Heat crept up Caroline’s neck, and she suppressed the urgeto touch her lips. “I have, though, of course, there are always the mundane things to be done—meeting with Mrs. Penhaligan, making plans for the interior of the schoolhouse…”
Kissing Mr. Yorke.
She cleared her throat and smiled. “That sort of thing. Speaking of which, Mr. Curnow mentioned he knows a man willing to donate a half-dozen desks for the schoolhouse. He wishes to know when to have them delivered.”
Oswald frowned. “I think we had better wait on any decisions until the election has passed. It shall be upon us before we know it.”
“Indeed.” In a mere five days, to be precise. Why any discussion of the matter needed to be delayed until then, however, she did not understand. It was the simple matter of where to store the desks until the schoolhouse was ready.
“After the election, I shall be obliged to remove to London for a good part of the year.” Oswald’s gaze rested upon her, soft but observant.
“You shall be too fine for us when you return,” she teased. Richard had spent less of the year in London than he should have, given his title, but even then, he had done so without Caroline. The one time she had joined him, she had found little enjoyment in it, for she had few acquaintances and had generally been left to her own devices. She had preferred to remain in Cornwall and manage things at Trevenna thereafter.
Oswald chuckled. “Of course not. My only aim, as you know, is to help Trelowen.”
Her thoughts flitted to her conversation with Mr. Yorke on the subject of reform. Her heart had made much of the way he had listened to and debated the matter with her.
Perhaps her heart had madetoomuch of it.
Had she ever given Oswald a fair opportunity to listen to her views on the matter?
“I wonder,” she said, setting her cup on the table beside her, “how much the topic of reform will feature in discussions.”
Oswald stared at his tea with a frown. “There is no knowing.”
Caroline hesitated, for his response was hardly an invitation to continue the topic. If she wanted more, she would have to be direct.
“I thought perhaps we might discuss the topic,” she said. “See if we cannot come to an agreement.”
His gaze swept to hers, his frown still intact. “I do not think weshallagree.”
“Why not?”
He regarded her for a moment, then set down his teacup, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned toward her. “My lady,” he said, his tone gentle and patient, “you must trust me in this. Reform is the sort of thing men in London debate when they have the luxury to ignore what such upheaval truly costs. Trelowen needs stability. Practicality. Sensibility. A member who does not cause everyone to question the soundness of its governance.”
Caroline forced her jaw to unclench, then nodded. “Of course.”
He was not wrong. For a new MP to arrive spouting ideas many considered dangerous and revolutionary might prejudice Oswald’s ability to make progress and connections that would serve Trelowen.
But she was disappointed, all the same, as though she had been politely set aside, her hand patted indulgently.
“I have upset you,” Oswald said.
“No”—she forced a smile—“only given me something to think on.”
He watched her for a moment, then reached for his cup. “Is Mr. Yorke a supporter of reform now?”
It was said with disinterest, but her muscles still tightened at the introduction of a subject that had been tense between them.
“No,” she said. “That is, he is not entirely set against it, I think, but he would not characterize himself as a supporter.”
Oswald smiled slightly, as though enjoying a private, amusing thought.
“What?” Caroline asked.
He shook his head. “Merely that I had anticipated such a shift in his support for the issue once he discovered your opinion.”
Caroline bristled. She hated the implication of his words. Hated it because she feared its truth. “May not a man change his mind without nefarious motives?”
