Chapter 16
CAROLINE
The audacity of herself.
That was all Caroline could think on the ride back to Trevenna as the sea breeze rustled the leaves of the trees overhead.
Had she truly encouraged Mr. Yorke to find another opportunity to act toward her as a rake would?
Her cheeks burned doubly—once from embarrassment, and a second time as her mind ran away with the thought of what he might have done if she had given him the chance.
Oswald would have been thoroughly disgusted by the conversation. And to know of her unruly thoughts? He would have fainted clean away.
And with good reason. She had been unforgivably brazen.
Her behavior at the beach party had been fit for Court in comparison.
Even more worrisome? She had enjoyed every moment of it.
She did not know what had come over her.
No…that was not entirely true.
Oswald’s conversation with the vicar and his insistence that she no longer associate with Mr. Yorke had shifted something in her. They had been threats to her liberty, and she was feeling a fierce need to assert her freedom.
But Oswald’s choices and comments did not bear the full blame for what had happened.
The moment Caroline had cracked open the door to friendship with Mr. Yorke, he had burst through it. Or perhaps she had swung it wide for him.
Only now that she had stopped holding him at arms’ length did she appreciate how much energy she had been expending to do so.
She liked Frederick Yorke. A great deal. Too much for her own good, she feared.
As she approached Trevenna, she surveyed it, half-expecting to see Oswald’s horse or chaise, but neither was there. It was not abnormal for him to be absent from Trevenna for two or three days at a time, but Caroline felt certain this was different.
Guilt pinched her. Had she been too harsh with him?
He had seen that the stile was built for Eliza, while she had flirted brazenly with the very man he had warned her against.
She searched her heart for any sign that she had been too swift to decide she did not wish to marry Oswald.
She found no evidence of it. In fact, all she found there was Mr. Yorke.
Neither Oswald nor Mr. Yorke made an appearance at Trevenna the following day. Instead, Caroline sent a note to Eliza, inviting her for tea.
Eliza arrived in the afternoon, wearing a day dress Caroline recognized as the one she used for her infrequent social calls.
More than once, Caroline had attempted to give Eliza money, but Eliza had always refused it, claiming her husband had taught her never to muddy the waters of friendship with money.
While Caroline could respect such an approach, it was painful to watch her friend struggle when she could have helped.
The day was fine, so after tea, they strolled the gardens together.
“Have you and Oswald mended things?” Eliza asked as they passed under the canopy of a beech tree.
“Not entirely,” Caroline said. “I have not seen him since his call. I have a suspicion he is waiting for me to apologize.”
“What was the nature of the quarrel?”
Caroline explained how it had begun and how it had progressed.
“Do you think I was in the wrong?” she asked. “Do not spare my feelings.”
“No,” Eliza said.
Relief settled over Caroline. Eliza was always sensible, and Caroline valued her opinion.
“And what of Mr. Yorke?” Eliza asked.
“What of him?” Caroline responded with the familiar kick of her heart at his name.
“You two deal so well together.”
Caroline laughed. “Do we?”
Eliza shot her an amused look. “This comes as a surprise?”
“It does. We are so often at loggerheads. He is always trying to persuade me to support him in the election, and I am forever trying to make him understand I shan’t do so.”
“Why not?”
Caroline gave an incredulous laugh. “I am supporting Oswald.” Eliza knew this. Indeed, everyone knew it.
“But you could support Mr. Yorke.”
“I could,” she admitted—in the way she might admit she could sleep in the ice house.
“But you are not because…”
Caroline shot her friend a puzzled look. “I have no wish to see another Brightmoor elected. I thought you would agree.”
“And I do, but surely, you do not think Mr. Yorke and Mr. Brightmoor comparable.”
“Why not? Brightmoor had no true interest in Trelowen beyond the seat it gave him.”
“And you believe Mr. Yorke’s interest stops there as well?”
“It certainly did when he arrived.”
“And now?”
Caroline regarded her friend, then turned her gaze forward again. “I do not know. Regardless, Richard made me promise not to make an experiment of Trelowen. He expected me to vote for Oswald.”
Eliza grimaced sympathetically. “In his short time here, Mr. Yorke has done more and shown more of himself in Trelowen than Mr. Brightmoor in all of his time as MP. Not to mention he is far more likable…” Her eyes teased Caroline.
“Are you trying to persuade me to support Mr. Yorke as MP or plight my troth to him?”
Eliza’s smile grew. “Are you open to either?”
“No,” Caroline said, though her chest quivered with the lie.
Eliza regarded her for a moment. “Very well. I must have been mistaken.”
They walked in silence for a few moments, Caroline debating whether to ask her to expound. She was afraid of the response.
And yet more curious still.
Eliza did not respond immediately, but a little wistful smile formed on her lips.
“I can still remember the first time I met Samuel, you know. It was at a Michaelmas dinner. I was wearing a new gown—pale jonquil with the most delicate white embroidery. I had not been there above five minutes when our eyes met across the room. It seems silly to say, but even in that moment, I felt something. Something new and different. An instant connection.”
Caroline’s chest squeezed.
“I put it aside, for I knew how ridiculous it was to think such a thing of a stranger. But then we were introduced”—her smile grew—“and I could see it in his eyes. He felt it too. It was not love, for that took time to grow, but it was the soil for it, I think. Fertile ground.”
Caroline remembered her first encounter with Mr. Yorke in the street. She had felt something similar—and he had too, she was nearly certain.
Before you despised me, you quite liked me, I think.
She had indeed. Which had made the discovery of his purpose in Trelowen all the more disappointing.
“That inexplicable feeling of kinship grew,” Eliza said.
“It is what sustained us and made it feel as though we had never parted whenever he returned home. I often wondered how it was possible we could experience such a marvelous, all-encompassing thing while everyone else went on with their lives, blissfully unaware—or perhaps unfortunately aware, for it is a feeling I wish everyone could experience.”
Caroline’s chest ached strangely as Eliza regarded her.
“It is that sort of kinship I thought I recognized between you and Mr. Yorke.” She stopped and turned toward Caroline. “Was I wrong?”
Caroline’s heart thrummed as she met her friend’s gaze. She shut her eyes and continued walking, too restless to stay in place. “I do not know. I cannot trust what I feel. Nor am I even certain I wish to marry. I stand to lose a great deal of independence if I do—not to mention my votes.”
“Of course,” Eliza said. “There is much to consider, and for all my teasing, I would never dream of counseling you in your affairs.”
“I wish you would! Undoubtedly, you would manage far better than I.” Caroline turned toward her and took her by the hands. “You must know how I value your opinion, Eliza. Do you truly think so highly of Mr. Yorke? Do I judge him too harshly?”
Eliza’s hands squeezed hers. “I do think highly of him. I think he is better for knowing you—and you for knowing him.” She hesitated. “You must be the judge of your own heart, of course, but I hope you shan’t think too poorly of me if I presume to say one last thing?”
“You may always speak freely with me. Indeed, I insist you do so.”
Eliza’s smile warmed. “Very well. If I am not mistaken in what I have seen between you, pray, do not let it slip through your fingers.” Her chin trembled slightly as she smiled. “I would give anything if I could feel but for a day what I felt with Samuel.”
Caroline’s eyes prickled, and she blinked furiously. “And what if I only think I feel that with Mr. Yorke? What if I have simply been charmed by a man whose only true wish is for my votes?”
Eliza searched her face. “I do not think that is the case. But if you are in doubt, observe him more. As a widow of substance, you are in a unique position to pursue your acquaintance with him without damage to your reputation. Spend more time with him until your confidence grows—or your fears are confirmed.”
Caroline took in a deep breath. The idea of following Eliza’s advice appealed to her. She wanted to see Mr. Yorke again. So much so that, once Eliza had left, she paced the morning room debating whether to send him a note—or find an excuse to go into the village.
The latter felt less forward, so she went up to change into her riding habit while her horse was saddled.
Riding skirts in hand and full of determined energy to puzzle out Mr. Yorke once and for all, she took the stairs down while pulling on her gloves. She adjusted the last finger on her right hand and looked up at the entry hall, stopping short.
Mr. Yorke stared back at her.