Her gaze caught on Oswald, who was watching her.
Her smile faded, and with a resigned breath, she went over to him.
“So,” Oswald said, “You and Mr. Yorke are…engaged?”
“Yes,” she replied.
He gave a stiff nod, a glint of censure in his eyes.
“He is not what you believe him to be, Oswald.”
“We shall see.”
She pressed her lips together. “Do you know what I regret most in all of this?”
He maintained his silence, his brow knit with displeasure.
“Feeling as though I have lost a friend.”
His frown grew less stiff but more troubled.
“I feel I hardly know you anymore, Oswald. Since Frederick’s arrival, you have…changed. It is as if you began to feel entitled—to the seat, to my votes…even, in some ways, to me.”
He grimaced. “I regret to have lost your good opinion, my lady.”
She searched his face. He was so stiff, so aloof, but she saw it for what it was: a mask for his pain. “I never meant to hurt you, Oswald.”
His throat bobbed behind his cravat. “Nor I you.” His jaw worked for a moment. “I believed I was acting for Trelowen. Perhaps I wasacting more for myself than I realized.”
“No doubt there are things both of us could have done differently.”
He nodded. “I do want you to be happy, my lady. I hope Mr. Yorke will be able to accomplish what I was incapable of—both for Trelowen and you.”
She gave a sympathetic smile. “Thank you, Oswald.”
He gave a bow, then strode through the crowds and out of the inn yard.
When Caroline arrived on horseback to the beach, she spotted Frederick immediately. He was the lone figure on the wide stretch of sand visible at low tide. His horse could be seensniffing the rocks nearer the cliffs for any sign of edible seaweed.
The sand muffled the sound of her horse’s hoofbeats, so it was not until she was a dozen feet away that Frederick heard her and turned.
His mouth broke into a smile, and he ran over, reached up to fix his hands around her waist, then lifted her from the saddle.
The moment her feet touched the ground, he gathered her in his arms and pressed his mouth to hers.
The kiss was sweet with shared victory, relief, and the acknowledgment that dreams they had once thought mutually exclusive could now exist side by side.
Their lips broke apart, and Frederick’s hands cupped her cheeks as he stared into her eyes. “Thank you,” he said, his voice rough. “For choosing me. For believing in me.”
“I did not always do so. But I promise I always shall.”
He pressed his lips to hers again, a vow all its own.
“I know it has cost you,” he murmured against her lips. “To choose me.”
She smiled and took the lapels of his coat in her hands. “Costme? You are my political pawn now, Frederick Yorke. And I mean to take every advantage of the debt you owe me.”
His mouth drew into a lopsided grin. “I am putty in your hands, my lady.”
