Page 11 of Rival to Resist
Mrs. Tonkin drew back in offense. “I’d never! ’Twas all in good fun, sir. But I be in earnest now, I do.”
He was inclined to believe her. But he’d also believed her before. “Why?”
Her lips pressed into a thin line as she regarded him with an evaluative eye. “Can ’ee be trusted, sir?”
“Of course.”
There was another slight hesitation before she looked around the room once more and leaned in again. “The thought of Mr. Oswald havin’ more power than ’e already wields…” She shook her head. “Ever since ’is lordship died, ’e do think ’imself lord of the village. ’E do talk and act like ’e cares for we simple folk, but I been ’is tenant for years now, and I know ’ow nasty ’e can get. More power for ’im? ’Tis not to be borne.”
Frederick was glad to know a dislike of Mr. Oswald was not unique to him. “But it is Lady Radcliffe whose support I require, and she told me in no uncertain terms that Mr. Oswald has it already.”
Mrs. Tonkin let out a scoffing laugh. “Oh, aye. ’Er ladyship be the key to all ’is ambitions, to be sure. ’E wants TrelowenandTrevenna, and ’e be like to get ’em, ’e do. Unless ’ee”—she pointed her finger at Frederick—“’ave the pluck to make the tide turn.”
“No one can turn the tide, Mrs. Tonkin. I may not know the sea as you do, but I know that, at least.”
“This be a tide thatcanbe turned. And I’ll ’elp ’ee do it—long as ’ee tell no one I be doin’ so.” She sent a shifty glance at the dozing man in the corner.
Frederick sat up a bit straighter, his gaze keener. Mrs. Tonkin was only an innkeeper, but she was a formidable woman, and having an ally—whatever her station—somehow made his situation feel less hopeless.
“You truly think I can sway Lady Radcliffe’s opinion?” he asked.
“Aye, sir. ’Ee just needs time with ’er.”
Frederick sat back again. “With her and withoutMr. Oswald, which seems an impossible task. I have met Lady Radcliffe twice today, and both times, the man managed to appear as if out of nowhere.”
Mrs. Tonkin shook her head darkly. “’E do stick to ’er like a burr, don’t ’e? Well”—she sat up, a smug look transforming her expression—“’appen I know of a place ’ee could find ’er ladyship without the burr.”
“You do?”
She nodded, looking all-too-satisfied with herself. “And I’ll tell ’ee—if’ee promise not to leave The Silver Pilchard, tail between the legs, as ’ee planned.”
“My tail would not have been between my legs,” he argued.
She lifted a scathing brow. “Do I ’ave yer word, sir?”
Frederick considered the promise she was asking him to make. It was not just to remain at her inn; it was to fight for the seat in Parliament. To swim against a strong current in an unfamiliar place.
The eyes of Lady Radcliffe came to his mind. Full of mirth in the street, then hard and aloof at Trevenna Court. The challenge of recapturing the former called to him.
Besides, if he did not stay in Trelowen to fight, whatwouldhe do? Give up on his dream? Become the forgotten fourth Yorke son, who never managed to make a name for himself, destined to dwell in the shadow of his brothers?
No.
This opportunity, stacked though the cards might be against him, was the best one likely to fall in his lap. He would not forego it—not so soon, not after coming so far. His pride would not allow it.
Frederick raised the tankard to his lips, drank all that remained, then slammed it down on the table.
The man in the corner started, snorting himself awake.
Frederick ignored him, taken up with a sense of purpose and pride. “I give you my word.”
Her mouth pulled into the type of mischievous, satisfied grin that made him glad she, at least, was on his side.
4
FREDERICK
Frederick looked through the warped window pane in the inn parlor the next morning with misgiving.
