Epilogue
FREDERICK
Frederick shook the hands of a few colleagues as he exited the final session of Parliament for the year, then put on his top hat and quickened his pace.
While he regretted leaving men he counted as friends with the knowledge he would not see them for months, he was far more eager about who he would see.
He turned a corner and slowed when he spotted Caroline, standing two dozen yards ahead.
She was dressed for travel, and he couldn’t stop a smile, knowing that she was every bit as eager as he for today.
She had blossomed in London in many ways. While she had expressed some reluctance to come to London his first year in Parliament, her tune had quickly changed once Frederick had shown her the town, taken her to gatherings on his arm, and introduced her to his acquaintances.
At the close of his second year in Parliament, he could honestly say that she had more friends and admirers than he.
She glanced up from the paper, and her lips pulled into a broad smile.
He hurried toward her, happy to see her—and happier still to know where they were going.
“Have you been waiting long?” he asked.
“An eternity,” she teased. “But I have been pleasantly occupied.” She cleared her throat and read from the newspaper.
“In a brief but pointed address, Mr. Frederick Yorke, Member for Trelowen, spoke in favor of measured reform, remarking that ‘The strength of this nation does not rest solely in its institutions, but in the daily lives of those who rely upon them. As my wise wife has stated, “When we neglect our villages, our laborers, and our children, we do so at our own peril.”’”
Frederick came up beside her to regard the column, frowning. “The man sounds insufferable. His wife, on the other hand…”
Caroline closed the newspaper and looked up at him, love glimmering in her eyes. “You had better take care, my love. If you continue quoting me in Parliament, I shall soon be the insufferable one. I am coming to think quite highly of myself.”
“You always have,” he teased.
His gaze caught on the line of carriages nearby, and his brows went up.
Caroline followed his focus and took his hand. “Ah, yes. Our entourage awaits—and Aunt Eugenia is quite impatient to be on the road already. She says so, at least. I believe she and the others are in the haberdashery just now.”
Frederick glanced at the nearby shop windows and, sure enough, caught sight of his brother Silas and his wife, Arabella.
“We shall double the population of Trelowen,” Frederick said as they walked to the first chaise, arm in arm.
After Aunt Eugenia’s glowing report of her time in Cornwall, Frederick’s entire family had hatched a plan to come for a visit. More than two years later, it was finally coming to fruition.
Frederick took Caroline’s hand to help her into the chaise.
“Freddie!”
His family was emerging from the haberdashery, Silas at the forefront.
“Is it true?” Silas asked.
“More than likely not,” Frederick replied. “Is what true, exactly?”
“William says you were appointed to a committee.”
Caroline’s head whipped around, her eyes wide.
Frederick smiled at her and nudged the newspaper in her hand. “I did not want to overshadow your moment of fame.”
She gave a small laugh, but her eyes were intent. “What committee?” She, and she alone, knew how much he had been hoping for such an appointment.
“There is to be an investigation into the condition of agricultural laborers,” Frederick replied. “Particularly in relation to the Poor Laws—and I have been asked to sit on the committee.”
She squeezed his arm, and he pressed her hand with his own.
Caroline was everything to him, and because of his admiration for her mind and heart, they had shared dozens of long, deep discussions over the past two years.
On horseback, at the beach, walking in Trelowen’s gardens.
Topics as particular as what should be taught in Trelowen’s school to those as grand as what sorts of reform ought to be pursued for the country—and how best to achieve them.
For there was no doubt at all in his mind that reform was needed.
This committee appointment was, he hoped, a stepping stone on that journey.
“Congratulations, Freddie,” Aunt Eugenia said. “Now, let us go without any more delay. If I do not have a fairing in my hand in four days, I swear I shall meet an early grave. I have waited years, and I shan’t wait a moment longer.”
Charlotte, the wife of Frederick’s brother Anthony, slipped her arm through Aunt Eugenia’s. “I too am eager to taste these infamous biscuits.”
“Well, I certainly have no wish to delay the prospect,” Frederick said. “Let us be off!”
As by far the most advanced in age in the party, Aunt Eugenia might have been expected to be the one slowing the party down on the journey to Cornwall.
If she had had her way, they would have gone at a hell-for-leather pace. It was the children who could not abide it, and it was five days before the line of Yorke carriages arrived at The Silver Pilchard just after midday.
Mrs. Tonkin and Jory came out to meet them—the former in what looked to be a very new dress and apron, the latter holding an entire platter of fairings. Hosting the Duke of Rockwood had gone to Mrs. Tonkin’s head, and she was quick to broach the subject to whoever would listen.
She curtsied deeply to William—something Frederick was certain she had practiced a great deal—then turned to him.
“Good day, Mrs. Tonkin,” he said with a smile.
“’Tisn’t Tonkin now, sir,” she said, lifting her chin.
“Whatever do you mean?” Caroline asked.
Mrs. Tonkin smiled in what she no doubt thought a serene, composed way. “Tom!” she called sharply through the pasted smile.
A moment later, Tom Tregenza emerged from the inn door, removing his cap.
Frederick’s brows shot up. “You are…married?”
The new Mrs. Tregenza inclined her head imperiously to confirm the assumption as she threaded her ample arm through Tom’s, whose cheeks reddened, though he looked up at his wife with an admiration Frederick had not expected from someone so stoic.
“Do come in, Your Grace,” Mrs. Tregenza said, gesturing to the open door. “And take a fairin’ with ’ee.”
Aunt Eugenia already had two in hand.
“The shutters look well,” Caroline said as they waited for the rest of the family to enter the inn.
Frederick tilted his head to regard them. “They do. You were right to suggest the blue.”
It had been just before their departure to London that they had acquired The Silver Pilchard from Oswald—in addition to a parcel of land for the construction of the schoolhouse.
It was only just large enough to house the number of children who wished to attend, for Eliza was loved by all—as was her husband, Captain Rathmore.
After the by-election, it had come to light that the support for Wheal Fortune had largely been contingent upon the promises he had made to investors regarding his plans as an MP.
When he had failed to win the seat, the investors had abandoned the scheme, leaving Oswald with financial obligations he could not meet.
In short, the past two years had been humbling ones for him.
Oswald and Frederick would never be close friends, but the consequences of Oswald’s actions seemed to be transforming him for the better, at least.
Mrs. Tregenza prepared a robust meal for the Yorkes, and The Silver Pilchard was ripe with conversation and laughter and toddling children. Days of travel had taken their toll, however, and the taproom was soon vacated in favor of a bit of rest at Trevenna Court.
Once everyone had been installed in their respective rooms, Frederick and Caroline met in the corridor.
They smiled at each other.
“It is hard to believe they are all here,” Caroline said. “I do like the feeling of the rooms all being occupied.”
“As do I,” he said, taking her hand. There was deep satisfaction and joy to have his entire family under one roof in a place he loved so much. “Are you tired, love?”
“Not nearly as tired as I should be,” she said. “I think the excitement of being home must be stronger than my fatigue.”
He nodded, for he felt the same way. “Would you care to take a walk?”
Her eyes widened a bit. “To…?”
He simply smiled in response.
Her fingers squeezed his in anticipation, and she pulled him down the corridor toward the stairs, and soon, they were on their way to the beach.
Frederick breathed in deeply as the familiar prospect came into view. The air in London was thick with dust and pollution. Here, to breathe was like inhaling life.
Their boots finally met the sand, and they walked along it, taking in a view they had sorely missed while in London.
Caroline sighed with contentment, and Frederick smiled.
“Precisely how I feel,” he said.
She gave a soft laugh, then stopped suddenly. “Oh! I had forgotten.”
She pulled the reticule from her wrist and looked up at him through her lashes, a hint of mischief glimmering in her eyes. “I brought you a gift.”
“A gift?”
“To celebrate your committee appointment.”
He watched with interest as she uncinched the reticule, then handed it to him. “How could you have bought a gift? You only heard of the appointment just before we left London.” He reached a hand in and pulled out a sachet of lozenges.
He smiled and looked up at her. They were elderberry, just like the ones he had given her when they had met—when he had thought Lady Radcliffe elderly and infirm.
“To wet your throat for all the fine speeches you will give,” she said.
His smile grew, and he reached in again and pulled out the snuff box. He twisted and turned it for a moment, then looked at her for an explanation.
“May your passion for doing good never be snuffed out.”
His eyes searched hers, thinking of how much knowing her and loving her had changed him. He had sought Parliament for himself; Caroline had taught him how to find himself in serving others.
He pulled out the last object—the lace cap.
Caroline took it and put it on his head, then regarded him with a tilted head.
“Am I fetching?” he asked, fluttering his lashes.
“Impossibly so,” she replied, but her smile softened as she removed it and played with it for a moment.
“What is it for?” Frederick asked after watching her for a moment.
“For growing old with you.” She looked up at him, her eyes warm.
Frederick pulled her to him, closing his eyes and savoring a moment that approached perfection. For the first time in his life, he wanted nothing more or less than exactly what he had.