A Lady of Persuasion (27 page)

“No, of course not.” Yorke looked over his shoulder at Isabel. “And even I have to applaud you. It was well done, Toby. For a moment there, even I was certain you’d break your neck.

But you should know, much as it pains my pride to admit it—now you may have to make a real effort to lose.”

“It’s only a bit of excitement and chatter. Don’t worry. I’ll be completely absent from the hustings; I’ll send no one to speak in my stead. You’re still a sure bet for reelection, I’m sure of it.”

“Perhaps. But it is a problem.”

“What’s a problem?” Isabel asked, surprising them both with her sudden nearness. She extended her hand to Toby. “Have some strawberries?”

He declined with a slight shake of his head. It was all the movement he could manage, what with his heart thudding against his ribs. Surely she hadn’t heard them. She didn’t have the look of a trusting newlywed bride who just discovered she’d been betrayed by her husband, less than one week into her marriage.

Toby cleared his throat. “We’re just discussing the irrigation canal. Mr. Yorke was about to tell me what his problem is.”

“I don’t have any problem.”

“Then why are you suddenly refusing to proceed? I need that canal, Yorke. Ever since they built that factory downriver, the north fields are flooding every spring. Meanwhile, our lands to the west are under-watered. The canal remedies both conditions.”

“Ah, but those are
your
problems. Not mine. Why should I allow you to dig a trench through my land, let alone share the costs of the labor to dig it?”

“Because the canal will water your western fields, too. Hadn’t you complained of the low yield last harvest?”

“I had,” Yorke said. “But I’ve since realized, it’s not for lack of water. The land’s merely overworked. I’ve decided to let it lie fallow this season, and therefore, I’ll reap no benefit from your canal. Neither do I have the extra income to pay for it. It’ll have to wait until next year.”

“Oh, but the lambs!” Isabel said. “Think of the lambs.”

“The lambs?” Yorke echoed.

“Yes, the lambs,” Toby groaned. “They’re overrunning Wynterhall. And they’re reasonably compact and adorable now, but by next year they’ll simply be sheep. Great, woolly, malodorous sheep. I need those north fields drained for pasture,
this
year.”

“So build the canal. Just keep it on your lands.”

“You know very well that would double the length and the cost. Come on, man. Be a friend.”

“Be a friend?” Yorke gave a chortling laugh. “What sort of negotiation is that? If you want your canal, you’ll have to make it worth my while.”

Toby narrowed his eyes at the old man. For the first time in his life, he was growing truly impatient with Yorke. “Crafty old devil. You want this canal, too. You’re just trying to get out of paying for it.”

Yorke puffed his chest. “Now you’re starting to sound like that woman.”

“Leave that woman—” Toby bit off that sentence and began again. “Leave my mother out of this. We’re the landholders, and this is between you and me. Now, if we can’t begin work on that canal directly, I shall have to spend much more time in Surrey this summer. I may have to go talking with the farmers in the neighborhood. Perhaps even perform another display of horsemanship.”

He stared hard at Yorke, letting the implications of his words sink in. The old man looked a bit shocked. Toby was a bit shocked, too, truth be told. He had no idea where it had come from, the gall to threaten his friend’s seat in Parliament simply to see a trench dug in the dirt. But much as he appreciated Yorke’s friendship over the years, he wasn’t going to let the man take advantage of it.

“Be careful, my boy,” Yorke said in a low, warning tone. The old man’s watery gaze flicked toward Isabel. “I don’t think that’s a bluff you want me to call.”

Oh, no. He wouldn’t dare. A knot formed in Toby’s gut. Surely Yorke wouldn’t betray their secret. If Isabel learned about their gentlemen’s agreement to fix the election, she’d never forgive him. He’d spend the rest of his life sleeping with the sheep.

Mr. Yorke smiled at Isabel. “May I, Lady Aldridge?” he asked, plucking a strawberry from her palm.

“But of course,” she replied, returning his smile. So sweet, so innocent. So completely unaware of what a deceitful cad she called husband.

“A word to the wise, Toby,” Yorke said, popping the strawberry into his mouth. “Never gamble with something you’re not prepared to lose.”

Toby exhaled with frustration. He knew he was beaten. Yorke knew it too, damn his eyes. The old man could demand to plow a canal straight through Wynterhall’s gardens, and now Toby would be forced to agree.

“Surely some compromise can be reached.” Isabel raised another strawberry to her juice-stained lips. “Take pity on the lambs, Mr. Yorke,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Don’t God’s little lambs deserve a home?”

“Is that the newlywed love talking?” Yorke directed his question at Toby. “Or is she always like this?”

“Oh, I’m always like this,” she said. “Aren’t I, Toby?”

“Yes.” Toby smiled despite himself. Only Isabel could insult him so sweetly.

She continued, “I’m not a romantic, Mr. Yorke. Fairness, justice, honesty—these are the qualities that move my heart.”

“Is that so?” Yorke gave Toby a chastening look.

Toby shrugged and studied the oak standing sentinel atop a distant hill. He imagined he saw his own noose hanging there, twisting in the breeze.
Yes, old man. There you have it. I’m sunk
.

“Very well,” Yorke said gruffly. “In the interests of fairness, we’ll proceed with the canal as agreed,
if”
—he stayed Isabel’s thanks with a curt gesture—“if you lease my western fields for the summer.”

“But you just said you plan to let them lie fallow!”

“I do. You can use them as—”

“As pasture,” Toby said, shaking his head as the obvious dawned. “Of course. And the land will be the richer for it, in time for winter planting.” He had to hand it to Yorke; the man really was shrewd. No wonder he’d been so successful in Parliament all these years. What mad whim had led Toby to consider making a serious challenge? “This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

“No, it wasn’t,” Yorke said, slapping him on the back. “Really, Toby. You were supposed to be clever enough to think of it yourself. It’s a fortunate thing you married this one,” he said, nodding at Isabel. “At least she knows God’s little lambs need a home.”

A primal scream greeted them as Toby and Isabel crossed the threshold of Grayson House.

“Dear heavens.” Isabel clutched at his arm, drawing her body into his. Her instinctive response gave Toby a deeply male sense of satisfaction. His wife trusted him. To protect her, to pleasure her. Surely it could not be long before she surrendered her heart. When this absurd election was over, Isabel would put aside her disappointment, and Toby had every hope that their relationship could continue to deepen and grow. In short, life was good.

A savage growl shook the walls.

Or not so good.

Sophia rushed toward them, her cheeks flushed and hair in disarray. “Thank God you’re here.”

“What the devil is going on?” Toby handed his hat and gloves to a footman. “Are they murdering cats above-stairs?”

“It’s Lucy,” Sophia said. “She’s gone into labor.”

“Here?” Isabel asked. A moan rumbled through the plastered ceiling, and she tilted her head toward its source. “Now?”

“Yes.” Sophia ushered them toward the salon, drawing them aside for a private conference just before they entered. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “She and Jeremy had some kind of row, and Lucy left in a fit of temper. She drove here in the phaeton, and by the time she arrived her pains had already begun. Miss Osborne says it’s not safe to move her. She must deliver the child here.”

Toby exchanged a quick glance with his wife. “We really should leave.”

Isabel nodded. “Yes, of course.” When another muffled cry floated down the corridor, she turned to Sophia. “We’ll come for the Society leaflet another time.”

“No!” Sophia reached for them, grasping Toby’s arm in one hand and Isabel’s wrist in the other. “Don’t leave, I beg you.”

Toby said, “Surely Miss Osborne has matters in hand. Or would you like me to summon another physician?”

Sophia shook her head. “It’s not Lucy I’m concerned for. Hetta says her labor is progressing well, if a bit slowly. That’s normal with first babes, she says. No, it’s Jeremy who needs looking after.”

“Jem?” Toby flicked a glance toward the salon. “He’s already here?”

“Yes. Gray and Joss are there with him, but I think he’d be glad for the company of a friend.

He’s not taking this well, I’m afraid.”

A long, piercing scream interrupted their conversation. All eyes rolled ceiling-ward.

“No,” Toby said finally, staring at the stamped plaster. “I can imagine Jem wouldn’t be taking this well at all.”

“Did you say Joss is with them?” Isabel asked. Sophia nodded, and a speaking glance passed between the ladies. “Oh, dear. This must be torture for him.”

Toby thought it rather sounded like Lucy was the one being tortured. He himself wasn’t overly concerned, seeing as how his three sisters had survived ten noisy births, collectively, and he knew Lucy to be hardier than any of them.

But then—he took the briefest moment to imagine these were Isabel’s cries of pain. He immediately shared Jeremy’s unease. Now each small moan and whimper had him wincing like a kick to the gut. How much worse for Joss, who had lost a wife in childbirth?

Sophia squeezed his arm. “Please, just sit with them.” Imploring him with watery blue eyes, she tilted her head toward the salon. “Try to convince Jeremy that all will be well. Keep his mind occupied with other things. Just… Toby, just be yourself. More than anyone I know, you have a gift for putting people at ease.”

Words failed him for a moment. Of all the people he hadn’t expected to hear praising his character, the woman who’d run away rather than marry him was at the top of the list.

At length, he gave a mute nod of assent.

Releasing his arm, Sophia turned to his wife. “Bel, would you come upstairs and help me? I’m gathering fresh linens and supplies.”

“Yes, certainly.”

Toby watched them disappear up the stairs, hand in hand. Remarkable. He wished now were the time to really talk to Sophia. To ask her why—if he put everyone so at ease—she’d fled halfway across the world rather than speak to him about ending their engagement.

But now wasn’t the time. At the moment, he had a friend in need.

Mustering all the blithe, irreverent charm he could find, Toby donned a carefree smile and sauntered into the salon. “Good afternoon. Gray, Joss … Jem. No, don’t get up.” He crossed to the bar and began pouring himself a brandy. After filling his own glass, he took the decanter over to Jeremy and topped off his friend’s drink, noting the pale, drawn mask of worry on his face. “Well, Jem,” he said lightly. “I understand congratulations are in order.”

Jeremy stared into his glass. “Prayers are in order. This shouldn’t be happening. It’s too soon.

And it’s all my fault. We argued, and …” He scrubbed his face with one hand, leaving his eyes heavy and laced with red. “I should send an express to Waltham Manor.”

“Let me do it,” Gray said, sitting down to a writing desk. “She’s at my house, after all. Shall I address it to her father or her mother?”

“To her brother, Henry. Lucy hasn’t any parents living.” When another growling moan sounded from above, Jeremy dropped his head in his hands. “Oh, God. I can’t endure this.”

Toby sat down next to him. “It’s perfectly normal, Jem. All my sisters sounded the same in labor, or worse. And babies arrive in their own time—a few weeks early, a few weeks late.

Everything comes out fine.”

“Except when it doesn’t.” Joss rose from his chair and strode to the window. Toby glared at him, and Joss stared back with hollow eyes.

“Don’t, Joss.” Gray gave his brother a warning look.

“Don’t what?” Joss asked defensively. “Don’t prepare a man for all possibilities? There’s no benefit in denying the truth. We all know women die in childbirth. It happens.”

Jeremy groaned into his hands.

“Yes,” Toby said in a matter-of-fact tone, “it happens.” He refused to let his annoyance with Joss taint his efforts at reassurance. “But this is not some random woman we’re discussing.”

Lowering his voice, he spoke to Jeremy. “They don’t know Lucy like we do, Jem. Listen to me. I’ve a mother and three older sisters, all of whom eat adversity for breakfast. I’m married to the most principled lady on earth. But when it comes to strength of will, Lucy bests them all.

She’s healthy, she’s young, and she’s determined to give you a beautiful child. And when Lucy’s determined to do something, she does it.”