Frederick was keenly aware that he was likely an unwanted audience to this tender exchange, but he did not regret being there to witness it—to see this soft side of Lady Radcliffe, who had kept him at arms’ length so far.
Lady Radcliffe’s gaze shifted to Frederick for a moment, then behind him. “Is that from the Navy Board?”
Mrs. Penrose followed her gaze to the table, where a letter sat. “No. It is from Captain Rathmore—you remember him?”
Lady Radcliffe nodded. “Samuel’s friend from the Navy, was he not?”
“Yes. In fact, he was promoted to captain after…” She cleared her throat and smiled. “He is much occupied, of course, but he is good to write every now and then and see how I am getting on.”
Lady Radcliffe smiled. “I am glad for it. Perhapshecan persuade the Navy Board to hasten the process.”
What process this was, Frederick did not know, and as the conversation shifted, he was destined to remain in ignorance.
Once they had partaken of their tea, Frederick and Lady Radcliffe said their goodbyes.
“I shall speak with Oswald as soon it as can be managed,” Lady Radcliffe promised. “It is ridiculous for you to make such a long and arduous trek when the stream is so near.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Mrs. Penrose said with feeling. “And it was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Yorke.”
He bowed. “The pleasure was all mine, I assure you.”
Once he and Lady Radcliffe were on the lane toward the village again, it was quiet between them for a time. Her ladyship seemed to be in a reflective mood.
“What happened to her husband?” Frederick asked gently.
“He was a captain in the Navy, but he died at Lissa. She has yet to receive the pension she is due.”
Frederick grimaced.
“Just so. It has been very trying for her.”
“I can imagine,” Frederick said as a few raindrops sprinkled on them.
“Can you?”
He looked at Lady Radcliffe, who met his gaze squarely.
“Can you imagine what it is like to be gently bred, only to be forced to grow vegetables and wash other people’s linens to put food on your table? To find the man you love and build a life with him, only to have that life snatched from your fingers? To have to choose whether to listen to your stomach growl or hire a boat to go out fishing for food?”
Frederick said nothing, thinking of his unvoiced complaints about his room at The Silver Pilchard. They seemed ridiculous compared to the plights she spoke of.
Lady Radcliffe kept her gaze on him for a few more seconds, then turned it ahead. “Mrs. Penrose’s situation is but one of hundreds in Trelowen, Mr. Yorke, and you are familiar with hers only in small part.”
“Perhaps so, but I can learn.”
She was clearly distraught by her friend’s plight and hoped for a connection that could help resolve it. Frederick had such connections—the type Mr. Oswald could not possibly possess.
He gritted his teeth, for he had promised himself not to use his brother’s name. Frederick was fortunate he could even stand for election on his own merits, for he had little property to his name. Just enough to meet the requirements.
But he had also promised he would do everything in his power to succeed at his goal. “I have connections that can benefit Trelowen and its people in ways you cannot imagine. My brother is the Duke of Rockwood?—”
“Your brother might be the King himself, sir, and it would not change how I feel.” Lady Radcliffe pulled up on the reins, and Frederick followed suit.
“Why not?” he asked.
“You think my husband had no connections in London? That Brightmoor had none? What good did those do us?”
Frederick said nothing.
