Chapter 20 #2
Frederick slid a reassuring hand down her arm. “I never thought I would feel sympathy for him, but if there is anything I can understand, it is the disappointment a man would feel to lose you.”
“He is my friend. I have no wish to hurt him.”
“Of course not.”
“I must think on it. How to tell him—and when. I have a bit of time, at least, for he does not return from Truro until Monday.”
Frederick went to pick up the brush he had dropped. “I am surprised he agreed to leave you for so long, particularly with an infamous rake so nearby. I fully intend to take advantage of his absence.”
She smiled, some of her worries disappearing from her brow in favor of a light that invited his teasing. “Do you?”
He walked around her to set down the brush. “I shall forever be on your doorstep”—he turned and stepped behind her—“following you like your shadow.” He wrapped his arms around her, and she settled into his embrace, turning her head so that her temple rested against his cheek.
“Does this mean I shall see you tomorrow at church?”
His lips brushed her ear. “Does this mean you wish to?” His fingers splayed across her stomach, and he felt her breath catch as her hand covered his.
“That depends upon whether you can behave.”
“Of course I can,” he murmured, lowering his head and pressing his lips to the hollow beneath her ear.
“Is this your idea of behaving?”
“Believe me.” He kissed her again. “I am showing great restraint.”
She gave a little sigh of contentment, then slowly turned and broke away from him. “Perhaps seeing one another is all we should do at church.”
“No, no,” he pleaded, reaching for her hand. “I will do better.”
Her mouth lifted at the side. “I do not believe you. But if you can behave yourself, I promise to meet you afterward. On our beach.”
Our beach. The words brought a smile to his lips, and in Caroline’s eyes, he saw a ghost of the kiss they had shared there.
“I will be a model of decorum,” he promised.
Her eyes twinkled. “Then tomorrow shall be a day of miracles. Goodbye, Frederick.” With a last smile, she disappeared from the tack room.
Frederick stood in place for some time, a small, content smile on his lips and an intense impatience for the next morning.
Time was no friend of lovers. The hours without Caroline crept by with a torturous slowness, while the minutes with her had slipped through Frederick’s fingers like sunlight on a wave.
Had church services always begun so late in the morning? Ten seemed unnecessarily delayed. Surely, if the parish needed religion, earlier was better.
He had never in his life arrived in advance of a church service, but when he peeked inside, the only person within was the sexton.
Rather than sit down in an empty nave, Frederick took a stroll up the lane, forcing himself to walk slowly.
He was obliged to move out of the road for an approaching traveling chaise. There was a man riding on horseback behind—broad-shouldered, hair going silver at the temples, and sun-browned skin.
The man slowed as he neared, his sharp, blue gaze fixed on Frederick.
“Good day,” the man said.
Frederick inclined his head and offered a polite smile.
“Is this the way to The Silver Pilchard?”
“Yes.” Frederick pointed ahead. “You shall see it when you reach that bend.”
“Thank you, Mr….”
“Yorke. Frederick Yorke.”
A novel interest entered the man’s eyes as his mouth drew into a smile. “Just the man I have been hoping to meet.”
Frederick’s brows went up.
The man swung down from his horse, then put out a hand. “Captain Hugh Rathmore.”
Frederick took his hand, but it was a moment before he realized where he knew the name. “Ah! You are a friend of Mrs. Penrose.”
“I knew her husband.” His expression grew a bit more solemn at the mention. “I have been meaning to pay my respects personally but have been detained with my duties until now. You have been of great help to her, as I understand it.”
“Hardly,” Frederick said with a chuckle. “She exaggerates—you are undoubtedly aware how kind she is.”
“I am, but I think you are being modest, sir.” He glanced ahead as his chaise disappeared around the bend.
“I must ensure my belongings arrive, but I pray you will believe me when I say how appreciative I am. I trust we will see one another before I leave.” He gripped the saddle and put his foot in the stirrup.
“I am certain we shall,” Frederick responded. “I am putting up at the same inn.”
“Ah!” Captain Rathmore settled into his seat. “Dinner sometime, perhaps?”
“I would enjoy that.”
With a tip of the hat and a smile, the captain continued down the lane.
When Frederick returned to the church, the pews had begun to fill. His gaze flitted to Caroline’s box, and his heart skipped at the sight of her beside Mrs. Penrose.
Caroline’s eyes met his, and he was rewarded with the glimmer of a smile before she schooled her expression into something neutral and gave him an acknowledging nod.
He returned it, determined to show himself on his best behavior as more parish members filed around him and took their seats.
“Mr. Yorke,” Jory said.
Frederick broke his gaze away and looked down at him. His hair had been wetted and brushed into something more orderly than its usual disheveled chaos.
“Sit with me?” he asked.
Frederick smiled and tugged the bottom of his ear. “Of course.” He followed him down the aisle, chancing a glance at Caroline, who watched him with an appreciative warmth in her eyes that made his heart dance. How was he to behave himself if she looked at him in such a way?
“I found Mr. Yorke,” Jory said to Mrs. Tonkin, who was seated on a pew beside the family of one of the fishermen Frederick had worked alongside.
Her gaze swung to his, and there was a little pause before she looked at her nephew. “We’ve no room, Jory.” She looked back at Frederick just long enough to say, “Forgive us.”
Jory frowned. “If ’ee move over a bit—”