Caroline’s eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to retort, then thought better of it. “Did you threaten Mrs. Tonkin?”
Oswald grew still. “Did she say so?”
“No, but if she had, would she face your ire?”
“Her lease is nearly over. I simply reminded her of that fact.”
She watched him for a moment. “Did yousimplyuse thatreminder as a way to encourage her against associating with Fre—Mr. Yorke?”
His gaze sharpened, then his expression grew more grim. “You are not the only one who has fallen under his spell.”
A scoffing laugh escaped her. “Listen to yourself, Oswald! I have fallen under no spell. I fail to see how threatening Mrs. Tonkin is necessary when I have given you assurance after assurance that my votes were yours.”
“DoI have them, then? Or would they have been Mr. Yorke’s had I not shown him ineligible to receive them?”
Caroline stood, her frustration driving her to her feet. “Am I not a woman of my word? I wonder you should desire my votes when you seem to think so little of me.”
He too rose. “There is no one I think more highly of!”
“I find that difficult to believe when you think me unable to decipher between the genuine and the false—and think I have such wanton disregard for my own word.”
His nostrils flared. “I have only done what I thought wise to guard Trelowen against being represented by a fraudster—an aim I thought we shared.”
“And we do. But your recent behavior has made me wonder if our visions align as I believed they once did.”
He straightened. “I regret to hear you say so.”
“I regret to be obliged tosayso.”
They stared at one another for a few moments, the silence thick and unwieldy.
“I came to discuss the future of the schoolhouse,” he said, “but perhaps our visions diverge there as well.”
Caroline’s stomach tightened, for there was a subtle wielding of power in those words—the implication that his collaboration on a project he knew to be dear to her heart was contingent upon her support of him.
No wonder he hadforgottento help Eliza too.
“Perhaps it does,” Caroline said stiffly. “But you needn’t pretend to regret it. I have long known you did not truly support my aims there.”
“Just as you have never truly supported Wheal Fortune.”
The silence returned.
“I must go,” he finally said. “There is much to be done before tomorrow’s election.”
Caroline’s pulse was quick, her thoughts too writhing and tangled to even offer a response.
“Good day, my lady.” He gave a quick bow, then strode from the room, pulling the door closed behind him.
Caroline did not move.
The conversation had not gone as she had hoped. The Oswald who had just left was one she hardly recognized. He was not the reliable friend she was accustomed to. This Oswald was one who misled her and threatened his tenants for their loyalty. Who threatenedherfor it.
Do I have your votes?
The question bothered her.
Perhaps it was the sense of entitlement in it—the same entitlement that had led him to speak with the vicar. Or perhaps it was the implication that her votes were what he truly cared about.
