Page 34 of Rival to Resist
Mr. Tregenza looked at it for a moment, then at his own dirtied hand. It was likely smeared generously with pilchard scales and heaven only knew what else.
Frederick removed his glove, then stuck out his hand again.
After a moment, Mr. Tregenza grasped it, his gaze still scrutinizing and skeptical.
The fishers behind him cheered, and Frederick’s mouth stretched into a grin.
“Saturday, then,” Mr. Tregenza said.
“Saturday,” Frederick promised. “I have engagements until two o’clock, but I shall come here as soon as I am able, prepared to work.”
Heads nodded, the eyes upon him gleaming with a hint of admiration and curiosity.
Frederick hoped—trulyhoped—that his hasty promises would lead him that much closer to victory—whatever those promises cost him.
9
CAROLINE
The main hall at Trevenna Court, which normally felt tall and grand, was brimming with people, laughter, and conversation. Caroline looked on, feeling Oswald’s shoulder press against hers as they spoke to a small group of people with drinks in hand.
She resisted the urge to move a step away. Oswald had been next to her for the past hour and a half, and she was beginning to feel suffocated with all of the people and noise in what was normally a quiet, open space in her home.
She remained in place, however, for the entire purpose of this gathering was to show her support for Oswald. It was only natural that he stay by her side, and yet, she hadn’t been able to help feeling a bit stifled by the constant proximity.
Her gaze veered once again to the corridor that led to the front door. It was natural for a hostess to be on the watch for newcomers, but Caroline was too honest with herself to pretend this was the reason for her interest.
She was watching for Mr. Yorke.
He had said he would come, and he had made her promise him a dance, yet he was nowhere to be seen.
Perhaps he would not come, after all.
It seemed strange, for she would have staked good money on his attendance—he could not seem to resist doing whatever was most provoking, especially when it came to Oswald.
Perhaps she did not know him as well as she had thought.
She spotted an unfamiliar face and leaned toward Oswald. “Who is that man with the silver waistcoat?”
Oswald searched until he identified the gentleman in question. “Mr. Hannaford. He is a solicitor in Truro and will be overseeing the by-election. Forgive me—I thought I had mentioned that I sent him an invitation. It seemed wise to befriend him.”
“Oh,” she said, watching the man for a moment. “Of course.”
A footman with a silver platter came by, offering its contents to her. There were tarts and fairings.
She took a fairing and bit into it, remembering those moments in the garden with Mr. Yorke as treacle and ginger mixed on her tongue.
She forced herself to swallow with composure. It was ridiculous that a simple biscuit would make her think of Mr. Yorke.
“I understand there is someone else intending to challenge you,” Lord Penrosset said, pulling her from her thoughts. He was a tall, imposing man with a head of steely gray hair and a look of self-importance.
Oswald gave a low chuckle. “Challengeis a generous way of putting it. I do not regard it thus, I assure you.”
“I heard someone say Yorke’s brother is a duke,” Mr. Curnow said. “Is it true?”
Lord Penrosset’s brows shot up. “Yorke, is it? It would be Rockwood’s brother, then. The youngest.”
“You know him?” Caroline asked.
