“You can tell him I am to blame,” Frederick said as they began the walk back to Trelowen.
“Careful, sir,” Ruan said, “or ’e’ll expect ’ee to ’elp with the saltin’ and barrelin’ again.”
“As long as Jago does not mistake my presence as a desire for a rematch, I would be willing. I am indebted to you, after all.”
“Nay, sir,” Ruan said. “When ’ee ’elp one of us like Mrs. Penrose, ’ee ’elp all of us.”
Frederick put an arm around Ruan and gripped his shoulder, more moved than he cared to let on. The people of Trelowen had next to nothing, but they shared something he envied: a mutual affection and commitment to one another.
They reached that path that passed the church just as the door opened.
Oswald stepped out, putting his hat on his head as he spoke with the vicar. They smiled and bid one another good day, and Oswald came down the steps that led from the church to the road.
“Good day,” Frederick said with an incline of the head.
“And to you,” Oswald replied, though his gaze flicked to Frederick’s eyebrow. “You have been injured. Nothing too serious, I hope.”
Frederick smiled at the polite lie and put a hand to his brow. “The result of an overzealous spirit the other night.”
“I trust your party was enjoyable,” Oswald said.
“’Twas a fine evenin’, sir,” Ruan said, grinning at the memory. “I shan’t forget the sight of Mr. Yorke here bein’ wrassled to the sand by Jago—or he and Lady Radcliffe hoppin’ to the finish line in the sack race. A sight I never didthink to see.”
Frederick suppressed a grimace at the artless comment.
“You must be mistaken,” Oswald said with a strange smile. “Lady Radcliffe was not in attendance.”
“She were, sir,” Ruan said, all innocent earnestness. “’Twere she and Mrs. Tonkin who tended to Mr. Yorke’s injury, weren’t it?” He turned to Frederick.
Frederick cleared his throat, eyes on Oswald. “Very kind of them it was, for I had no one but myself to blame for it.”
Oswald was still smiling, but his nostrils flared slightly. “I trust you will make a full and swift recovery. If you will excuse me now, I must be on my way.”
Frederick tipped his hat, and Ruan bowed his head deferentially as Oswald nodded and continued on his way.
Frederick watched him with a thoughtful frown as a woman came out of the church and down the stairs.
“Did I say somethin’ amiss?” Ruan asked Frederick with a worried brow.
“No, no,” Frederick reassured him, though he would lay odds that Oswald was on his way to Trevenna now. He would have paid dearly to be present for the conversation that would take place.
Frederick had been intentionally provoking Lady Radcliffe when he asked if Oswald had forbidden her from attending the party on the beach, but perhaps he had not been as far off as he had thought.
“’E looked displeased,” Ruan said.
“I rather think that is his natural expression,” Frederick said. “You needn’t concern yourself over it.”
“Oh, but I must, sir. ’Tis he who owns ’alf the boats in Trelowen.”
A woman with an armful of flowers came out of the church, and Ruan turned to her. “Were Mr. Oswald in a bad ’umor when ’ee saw ’im, May?”
A little smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “Do a man be in a bad ’umor when ’e plans is own weddin’? Course not.”
“His wedding?” Frederick said abruptly.
“Aye, sir.” She looked quite pleased with her news. “’E and the vicar be talkin’ ’bout when to ’ave it. Mr. Oswald be goin’ to London after the ‘lection, but ’e wants to be married first.”
Frederick tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry.
