Chapter 20 #3
“Never mind, Jory,” Frederick said, though there was space enough.
“I shall find another place.” He winked at him, then turned away, trying to conceal the pinch of hurt.
He had been determined to ask Mrs. Tonkin the reason for the change in her behavior, but she had been impossible to pin down.
On purpose, he assumed. His meals and drinks were all served by Jory.
Frederick’s eyes met Caroline’s perplexed ones for a brief moment, then moved to look for a seat. The pews were fuller than usual, though, and he looked in vain for a place to sit that would not require stepping over families to reach.
Mr. Curnow took his place at the lectern.
“Mr. Yorke.”
Frederick turned, and Caroline met his gaze. “There is space here.” She indicated the place beside her.
He hesitated for a moment, then made his way over and entered the box.
She gave him a perfunctory smile that was so convincingly detached that he nearly began to wonder if he had imagined what had happened in the tack room.
He took a seat beside her just as the vicar began the service.
Frederick did his best to listen, but his mind was simply more interested in the mere inch separating him from Caroline. The impulse to reach over and take her hand, which was clasped in her lap, presented itself to him, only to be firmly discarded.
He slid his hands along his breeches and left them gripping his thighs to keep them occupied.
Ten minutes into the sermon on…well, Frederick could not have said what topic the vicar had chosen…Caroline’s hands released from their clasp in her lap. She set her right hand on the edge of her skirts so that her pinky sat against Frederick’s.
A current flashed through his body as though she had taken him by the cheeks and kissed him full on the lips in front of the congregation.
His gaze searched the room, as if everyone in attendance must have felt the same jolting of the heart as he.
All eyes were on the vicar, however.
He leaned toward Caroline and whispered, “Temptress.”
Her mouth lifted ever so slightly at the corner, though her eyes remained resolutely ahead.
A loud creaking brought a number of heads, including Frederick’s, around.
A shaft of light spread in front of the open door, and Oswald stepped into the church. His gaze went directly to Caroline’s box.
Frederick moved his hand like a schoolboy found sneaking into the kitchens.
Caroline had said Oswald would return Monday. What was he doing here?
Oswald’s nostrils flared slightly before he strode forward and took a seat in his box.
Both Caroline’s and Frederick’s hands returned to their laps, clasped tightly for the duration of the service.
Silly as it was, Frederick felt as though he had stolen something from Oswald.
Caroline’s heart had never belonged to Oswald, but whether he would see it that way was far less certain.
The service concluded, and the nave filled with the low hum of movement and growing conversation.
“Thank you for allowing me to sit with you, my lady,” Frederick said in his most polite and aloof tone.
“Of course,” she replied, courteously inclining her head, though her gaze jumped behind him.
Frederick turned and found Oswald there.
“Oswald,” Caroline said with a smile. “I had not thought to see you until tomorrow.”
Oswald’s eyes flicked to Frederick. “Given what I learned in Truro, I felt it incumbent upon me to return sooner.”
“Oh?” Caroline said with concern. “Is everything well?”
“No. I fear it is not.” He turned to Frederick, then reached into his coat.
Frederick held his breath, half-expecting him to pull out a pistol.
But it was only a piece of paper.
His relief was short-lived, however, for his mind was suddenly taken up with what unwelcome news the paper might contain. The sickness of a family member? Was Aunt Eugenia unwell? His stomach clenched. Or William’s baby?
Oswald unfolded the paper. “I assume you are aware of the requirements to stand for election.”
“Yes,” Frederick said, unable to keep a bit of annoyance out of his voice. Between the two of them, there was no question who was more familiar with them.
“Including that only men with more than ￡300 in property are eligible?”
“Yes.” Frederick’s patience wore thin as a few people seemed to take interest in the conversation, no doubt thanks to the unnecessary way in which Oswald insisted on adjusting his hold on the paper, making it crinkle loudly in the echoing room.
Oswald handed it to him. “You do not meet that requirement, Mr. Yorke.”
Frederick scoffed, leaving the paper hovering in the air, untouched. “I most certainly do.”
“This is a certified copy of a deed stating otherwise.”
Frederick’s jaw clenched, and he took the paper, keeping his gaze on Oswald for a moment before looking down at it.
Abstract of the valuation of freehold property held by Mr. Frederick Yorke, it stated across the top.
His eyes ran along the various sections of the document detailing the acreage and description of his lands, the estimated annual value, and finally the estimated capital value.
￡284.
According to this, he was ￡16 short of the property requirement to stand for election.