Page 16 of Rival to Resist
“In my experience, the men who boast of such connections use them only for themselves. To you, Mr. Yorke, Trelowen is naught but a feather in your cap.”
Frederick shook his head, but she pressed on before he could speak.
“Forgive me, but you have no more notion how to serve Trelowen than one of my fishermen would know how to drive a high-perch phaeton. I have already decided who I shall support in the coming by-election, and itisnot andshallnot be you. Allow me to take this opportunity to remind you once again that London isthatway.” She nodded ahead.
Her words were intended to wipe out whatever flame of hope flickered within him, but somehow, they did the opposite.
More than ever, Frederick wanted to prove that he was worthy of her support, that she had misjudged him. In him, she saw a charlatan, an imposter.
But while he might not know everything about Trelowen, hewouldbe a worthy MP if given the chance.
He held her gaze, matching her confidence with his own. “I am not going anywhere, Lady Radcliffe.”
Her nostrils flared slightly, but her mouth lifted at one corner. “The more fool you. Good day, Mr. Yorke.” She urged her horse onto the lane that branched off of the current one, and though he watched her ride off, she never once turned back to look at him before the view of her was swallowed by the trees.
5
CAROLINE
Caroline shielded her eyes as she looked out over Trevenna’s gardens. The light cast upon them was that particular golden blue unique to dark skies whose angry clouds had been pierced by a slice of warm sunlight. It made the greens all the deeper and the flowers all the more vibrant.
“Do ’ee like these, m’lady?” the gardener asked, indicating the larkspur he knelt beside.
Caroline tilted her head, then reached for the nearest bloom, which was a pale shade of purple. “They do look rather sad this year, do they not?”
“’Twas the gray spring we ‘ad. Do ’ee wish for me to take ’em out? I could replace ’em with somethin’ more to your ladyship’s likin’.”
“No, no. They still bring a nice color and height to the gardens, even if they are not as vibrant as usual. Let us leave them and hope for a better crop next year. I shall just trim a few of the dead blooms if you will give me some shears.”
As he located the tool amidst his others, she shed hergloves, setting them on the grass, for she could not operate the shears as easily with them on.
She clipped three blooms that were dry and wilting, then set them in a pile on the grass.
“My lady.”
She turned and found Oswald approaching. He and Richard had been friends long enough that Oswald had come to have nearly free rein at Trevenna. They had not stood upon ceremony, and such an arrangement had continued after Richard’s death.
Caroline did not regret it, for it meant she could continue clipping dead blooms rather than feeling obliged to host a formal call in the sitting room.
“I wondered if I might find you here,” he said with his friendly smile as he took in the growing pile of cut flowers. “Cannot the gardener do that?”
“He is more than willing,” Caroline replied, returning to her task, “but I enjoy it. How was Falmouth?”
“Good,” he replied. “I was able to accomplish everything I had set out to do, which is rarely the case, as you know.”
“And whatwasit you set out to do?”
“Primarily attend a meeting with my banker and another with Lord Pentreath.”
Caroline touched one of the more vibrant flowers. “And both were successful?”
He gave a decisive nod. “Both of them see a bright future where Wheal Fortune is concerned—and for Trelowen as a result.”
“Mm.” Caroline smiled, though she felt differently on the matter. Of course, with two difficult winters in fishing, Trelowen’s families were eager for more opportunities to work. She did not share the confidence of Oswald, hisbanker, or Lord Pentreath that reopening an old mine was the answer, however.
“I trust the Yorke fellow has not bothered you in my absence?” Oswald asked. “I imagine he is well on his way to London by now.”
Caroline felt an unaccountable and annoying warmth rising in her cheeks as she focused studiously on clipping a bloom that perhaps did not merit it. “Not unless you consider The Silver Pilchardwell on his way to London.”
