Page 7 of Rival to Resist
Eyes still fixed on her, he moved absently to sit. “Do you mean to say that this estate did not pass to the new Lord Radcliffe?”
“My late husband held the estate in fee simple,” she explained. “He and his uncle did not…see eye to eye, so Richard left Trevenna Court to me. It is a singular situation.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Yorke said, awe in his voice. He shifted in his seat, switching the gift he had brought from one hand to the other.
The question of why Mr. Yorke had come—with a gift, no less—had still not been answered.
He seemed to take note of her focus. “Oh.” He gave a small laugh as he looked at the box. “That is…a mistake, I fear. Not the only one I have made today, evidently.”
Caroline smiled, intrigued more than ever. “A gift could never be a mistake, Mr. Yorke.”
“I hesitate to contradict you, my lady, but in this case, it most certainly is. I was under the impression I was paying a call to an elderly Lord and Lady Radcliffe, not”—his gaze met hers, then ran over her person, making her pulse quicken—“well…not someone like you.”
“Well, Iamthe Dowager Lady Radcliffe,” she said, her curiosity burning brighter than ever.
What sort of gift had he brought? And why bring a gift at all given how little he knew of the recipient?
“In name, perhaps,” he said, “but believe me, my lady—not a person on God’s green earth would see you and assume you could be a dowager.”
“You flatter me, Mr. Yorke.”
“Better that than showering mud upon you as I did this morning,” he replied ruefully.
“True,” she said, smiling at the memory. “Perhaps youshouldgive me that kind gift you brought, after all.” She reached for it, but he pulled it away.
“Iwillbring you a gift, my lady,” he said, revealing the smile that had been in her mind since leaving the village. “But one that will please rather than insult you, I trust.”
Insult her? What in heaven’s name could he have brought?
The door opened, and their heads came around.
Oswald stopped on the threshold, his gaze sweeping from Caroline to Mr. Yorke, at which point, recognition lit in his eyes.
Mr. Yorke and Caroline both rose.
“Oswald,” she said, wondering at his impeccable sense oftiming for the second time that day. “Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Yorke. Mr. Yorke, this is Mr. Oswald.”
Mr. Yorke bowed, but his eyes met hers, a small question in them.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Yorke,” Oswald said with a responsive bow. He was taller, thinner, and lighter in coloring than Mr. Yorke, holding himself with a more staid energy than the latter’s easy confidence. “Forgive the interruption, Lady Radcliffe, but I came as soon as I received word.”
Caroline’s gaze flicked to the letter in his hand, then back up.
“Westvale has died,” Oswald said.
“He has?” Mr. Yorke exclaimed.
Caroline’s head came around, as did Oswald’s.
Mr. Yorke cleared his throat, as though remembering himself. “Forgive me.”
“Are you friends with Lord Westvale?” Caroline asked, though his response had not been the chagrined surprise of someone who has just learned of the death of a friend.
“No,” he replied. “I…was aware that he had taken ill, however.”
Oswald turned more fully toward him. “Indeed? And whatisyour business in Trelowen, Mr. Yorke?”
“Oswald,” Caroline said in surprise, for his tone was sharper than necessary. While she appreciated his readiness to defend her and Trelowen, Mr. Yorke’s reasons for being there were hardly his affair. Though, she was admittedly curious to know, as well….
