Chapter 22
FREDERICK
When Frederick approached The Silver Pilchard an hour later, he was still wet and disheveled—and even more exhausted.
Never had he experienced a day of such fluctuating emotion—the impatience of the morning as he waited to see Caroline, the devastation of Oswald’s revelation at the church, and then the beach…
He had gone there to see Caroline, but the longer he had waited for her, the more he had begun to despair.
He was going mad, and the cold water had been the only thing to shock him out of his thoughts.
And then Caroline had come.
She had come to find him broken, and she had put him back together, piece by piece, word by word, kiss by kiss.
He opened the door and stepped inside, wrapped up in his thoughts.
Caroline had told him the reason for Mrs. Tonkin’s sudden shift toward him.
Caroline had been upset, but Frederick had been relieved.
Mrs. Tonkin had been his first friend in Trelowen.
Losing her friendship had been a bigger blow than he had admitted to himself, so knowing the cause was consolation.
He could only imagine how it grated her to bow to Oswald’s threats.
“Frederick.”
He stopped short. No one in Trelowen but Caroline used his given name—but this voice was a man’s.
A voice he knew.
He took three steps backward and looked into the taproom.
His brother William stood within, staring back at him.
William’s mouth stretched into a grin, and in two large steps, he was crushing Frederick in an embrace.
Frederick blinked in surprise, then returned it heartily, his throat growing thick. He had not realized until now how much he missed his family. Somewhere along the way, he had begun to cast them—and William in particular—as some sort of obstacle and impediment to his success.
William broke apart and looked down at his own clothing, which was damp. “What happened to you?” he asked in perplexed amusement.
Frederick ran a hand through his damp hair. “It is…a rather long story.”
“I can imagine.”
“What are you doing here?” Frederick was having a hard time believing his brother was in Trelowen, of all places.
William’s smile wavered slightly. “Is there a private parlor?”
Frederick slapped his brother on the back, ignoring the tingle of nerves. “You are in rural Cornwall, Your Grace. My bedchamber is the closest thing to a private parlor you will find here.”
“So be it.” He put out a hand for Frederick to proceed him.
They went upstairs to Frederick’s room, and Frederick shut the door behind them. “So, what brings His Grace the Duke of Rockwood to the wilds of Cornwall?”
William’s brow creased with a frown as he took a seat in the sole chair in the room. “Nothing pleasant, Freddie.”
Frederick forced a calm he was far from feeling as he shrugged off his damp coat. “Out with it, then.”
William watched him, reminding Frederick how transparent his eldest brother’s perceptive gaze had always made him feel.
“I received word recently that a solicitor was inquiring into your affairs. Your property, more specifically. Kelham informed me of the fact. Immediately, I wondered if it was connected to your intent to stand for election here, so I followed the trail and discovered it was a man from here. Oswald.”
“Yes,” Frederick said wryly. “I am familiar with him.”
“He is your opponent?”
“The soon-to-be Member for Trelowen.”
William’s gaze grew more intent.
“He kindly informed me of the results of his inquiries today.” He undid the knot of his cravat. “I am not eligible to stand for election.”
William shut his eyes, grimacing. “I had hoped to arrive in advance of him.”
Frederick tossed the cravat on the bed more harshly than he had meant to. “I do not understand it, Will. I did qualify.”
“You did,” he agreed. “Based on an unfortunate clerical error. One that cost someone their job. Not that that helps you now.”
Frederick rubbed a hand along his jaw. He was glad William was here, but it was a long distance to travel to deliver difficult news. “You might have saved yourself a great deal of trouble and simply written to inform me.”
“I did not come only to inform you, Freddie. I am here to help.”
Frederick’s gaze flicked to him. “Help?”
“You have been working toward this for too long to have your progress halted in such an unjust way—one for which you bear no fault.”
Frederick shrugged.
William’s brows contracted further. “That is not the reaction I expected. You have been mad after a Parliament seat for as long as I can remember. What has changed?”
Frederick gave a grimacing smile. “That is another long story…”
“Freddie, I have come all the way to Cornwall. Do you not think I have earned a long story or two?”
Frederick smiled slightly. “I suppose you have.”
He launched into a long but abridged version of what had transpired since his arrival in Trelowen a few weeks ago.
Aside from two or three clarifying questions, William listened in silence.
He had always been a good listener. His staid and steady demeanor had made the transition to duke an easy one for Frederick to believe.
He wore his title with grace, but ironically, he was far less starched up now than he had been before becoming the Duke of Rockwood.
Everyone in the family knew where—or to whom, rather—to credit the change. His wife had been a maid before she had been a duchess, and the effect she had upon William was to loosen his iron-clad grip on tradition and propriety.
Frederick had wondered at it at the time, but now he understood. To love with one’s entire heart meant to change how one viewed the world, to see new things—or to see old things in new ways.
Once Frederick reached the part of the story where he had decided to abandon his campaign, William’s gaze grew intent.
“You needn’t regard me in that way,” Frederick said.
“I most certainly do need to. Freddie…you have had your sights set on Parliament for as long as I can remember. You mean to tell me you have suddenly had a change of heart?”
Frederick gave a rueful smile. “I have not stopped wanting Parliament, Will. But there is something I want more now.”
“Lady Radcliffe.”
Frederick nodded. “So, you see, I had intended to withdraw even before Oswald’s revelation.”
William studied him in silence for a time. “I fail to see why you need do so.”
“To show Caroline I am in earnest—that my attentions are not due to her votes.”
“And is she convinced?”
Frederick thought of their time together on the beach, and his pulse hummed. “I believe so.”
William looked less pleased than Frederick thought this response merited. In fact, he looked troubled. “Frederick, I am no expert on love, but surely a woman who loves you would not wish for you to sacrifice your dreams for her. Would you expect such a thing from her?”
“That is easy to say when you could make the woman of your dreams a duchess.”
William grimaced.
Frederick ran a hand through his hair. “Forgive me.”
“You are right, though.”
“I am not. I know what obstacles you faced. But Caroline was right, Will. I did come for her votes.”
“And now that she has seen you were willing to sacrifice them…”
Frederick’s energy dissipated slightly. “Now, the choice is made for us. I could not stand for election even if I wished to.” He could not keep a tinge of bitterness from creeping into his voice.
William waited a moment before responding. “What if you could stand for election after all?”
“What?”
William reached into his coat and, just as Oswald had, he pulled out a paper. “The fault with the clerical error lies with me—”
“It does not—”
“—and I mean to rectify it.” William leaned forward and held out the paper.
Frederick’s gaze remained fixed on his brother for a moment, then he took the paper, his heart beating more quickly. With a small, fortifying breath, he unfolded it. His eyes ran over the script at the top.
It was a deed.
“It should more than cover the difference in property value,” William said.
Frederick stared at the paper, his heart thumping more forcefully with every second. The value of the land was ￡263. Added to the value of the land on the deed Oswald had brought…it was substantial. It nearly doubled his property.
In his hand was the solution to his problems, the key that would unlock his goals and dreams. To know that Caroline loved and wanted him as he was—a near-portionless fourth son—was more valuable than any plot of land, fame, or title.
But it did not erase Frederick’s desire to make something of himself. To deserve her.
With this deed and Caroline’s votes, he could win. He could make a difference for the people of Trelowen. For Caroline. For himself.
A vision of coming home to Caroline after giving a speech in Parliament glittered before him, in reach. Everything he had ever wanted.
No. More. So much more.
His gaze flitted to the signature on the deed. It was William’s. William’s signature. William’s land.
Frederick swallowed, then shifted his hand until his ring came into view.
He folded up the paper while William looked at him searchingly.
“I cannot thank you enough, Will,” Frederick said. “That you would come all this way…” He shook his head. “It means more than I can express.”
“But…”
“But I cannot accept this.” He held out the paper.
William slowly accepted it, frowning. “Why not?”
Frederick took a moment before responding. “I promised myself I would make my own way. My own legacy. If I accept that from you, it will not feel as though it is fully mine.”
William’s thumb tapped the folded paper pensively, his eyes soft, almost admiring as he watched Frederick. “Cornwall has changed you.”
Frederick gave a soft chuckle. “You have no notion…”
“What shall you do, then?”
Frederick lifted his shoulders. “I shall hit upon something. What of you? Will you return to Rushlake?”
He shook his head. “Clara and the baby are staying with Anthony and Charlotte.” He looked around.
“I came all this way. I may as well see what Cornwall has to offer. Not to mention meeting this Lady Radcliffe of yours….If she has taken a liking to you, there is bound to be something the matter with her.”
Frederick grinned. “She is perfection, Will.”
A muffled voice sounded in the corridor, and his brow pursed deeply.
It was William’s turn to grin. “Ah. Yes.” He stood. “I meant to tell you…I did not come alone. She has been resting after the journey.”
Frederick stared at him incredulously, for there was no mistaking the voice. “You brought Aunt Eugenia?”
William stopped at the door, trying and failing to suppress a smile.
“I am but a duke, Freddie. I cannot hope to compete with Aunt Eugenia’s persuasive powers, which I thought might come in handy.
Besides, when she discovered my intent, she insisted she has always wanted to see Cornwall.
” He opened the door, and Frederick went over to join him, refusing to believe his aunt was in Trelowen without seeing it with his own eyes.
She was speaking with Mrs. Tonkin in the corridor, but she turned at the sound of the door opening.
“Freddie!” she barked, striding toward him. “There you are.” She stopped, her eyes taking him in from head to toe. “You keep us waiting hours, only to show yourself in such a state!”
Smiling, Frederick went over and kissed her on the cheek. “I thought you were resting.”
“With seagulls cackling in my ear? Stop grinning like a fool, or I shall box your ears.”
Frederick tried dutifully to repress his grin. “One becomes accustomed to the gulls.”
“They shall become accustomed to me if they wake me before ten!”
“If ’ee wish, ma’am,” Mrs. Tonkin said with more deference than Frederick had ever heard her use, “I can close the shutters.”
“I do wish,” Aunt Eugenia said.
Mrs. Tonkin was not put off by this abrupt response—she looked rather admiring, in fact. Perhaps she had met her match.
“It is very good of you, ma’am,” William said in an attempt to soften Aunt Eugenia’s order.
Mrs. Tonkin’s face colored up, and she lowered her eyes. “It be a pleasure to serve ’ee, Your Grace, at our ’umble inn.”
Frederick listened to this response with a slack jaw. Who was this woman? And what had she done with Mrs. Tonkin?