He strode out of the room and removed his hat from the peg.
“Where do ’ee be going?” Mrs. Tonkin called.
He opened the door. “Lord bless you! Where do you think I am going? To see Mr. Tregenza, of course.”
The last sound he heard before the door shut was Mrs. Tonkin laughing.
He wore a smile of his own as he made his way down the cobbled street toward the beach. The steps that led from the small quay down to the sand were uneven and weather-torn, with moss growing in the spots where the tide covered them when it was high.
The beach was littered with its usual boats, a dozen men handling fishing nets. One by one, they turned their attention to him, as though recognizing an enemy in their territory.
Frederick was determined to prove himself friend rather than foe.
His eyes fixed on the largest of the wooden boats, which, as Mrs. Tonkin had said, bore evidence of having once been painted blue. All that remained now were sections of patchy, sun-weathered paint of a nondescript gray.
Two men stood beside the boat, the one not too different from what Frederick had pictured—tall and thick, with a ruddy face wherever his abundant hair did not grow.
Frederick had envisioned this conversation being between Mr. Tregenza and him alone, but he should have known that would not be the case. Mrs. Tonkin had said all the other fishermen followed the man, after all.
He addressed himself to the largest of the bunch, standing by the once-blue boat. “Mr. Tregenza?”
The fishermen shared glances and sniggered.
“Tom be over there,fine sir.” The man said the last words with a hint of derision so subtle, Frederick was uncertain he hadn’t imagined it.
He looked to where the man pointed at the nearest, much smaller boat.
A short, thin man with a gray beard hammered at a section in the hull.
“Tom!” one of the fishers called. “This fine gent wishes to speak with ’ee.”
The man looked up, pausing his hammering. His eyes fixed on Frederick.
Frederick had met some of the most feared and intimidating men of thehaut-ton, but never had he felt such a desire to shift under a gaze as he now did. Mr. Tregenza was small, but his presence loomed large. As did his lack of desire to speak with Frederick.
“Forgive me for interrupting,” Frederick said with an apologetic smile. “I shan’t keep you long.”
The man said nothing, merely waiting for Frederick to statethe reason for his interruption—all while the other fishers looked on.
Frederick cleared his throat. “I wanted to personally invite you”—he turned and put out a hand toward the others—“all of you—to join me here on Saturday afternoon.”
“Join ’ee?” one of the men repeated blankly.
“For a little party,” Frederick clarified.
The man looked him up and down, then whispered something to the others. Soft chuckling rumbled through the group.
“I don’t think we attend the same parties, sir,” one of them said, barely suppressing a smile as one of the others executed an awkward attempt at a flourishing bow.
“On Saturday we do,” Frederick said. “That is, I hope to find you amongst the guests.” He turned back toward Mr. Tregenza, who had yet to say a word.
“And what do ’ee be celebratin’?” asked the large fellow Frederick had mistaken for him.
Frederick turned again—it was dashed awkward to address himself to the group and Mr. Tregenza at the same time when they insisted on remaining behind Frederick.
“I am announcing my candidacy—to stand for election for Trelowen.”
“And what do that ’ave to do with we?” Mr. Tregenza asked.
