a flash of mischief, before he bowed. “I bid both of you good day.”
Mr. Yorke strode from the room, his pride bearing no evidence of injury from an interaction that would have sent most men running for home with their tail between their legs.
Oswald gave a breathy chuckle after the door had closed. “What a fellow.”
“Indeed,” Caroline replied, her eyes fixed on the door.
No doubt it should have occurred to her that some gentlemen from London would wish to seize the opportunity of Brightmoor’s coming into a title as their chance for entry into Parliament.
It hadnotoccurred to her, though. Perhaps that was because, as Oswald had said, such a feat required her support—support she was bound and determined not to give any scheming gentleman.
The realization that Mr. Yorke—a man whose smile had caught her mind all morning—had proven to be just such a man was a disappointment more significant than she cared to admit.
“We need not concern ourselves with him,” Oswald said. “I am far more concerned foryou.”
Caroline’s gaze flicked to him. “For me?”
He nodded. “You bear a great burden, my lady, and you must know I have no greater wish than to share it—to see you properly cared for.”
“And so you will,” Caroline said, forcing herself to ignore the implication in his words. “Having an MP who can represent Trelowen’s interests is what I have long wished for, as you know.”
“And I am ready and willing, asyouknow. But while an MP may carry the borough’s burdens, who shall carry yours?”
“With the right man in the Commons, I think you shall find me plenty capable of managing my own affairs,” she said amiably. “I have just finished a letter to Lord Warren to ensure the writ can be issued as soon as possible. With any luck, you will be seated within a fortnight of its return. Until then, our focus must be on the election.”
It was a flimsy excuse. Given that the outcome of the by-election was all but settled, there was little that needed doing.
Oswald searched her face, then nodded.
She breathed an inward sigh of relief that he had not pursued a subject she was unprepared to discuss.
Movement caught her attention from the corner of her eye, and she looked through the window of the library just as Mr. Yorke rode his horse past. Their eyes met, and he gave her a wink and a tip of his hat, eliciting a flutter she disliked immensely.
Whether she would marry Oswald or not, Caroline did not know. She was determined, however, that Mr. Yorke’s aims, however difficult he might be to deter, would come to naught.
3
FREDERICK
Frederick’s smile through the window at Lady Radcliffe slowly changed to a frown as he rode from Trevenna Court back to The Silver Pilchard. Had his call gone as intended?
It could hardly have gone less so.
The prospect of gaining the support of an elderly, infirm couple had been simple enough; to gain it of a young widow who was set against him the moment she realized his purpose…that was a different matter entirely.
And that was not even taking into account this Oswald fellow, who seemed to follow Lady Radcliffe like a shadow—and who already had her support as Trelowen’s future MP.
In Oswald, Frederick recognized the signs of a man guarding what he thought his. Both the borough and the patron.
While Lady Radcliffe was beautiful and engaging, Frederick had no intention of pursuing anything other than her support. He had not come this far on the road to Parliament only to be distracted by a woman.
However, if the task of seeking a seat happened to needle Oswald into feeling threatened not only as a candidate for Parliament but also as a candidate for Lady Radcliffe’s hand…well, Frederick would not regret it.
The man was entirely too entitled.
By the time Frederick had reached the inn, however, the exhilaration of the visit had waned, and he was wondering if he had come to Cornwall on a fool’s errand. He had not made a positive first impression upon Lady Radcliffe, and she was the lynchpin of his plan.
The same young boy, Jory, took charge of Flint, while Frederick went inside for a needed drink.
