Chapter 26
CAROLINE
Caroline held her breath. A glance at Oswald showed him to be watching in wide-eyed anticipation.
This newcomer to Trelowen held greater power than he knew. Had Oswald had time to sway Rathmore?
“I cast my vote,” the man said, loud and clear, “for Mr. Frederick Yorke.”
Caroline’s hand covered her mouth as cheers and clapping erupted from the crowd, primarily from the fishermen. She caught a look of jubilation from Mrs. Tonkin before the woman schooled her expression into a scowl deep enough to sour milk and she elbowed Jory to keep his elation in check.
Frederick, on the other hand, was as a statue. Motionless. Eyes round. Mouth agape.
“I think you had better see to him,” Mrs. Ashby said with a mischievous smile as she urged Caroline forward with a hand on her back.
Caroline needed little urging, though, and responded readily to the force of it.
“The winner,” Mr. Hannaford tried to say over the din, “is Mr. Frederick Yorke.”
“Did you hear that?” Caroline asked him, half-laughing. “You won!”
Frederick blinked, seeming to finally see her, as though her voice had hauled him up from the bottom of the harbor. “I…I…”
She could not stop a grin at his persisting shock. “You are the honorable member for Trelowen.”
“Perhaps he means to refuse the seat,” Mrs. Ashby said, coming up to them. “Give the election to that upstart.”
“Do you, Freddie?” the duke asked, his eyes beaming with joy.
The suggestion acted as a draught of water on Frederick. “It is Frederick MP to you, Your Grace.”
The duke let out a laugh, then pulled his brother into an embrace.
Captain Rathmore strode up to them and stretched out his hand to Frederick. “Congratulations, Mr. Yorke. And forgive the lateness of my arrival.”
“Captain,” Frederick replied, taking his hand. “You needn’t offer congratulations or apologize when the victory is thanks to you.”
“Nonsense,” he said flippantly. “I am glad to have been of use. I had no notion the property came with a vote, you know—and even less that I would be called upon to use it so soon. I simply wished to secure a home for Mrs. Penrose, and happily, my friend Prowse was persuaded to sell.”
“You bought the home for Eliza?” Caroline asked wonderingly.
The captain gave a nod. “I promised Samuel—may he rest in peace—to take care of her. Thanks to a constant string of naval duties, I have been woefully remiss in doing so until now.”
Caroline’s throat grew thick with emotion, and Frederick took her hand in his.
He understood what this meant.
“Speaking of which,” the captain said, “I must return to the house. It is in no state for habitation, and I left the mason there waiting for me. I beg you will excuse me”—he looked at Frederick—“and perhaps dine with me tonight?”
“Of course,” Frederick replied.
“Would you care to dine at Trevenna Court instead?” Caroline suggested. “All of you”—she looked at the duke and Mrs. Ashby—“and Eliza too.”
There was a sequence of agreement and thanks expressed until Mr. Hannaford cut in. “There are matters we must attend to in order to finalize things, Mr. Yorke.”
Frederick nodded and looked at Caroline. “Will you meet me on our beach? In an hour?”
She smiled. “Only if you promise I shan’t find you in the water again.”
He gave a soft laugh. “I shall be dry as Mrs. Tonkin’s pasties.”
Mr. Hannaford was waiting on this exchange with a less-than-pleased expression, so Frederick followed him away.
Caroline watched him walk off, unable to keep from smiling.
Frederick had won. They had won. She had not come to the election thinking such a thing possible. Her only intent had been to cast her votes for the person she felt most deserving of them.
Her gaze caught on Oswald, who was watching her.
Her smile faded, and with a resigned breath, she went over to him.
“So,” Oswald said, “You and Mr. Yorke are…engaged?”
“Yes,” she replied.
He gave a stiff nod, a glint of censure in his eyes.
“He is not what you believe him to be, Oswald.”
“We shall see.”
She pressed her lips together. “Do you know what I regret most in all of this?”
He maintained his silence, his brow knit with displeasure.
“Feeling as though I have lost a friend.”
His frown grew less stiff but more troubled.
“I feel I hardly know you anymore, Oswald. Since Frederick’s arrival, you have…changed. It is as if you began to feel entitled—to the seat, to my votes…even, in some ways, to me.”
He grimaced. “I regret to have lost your good opinion, my lady.”
She searched his face. He was so stiff, so aloof, but she saw it for what it was: a mask for his pain. “I never meant to hurt you, Oswald.”
His throat bobbed behind his cravat. “Nor I you.” His jaw worked for a moment. “I believed I was acting for Trelowen. Perhaps I was acting more for myself than I realized.”
“No doubt there are things both of us could have done differently.”
He nodded. “I do want you to be happy, my lady. I hope Mr. Yorke will be able to accomplish what I was incapable of—both for Trelowen and you.”
She gave a sympathetic smile. “Thank you, Oswald.”
He gave a bow, then strode through the crowds and out of the inn yard.
When Caroline arrived on horseback to the beach, she spotted Frederick immediately. He was the lone figure on the wide stretch of sand visible at low tide. His horse could be seen sniffing the rocks nearer the cliffs for any sign of edible seaweed.
The sand muffled the sound of her horse’s hoofbeats, so it was not until she was a dozen feet away that Frederick heard her and turned.
His mouth broke into a smile, and he ran over, reached up to fix his hands around her waist, then lifted her from the saddle.
The moment her feet touched the ground, he gathered her in his arms and pressed his mouth to hers.
The kiss was sweet with shared victory, relief, and the acknowledgment that dreams they had once thought mutually exclusive could now exist side by side.
Their lips broke apart, and Frederick’s hands cupped her cheeks as he stared into her eyes. “Thank you,” he said, his voice rough. “For choosing me. For believing in me.”
“I did not always do so. But I promise I always shall.”
He pressed his lips to hers again, a vow all its own.
“I know it has cost you,” he murmured against her lips. “To choose me.”
She smiled and took the lapels of his coat in her hands. “Cost me? You are my political pawn now, Frederick Yorke. And I mean to take every advantage of the debt you owe me.”
His mouth drew into a lopsided grin. “I am putty in your hands, my lady.”
“Liar,” she said with a laugh. “I hope I shall have your ear, though, at least.”
“Both of them. And my eyes”—he looked at her with a fire that made her breathless—“and my mouth”—his lips brushed against hers—“and my hands.” He slid them down the length of her back, then pressed her against him. “I am yours entirely, Caroline. Today. Tomorrow. Always.”
She shut her eyes and breathed in the words until they filled her from head to toe. “I love you, Frederick.” She rose onto her toes and kissed him again in that silent, sure way that spoke feelings for which she could not find the words.
“You owe me a dance, you know,” he whispered against her lips.
“Do I?”
He threaded his fingers through hers and slipped his other hand around her waist. “I beat you in the sack race. Remember?”
“Only because I let you.”
“Yes. Because, in your heart of hearts, you wanted me to stay.”
She laughed softly, putting her cheek to his. “I did.”
He sighed contentedly, letting his cheek rest more fully against hers as they swayed to the sound of the waves.
“You let me get ahead, though, didn’t you?” she said.
She felt his smile against her cheek. “The greatest gamble of my life. But I needed to see whether you truly wished me gone.”
“What would you have done if I had won?”
It was quiet for a moment. “I would have left, as promised.”
She held him more tightly, infinitely grateful that she had hesitated.
He pulled back to look at her, his eyes soft and earnest. “I would have found my way back to you, Caroline. I gave my word that I would leave”—his eyes twinkled in the muted, gray light—“but not that I would stay away.”
She pulled away. “Those are the words of an unprincipled rake, Frederick Yorke.”
“No.” He grinned with irrepressible mischief. “They are the words of a man utterly besotted by you. Would you rather I had stayed away?”
Her smile betrayed her, and she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him back to her.
He gave a breathy laugh, then pressed his lips to hers a final time, and she yielded gladly.
For so long, she had feared surrendering her future—her power—to another man, but in Frederick’s arms, with her heart given over to him, she knew she was not surrendering that power at all; she was using it. Choosing him. Choosing herself.
Choosing the life she wanted at last.