Chapter 2 #3
“A woman can never have too many opportunities to smell like her grandfather.” Caroline closed the box and inspected the outdated design. “Or great grandfather.” No doubt Mr. Yorke had thought an old Cornish baron would not be sufficiently familiar with snuff box fashions to care.
“Let us see what else we have.” She set the snuff box aside and removed a piece of lace fabric, which she discovered to be a cap, much like the one her grandmother had worn.
She put a hand to her mouth to stifle her smile.
“Simply stunning. I shall keep it next to my spectacles and embroidery frame.”
She removed the last item—a small sachet full of elderflower lozenges. “For my declining constitution. These certainly complete the set. I am quite ready to transform into my Aunt Agatha.”
“Do you think it quite wise, your ladyship,” Oswald said in a low voice, “to be accepting gifts from unknown gentlemen?”
Caroline’s eyes fixed on Mr. Yorke’s. She had hoped to mortify him with the display of the gifts, but on the contrary, he seemed amused.
“When such great thought has gone into the gift,” Caroline said, “it would be a shame to reject it, I think.”
“May I count on your support, then, my lady?” Mr. Yorke asked.
She kept a smile on her face with sheer force of will. “I fear not, Mr. Yorke, for Trelowen already has its suitable candidate, as you so aptly phrased it.”
His brows went up. “You do?”
Oswald took a step forward. “I shall stand for election, Mr. Yorke. I am intimately familiar with the borough’s residents, affairs, and needs.”
“Intimately,” Mr. Yorke repeated, an eyebrow raised ever so slightly as his gaze flitted to Caroline.
Her pulse fluttered, and she was suddenly and keenly aware of just how near to her Oswald was standing.
“Well,” Mr. Yorke said, “I am certain we can all agree that Trelowen is best served when there is a choice between suitable candidates.”
“Forgive me,” Oswald said, “but I find it difficult to ascribe the word suitable to a man who was so unfamiliar with the borough he seeks to represent that he mistook its patron. If you were truly acquainted with Trelowen, sir, you would also realize that a candidate who does not carry Lady Radcliffe’s approval stands no chance at all of gaining the desired seat.
Your time is better spent in other pursuits. ”
Mr. Yorke smiled at Oswald. “Very good of you to be concerned about the value of my time, Mr. Oswald. But I maintain—and with no disrespect to yourself, good sir—that I am the best candidate to stand for Trelowen. And, since we are evidently issuing warnings, allow me to say this: I am not easily deterred.” His eyes fixed on Caroline’s for a moment, full of challenge and a flash of mischief, before he bowed. “I bid both of you good day.”
Mr. Yorke strode from the room, his pride bearing no evidence of injury from an interaction that would have sent most men running for home with their tail between their legs.
Oswald gave a breathy chuckle after the door had closed. “What a fellow.”
“Indeed,” Caroline replied, her eyes fixed on the door.
No doubt it should have occurred to her that some gentlemen from London would wish to seize the opportunity of Brightmoor’s coming into a title as their chance for entry into Parliament.
It had not occurred to her, though. Perhaps that was because, as Oswald had said, such a feat required her support—support she was bound and determined not to give any scheming gentleman.
The realization that Mr. Yorke—a man whose smile had caught her mind all morning—had proven to be just such a man was a disappointment more significant than she cared to admit.
“We need not concern ourselves with him,” Oswald said. “I am far more concerned for you.”
Caroline’s gaze flicked to him. “For me?”
He nodded. “You bear a great burden, my lady, and you must know I have no greater wish than to share it—to see you properly cared for.”
“And so you will,” Caroline said, forcing herself to ignore the implication in his words. “Having an MP who can represent Trelowen’s interests is what I have long wished for, as you know.”
“And I am ready and willing, as you know. But while an MP may carry the borough’s burdens, who shall carry yours?”
“With the right man in the Commons, I think you shall find me plenty capable of managing my own affairs,” she said amiably.
“I have just finished a letter to Lord Warren to ensure the writ can be issued as soon as possible. With any luck, you will be seated within a fortnight of its return. Until then, our focus must be on the election.”
It was a flimsy excuse. Given that the outcome of the by-election was all but settled, there was little that needed doing.
Oswald searched her face, then nodded.
She breathed an inward sigh of relief that he had not pursued a subject she was unprepared to discuss.
Movement caught her attention from the corner of her eye, and she looked through the window of the library just as Mr. Yorke rode his horse past. Their eyes met, and he gave her a wink and a tip of his hat, eliciting a flutter she disliked immensely.
Whether she would marry Oswald or not, Caroline did not know. She was determined, however, that Mr. Yorke’s aims, however difficult he might be to deter, would come to naught.