“Ridding ourselves of the unwanted ones,” she said pointedly.
He grinned, as though the implicit reply delighted him. “Best not to speak of poor old Mr. Oswald that way.”
She let out an incredulous—and unfortunately amused—scoff. “I was not referring to Oswald, as you well know.” She watched him gently sort through the flowers until he found one needing to be disposed of.
“Iwas. I cannot seem to come by more than thirty seconds alone with you.”
She clipped a snapdragon that did not require it. “And why should you wish for such a thing?”
“It is the only thing Idowish for.”
She shot him a flat look. “Laying it on rather thick, are you not?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean.”
Their shoulders bumped as they reached into the forest of stems, leaves, and flowers. Caroline ignored it.
“I mean,” she said, “that you shan’t win the election by these methods.”
“And what methods might those be?”
She looked at him and found him doing the same—their noses mere inches apart. The girlish modesty in her told her to look away. She shoved it aside and held his gaze. “What I meant—and what I am certain you understand but are being stubbornly obtuse about—is that you shan’t win my support by flirtation or courting.”
“Thatroute has already been claimed by Mr. Oswald.”
She pressed her lips together and shot him an unamused look. “Oswald and I do notflirt, and we are not courting.”
“Perhaps you should tellhimthat.”
The man was impossible.
“Jealous, Mr. Yorke?”
He grinned. “You mistake my intentions, my lady. I am not hanging out for a wife.”
“Only a Parliament seat?”
He chuckled. “Precisely.”
Some twisted form of disappointment flickered in her chest. “And how does your teasing of Oswald help with such an aim?”
“Teasing?” he said with mock offense.
She cocked a brow at him.
“Can you blame me? He makes himself such an easy target that I find it difficult to resist. He treats you like a dog would a bone.”
“He is attempting to protect me from men who mean to use me.” She clipped a bloom with a satisfying slice of the shears.
“I am not attempting touseyou, my lady.” He sat back on his heels and looked at her. “I am, however, intent to persuade you that I, not Oswald, am the better choice for Trelowen.”
She matched his posture, leaving the blooms for a moment. “How can you make such a claim when you are so unfamiliar with the struggles we face here?”
“Tell me of them,” he replied. “Tell me of Trelowen, of Trevenna. Tell me everything, and I shall listen as long as you will have me.”
There was silence as they regarded one another—him with challenge and earnestness, her with battling curiosity and caution.
“Oswald may know Trelowen,” Mr. Yorke continued, “but I know the Commons, my lady. I have spent years of my life observing how things are done in London. What good will Oswald’s knowledge of the borough do him if he does not know how to turn it into action—how to make enemies into allies and turn disinterest into interest?”
