“You mustn’t underestimate him, Caroline,” Oswald said. “Mr. Yorke is a man of the Town. A rake.”
Caroline blinked, then laughter burst from her.
The reaction hardly pleased Oswald.
“Forgive me,” she said, “but that is entirely too absurd. A rake indeed.”
Oswald’s mouth pressed into a grim line. “I can see you do not mean to take me seriously.”
“Should I? It seems to me that your dislike of Mr. Yorke has led you to exaggerate his flaws.”
“And your admiration of him to ignore them. You are blinded by his charm.”
Caroline’s brows snapped together, the smile she had thus far maintained falling away. “Is that what you truly think me? A green schoolgirl unable to tell a sheep from a wolf?”
“A schoolgirl, no. But I do think you are greener than you realize. You have been shielded from men like Yorke and naturally—but wrongly—attribute your own guilelessness to him. You must allow me to be a better judge of my own sex, particularly when they are men of the Town.” He regarded her frankly. “I think you should discontinue association with Mr. Yorke.”
Caroline stood, indignation flashing through her. “You overstep, Oswald.”
He followed suit, rising to his feet. “I am doing what I promised—protecting you.”
“I do not require protection. You are my candidate, Oswald, and I am content that you be so, but I cannot and will not allow you to dictate with whom I associate.”
Oswald’s jaw was hard, his expression more somber than she had ever seen it. “You esteem Mr. Yorke so highly?”
“It is my liberty I esteem highly. If I wish to call Mr. Yorke a friend, I shall call him a friend. If I wish to engage in sack racing or cut flowers in my garden, I shall do so. And while we are on the subject, I would be much obliged if you refrained from discussing plans for my future with the vicar when no such plans have been discussed, let alone approved, by me.”
He stared at her dumbly, his surprise and silence so prolonged she began to wonder if the accusation was indeed unmerited.
“Forgive me, my lady,” he said somewhat stiffly. “I was under the impression that my suit was not displeasing to you.”
“Your presumption in making arrangements for my wedding is what displeases me.”
There was a slight softening of his demeanor at this—a palpable relief.
Her conscience prickled.
You must be forthright.
Mr. Yorke had said it. But he did not understand the situation or the history she and Oswald shared.
In Oswald’s eyes, she saw a glimpse of the man who had gently helped her through the chaos and uncertainty of being a widow. The man who, whenever she had questions about the management of the estate, was ready to help her. True, the thought of marrying him held less appeal than ever. But she did not wish to act rashly or hurt him.
She feared she had opted for the pickaxe in the end, after all.
“I would not have done so had I realized it would upset you,” Oswald said. “I am sorry for it. We are of such similar minds on most matters that I…” He trailed off, then grimaced. “You intend to continue your association with Mr. Yorke, then?” The question was soft rather than challenging. It was almost as though he was asking,Do you intend to continue hurting me?
Caroline was tempted to reassure him—to capitulate, even.
But she could not.
She matched his soft tone when she responded. “No doubt, my continued support of you in the election will appear the stronger for it, Oswald.”
He gave a stiff nod. “I pray you will not find yourself disillusioned in him. Good day, my lady.” With a curt bow, he left, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Caroline let out a long, slow breath and shut her eyes, annoyed to find herself wondering what Mr. Yorke would think of her handling of the situation.
15
