She turned her cheek toward him, the elegant lines of her neck catching his gaze as he stretched out his hand.
“What is this?” a man’s voice asked.
Frederick’s eyes flicked toward the man approaching. He was dressed as a gentleman, his height accentuated by a particularly tall top hat, under which a shock of blond hair grazed his forehead. He seemed to have alighted from the small carriage just behind him that was pulled by a pair of unmatched horses.
“Oswald,” the woman said in surprise.
“Are you hurt?” His brows knit in concern as his gaze flicked to Frederick, a hint of suspicion in them. He must be her husband.
“My boot stuck in the mud,” Frederick explained, “and in an attempt to extricate it, we became…” He looked at the woman, unsure how to characterize their predicament.
“Sullied?” she supplied.
Frederick smiled, but a clearing of the throat reminded him of their audience.
“How very unfortunate,” the man Oswald said. “And your newest dress too.”
Frederick grimaced his apology.
“Nonsense,” the woman replied. “It will wash out easily enough, I have no doubt.”
“Perhaps so,” Oswald said. “I will escort you home, then return for my errands. The sooner the stain can be attended to, the better. This gentleman will wish to see to his clothing as well, undoubtedly.”
From such a comment, Frederick inferred that Oswald was cordially inviting him to take his leave. Perhaps he did not like the familiarity he had interpreted between Frederick and his wife.
The proximity in which the man stood to her certainly spoke to a level of possessiveness.
Frederick could not blame him, in truth, for she seemed a woman well worth treasuring.
“Certainly,” Frederick said. “I leave you in far more capable hands, ma’am, and apologize once more for the inconvenience. I bid you good day.” He tipped his hat to both of them, noting a flash of something in the woman’s eyes, though whether it was frustration or regret, he could not be certain.
Frederick turned away with a flicker of disappointment, but it was snuffed out easily enough. He was in Trelowen to win an election, not to ogle beautiful married women, however unexpected or captivating they might be.
There was only one married woman who mattered to him here, and that was old Lady Radcliffe. If he meant to find favor with her and her husband, however, he would need to change his clothing first.
2
CAROLINE
“Were ‘ee with Mr. Oswald, m’lady?” Bess asked as she removed Lady Caroline Radcliffe’s mud-spattered pelisse.
Caroline glanced over her shoulder with a quizzical expression. She had told Bess she was going into the village, but Oswald had not been mentioned. Indeed, he had not been expected.
Bess’s mouth drew into a knowing smile. “I’d recognize that sigh from anywhere, m’lady.”
“I did notsigh,” Caroline said with amused defensiveness as she handed the gloves to her maid.
“Course not, m’lady,” Bess replied meekly.
Caroline removed her bonnet, a small pucker on her brow.
“Shall we change ‘ee out of that dress, ma’am?” Bess asked. “I can see to the mud.”
Caroline nodded and led the way through the entry hall and up the stone staircase, her mind fixed on Bess’s words.
If shehadsighed, it had not been because of Oswald. Oswald was an old, trusted friend, attentive to her and invested in thefuture of Trelowen. The same could certainly not be said of Brightmoor, the MP for the borough. He was, of course, distracted by the illness of his uncle, but even before his uncle’s health had begun to fail, Brightmoor had not cared a fig about Trelowen.
Oswald would have been a much better advocate for Trelowen’s needs, but Caroline’s late husband, Richard, had ensured his friend was elected MP instead. Richard had liked Oswald, but he had stood in greater need of Brightmoor’s goodwill.
