Chapter 25
FREDERICK
Frederick frowned and put a hand out for it.
The crowd’s silence had turned to a whispering buzz, but he ignored it, his focus on the papers.
Heart thumping, Frederick looked up at Caroline.
Her eyes were on him, intent.
But Frederick did not understand. They had been over this. Oswald did not require her votes to win.
Furthermore, Frederick had refused Will’s gift of land. Why would she assume a gift from her would be different?
“May I have a moment to confer with Lady Radcliffe, sir?” Frederick asked.
The man’s lips pressed together tightly. “I can afford you five minutes. Then the election must proceed, with or without you.”
Frederick nodded, his eyes fixed on Caroline, who seemed to understand and came to meet him in one of few spaces in the yard not saturated with people.
“What is this?” he asked in a low voice.
She was still slightly breathless. “I had hoped to come to you before the election and explain, but it took longer than I had hoped to get everything in order.”
“But what need is there for it? You know I cannot accept it—nor would it do any good if I did.”
“It will, though, Frederick. I cannot vote for Oswald.”
“He will win despite that.”
“Yes, but at least my conscience will be clear. At least I will be able to cast my votes for a man deserving of them.”
Frederick’s eyes searched hers.
“I have no wish for you to do something which offends your conscience,” she said, “and you are under no obligation to accept the land. But Frederick”—she looked at him with warmth and pleading in her eyes—“do we not intend to merge our lives? Shall we not soon marry and share land and money and a bed?”
Her words sent a shock of anticipation and heat through him.
“You wished for a way to prove to me the genuineness of your affection. Will you not let me do the same?”
Frederick’s heart hammered. He understood what she was asking. In the same way his conscience had balked at accepting land from William, hers balked at standing aside or voting for Oswald.
The corner of her mouth lifted. “Unless you truly are a rake and have no intention of marrying me…”
He let out a laugh. “I would marry you this instant.”
“Mr. Yorke,” called out Mr. Hannaford, apparently feeling that, if any laughter was involved, the private conversation had lasted long enough. “The election must proceed. Do you accept what is written on these papers, or do you not?”
Frederick looked at Caroline again.
She was not trying to give him something that was not his; she wanted him to understand that, in her eyes and in her heart, her votes and everything she owned already was his. He, and he alone, had the power to see that she could cast her votes the way she wished.
Once they married, her votes would become legally his. This was her one and only chance to cast them according to her own desires, even if her candidate lost.
Her wide, questioning eyes rested on him, and he felt a wave of love for her so strong, it made his legs weak.
“Very well,” he said.
“Thank you,” she whispered with relief.
“Mr. Yorke!” Mr. Hannaford’s patience had worn out entirely.
Wishing there was not an entire inn yard watching so that he might have at least kissed Caroline, Frederick strode quickly to the returning officer.
“Do you accept your nomination, Mr. Yorke?” he asked sternly.
Frederick handed him the papers. “I accept.” He stepped off to the side near Caroline’s steward, who nodded at him.
Mr. Hannaford gripped the papers with both hands and turned his attention to the crowd. “Then we shall proceed with the voting.”
“I would like to see those papers,” Oswald said.
The crowd buzzed, becoming more unruly with every interruption.
This third one was no more welcome to Mr. Hannaford than the first two, but he seemed to resign himself and held out the papers.
Oswald took them and looked at them one by one. His steely gaze slid to Caroline.
Frederick was hard-pressed not to run over and turn both eyes black.
Oswald’s jaw feathered as he looked through the papers a second time, then handed them back to the officer, wordless.
The officer set them on the table with the clerks, then picked up another paper, which he referenced as he spoke.
“The borough of Trelowen has eleven burgage tenements, each with one allotted vote. Mr. George Oswald, you hold in your possession multiple burgage tenements. For whom do you cast your four votes?”
Frederick’s head whipped around.
Four? Did he not have five now?
He must have had someone else buy the Prowse tenement. But who? And why? Oswald did not seem the type to give anyone else power when it might belong to him directly.
Perhaps he could not afford to buy the burgage.
“I cast all four for Mr. George Oswald,” he said, chin lifted.
A number of cheers sounded—and more than a few groans. Frederick was tolerably certain one had come from Aunt Eugenia.
The clerks scribbled quickly on the papers in front of them. “The tally,” one said in a bland, official voice, “is four votes for Mr. Oswald, zero for Mr. Yorke.”
Frederick suppressed an eye roll, for this show of mathematics was hardly necessary.
Hannaford continued, referencing his paper once again. “Lady Caroline Radcliffe is also in possession of multiple burgage tenements. Voting as proxy is her steward, Mr. Redworth. How do you cast your five votes, sir?”
Mr. Redworth stepped forward. “All five votes for Mr. Frederick Yorke.”
Frederick’s gaze fixed on Caroline, who met it with a smile full of pride and gratitude. He did not even wish to look at Oswald, for this moment belonged to Caroline and him alone.
The clerks called out the total—four votes for Oswald, five for Frederick.
Frederick found himself less opposed to mathematics this time.
“Mr. Trewella,” Mr. Hannaford called out, and the man emerged from the crowd.
“You are in possession of one burgage tenement. How do you cast your vote?”
Frederick held his breath, though he already knew the answer.
“I cast my vote for Mr. George Oswald,” Mr. Trewella said in a loud, firm voice.
The clerks’ hands scribbled quickly.
“The tally,” the clerk said, “is five votes for Mr. Oswald and five for Mr. Yorke.”
If the Prowse purchaser was here, he would decide the race.
But if he was not, Mr. Hannaford would have the power to cast the deciding vote. And there was no question who would receive it.
That was an unlikely scenario, however, for why would a man have bought a burgage tenement just before an election if he did not intend to use his vote?
“The final vote,” the officer said, “belongs to”—he looked at the paper through narrowed eyes—“Mr. Hugh Rathmore.”
A rush of whispers sounded, and Frederick’s gaze swept to Caroline, who looked every bit as confused as he.
Rathmore? That was...
“What?” Oswald blurted.
“The final burgage tenement and vote,” the officer repeated with a hint of annoyance, “belong to Mr. Rathmore. How do you cast your vote, sir?” He looked at the crowd, waiting for the man to emerge.
He was not the only one. All heads turned, all shoulders twisted as people sought the man.
Captain Rathmore did not emerge.
“Very well,” Mr. Hannaford said. “The votes are five in favor of Mr. Oswald and five in favor of Mr. Yorke, with one voter in absentia. In the event of a tie, it falls to me to cast the deciding vote.”
Frederick and Caroline shared sympathetic grimaces.
“I do hereby cast the deciding vote for—”
“Wait!” Somewhere in the crowd, a hand lifted. In a ripple, the people parted to let the person through.
Frederick watched in slack-jawed surprise as Captain Rathmore hurried forward.
“Forgive me,” he said, breathing hard. “I thought the election was to begin at 9:30.”
Mr. Hannaford seemed to have little sympathy for this error. Or perhaps he had been looking forward to breaking the tie. “Sir, for whom do you cast your vote?”