Frederick met the stare ofthe next mackerel, deep in thought.
Was Mrs. Tonkin onto something? Or was this just another madcap idea that would end in crushing loss and disappointment?
He thought of his visit to Trevenna and how he and Lady Radcliffe had worked side by side plucking dead blooms. Something in him wanted to prove to her that he was up to this challenge.Neededto prove it.
A madcap idea this party and candidacy might be, but a man with as little to lose as Frederick could not be overly particular.
If he was going to throw a party for Trelowen, he meant to do as fine a job of it as he could. And if he failed, so be it; at least he would fail spectacularly.
7
CAROLINE
The writ had arrived. Trelowen’s by-election would officially take place two weeks hence.
There had been no sign of Mr. Yorke since the visit in the garden, but Caroline had it on the authority of Bess, whose sister lived in the village, that he remained at The Silver Pilchard.
What could possibly induce him to do so was beyond her comprehension. So unreasonable was it that she began to wonder whether it was true.
When she arrived at church on Sunday, however, all doubts were put to rest. Mr. Yorke was in discussion with the vicar, Mr. Curnow, who seemed to be introducing him to two mothers and their daughters, both of whom were looking at Mr. Yorke with the eyes of those who saw the embodiment of everything they had never dared imagine.
The interest in him came from all parts, however. It was uncommon for someone new to attend church services in Trelowen—much less someone as polished as Mr. Yorke.
He did look fine, to be sure, with his neat black coat,maroon waistcoat, and hair which made one wonder whether it simply arranged itself into windswept nonchalance or had received the help of brushes and pomade.
The vicar went to take his place at the lectern, and the women went to take their seats—somewhat reluctantly. Unlike Caroline and Oswald, whose families had dedicated boxes for the service, Mr. Yorke had no set place to sit.
Caroline’s pulse fluttered, and she smoothed her skirts as she debated whether to invite him to sit in her box. It was a more proper place for him than the benches, but it might occasion talk. To fail to do so, however, would be rude.
She glanced at Oswald, who was seated in the enclosed pew across the aisle. His focus was on Mr. Yorke, but he did not seem to be struggling under the same debate as Caroline.
This did not surprise her, for Oswald would be reluctant to lend Mr. Yorke legitimacy given their somewhat fraught relationship.
Mr. Yorke’s eyes ran across the benches as he strolled past the full ones, drawing ever nearer to Caroline. His gaze landed upon her and lingered.
There was only one polite thing to do at this point.
She rose from her seat.
“Mr. Yorke,” Oswald said suddenly, standing. “Please do have a seat—there is plenty of room here.” He put a hand on the door to his box and opened it.
Mr. Yorke’s gaze flitted to Caroline again, an almost rueful glint in them, before he returned it to Oswald. “That is very kind of you, sir. But I promised Jory Tonkin I would sit with him.” He nodded toward the nephew of Mrs. Tonkin, who was seated beside her but had an empty place on his other side. His little neck was stretched tall, his wide, worshipful eyes on Frederick.
Mr. Yorke winked at the boy, then spoke to Oswald again. “Perhaps I could join you next week—if the offer stands.”
So, he intended to remain, after all.
A flicker of something—nerves or excitement, perhaps—fluttered in Caroline’s chest.
Oswald nodded politely, then took his seat again.
Mr. Yorke smiled at Caroline, then continued down the aisle, leaving her to wonder whether he would have declined an offer from her as well.
He was impossible. The fact that he was still here and meant to remain was unfathomable. He was either the bravest man she knew or the foolhardiest. Perhaps both.
Caroline kept her eyes on Mr. Curnow during the service, but the one time she did chance a glance backward, Mr. Yorke was whispering something to Jory. The boy covered his mouth, but his crinkled eyes and shaking shoulders betrayed him, as did the chastening look Mrs. Tonkin sent Mr. Yorke.
He merely smiled at her, eliciting a little twitch at the corner of her mouth.
