A Lady of Persuasion (30 page)

“It’s … progressing.” Toby shifted in his chair.

“Last I heard, the polls were running dead even between you and Yorke.”

“They are. But most of the electors have yet to cast their votes. They’re waiting, I expect.”

“For what?” Joss asked.

“For bribes.” Gray flicked a glance at Toby. “They want to see which candidate will pay the highest price. Am I right?”

Toby scratched his neck. “Perhaps. But they’ll wait in vain. Mr. Yorke is unlikely to engage in bribery, and you know as well as I how Isabel would react to the idea of my buying votes.”

Gray and Joss chuckled.

“Exactly,” Toby said.

Some topic of shipping or tariffs took the Grayson brothers on a separate branch of conversation.

Jeremy rose from his chair and went to the window. Toby followed him.

Lowering his voice, he said, “Can I ask your advice on something, Jem?”

Jeremy grunted in assent.

“You’re in the House of Lords, obviously,” Toby continued. “Tell me, with regards to this election … what do you think is the surest way to lose?”

“To lose? Don’t you want to win?”

“No, not especially. I mean, Yorke’s served our borough for years. Parliament is his life.

Doesn’t seem right to take that away from him. The man’s a friend.”

“Then why are you running in the first place?”

“Because I promised Isabel, before we were married.” Toby sighed. “She’s got this idea that if I’m an MP, she’ll have more influence in society.”

Jeremy gave a half shrug. “She likely will. And from what I hear, Yorke’s influence is waning.

He’s ready to retire. Seems like a beneficial arrangement all around.”

“Yes, for everyone but me.”

Jeremy gave him a questioning look.

“I can’t help it, Jem. I don’t want to be an MP. I know, it sounds disgustingly self-serving. It’s just…” Toby ran a hand through his hair. “It seems like running for Parliament is something I ought to be doing for my own reasons, you know? Because I want to do it. Not just because it’s what Isabel wants me to do.”

This was all coming out wrong. Toby honestly did yearn to find some goal, some larger purpose to his life beyond tending an estate that hardly needed tending and waltzing girls onto verandahs. He realized now, watching Isabel’s principles in action, he’d been craving just that for years. But, selfishly enough, Toby wanted to find that purpose or goal for himself—not be handed it by someone else. Not even her.

“My Lord. Can you hear yourself?” More ungodly noises filtered down from upstairs, and Jeremy winced. His eyes rolled toward the ceiling. “Someday that’s going to be
your
wife up there, screaming. Going through hell just to bring your child into the world. At this moment, there is nothing—
nothing
—I would not give for Lucy, up to and including my own life. And here you’re complaining about the prospect of sitting through a few boring committee meetings and assuming your long-shirked duty as a gentleman of privilege. You want me to advise you how to
lose.”

Toby cringed. Well, when he put it that way … For a plan that was supposed to keep everyone happy, this election scheme was making him feel a downright cad.

“I’ll tell you how to lose,” Jeremy continued, his voice a raw whisper. “Start an argument with your very pregnant wife. Shout hateful, unforgivable things at her. Send her tearing off in a fury so she’ll go into labor a month too soon. Endanger her health and the life of your unborn child. Make her so bloody angry with you that she won’t even allow you at her bedside while she’s suffering. That is how to lose … everything.”

Toby hurt for his friend. He knew Jeremy was prone to bouts of dark humor, but this was extreme pessimism, even for him.

“Jem.” He leaned closer, forcing Jeremy to meet his eyes. Keeping his voice firm and level, he said, “Lucy’s going to be fine, and the babe as well. You’ll see. Whatever row the two of you had, it will all be forgiven when you’re cooing over your newborn child.”

Jeremy shook his head. “How can she forgive me? I will never forgive myself.”

“What happened, precisely? I can’t imagine any argument so horrible as you’re implying.”

Jeremy blew out a slow breath. “I came home early, around noon. I suspected I’d find Lucy in the new nursery. Lately she spends the whole day in there, arranging and rearranging it.

Imagine, I’m rounding the door, eager to surprise my wife by coming home for luncheon—

only to find her standing atop a tiny three-legged table, adjusting the netting that goes round the cradle.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Of course I startled her, and with her being so awkward and round, perched on that spindly table …”

Toby’s heart stalled. “Did she fall?”

“No. Thank God.”

“Then what happened?”

“I raced to her side and bodily hauled her down from the table. I may have uttered some rather coarse words in the process.”

Toby fought the urge to chuckle, imagining that scene. “And how did Lucy take that?”

“How do you think?” Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “Of course she took offense, started berating me for my interference. But damn it, she could have fallen at any moment. What was the woman thinking? We have no shortage of servants to fuss with netting, if that was what she desired. No, Lucy had to do it herself—never mind her own safety, or that of the baby.”

“They all get like that, when the time is close.” Toby sipped his drink. “Toward the end of my sister Fanny’s last pregnancy, her husband found her down on her hands and knees, using a hairpin to clean the grooves between the kitchen floorboards.”

Jeremy shook his head. “It wasn’t the fact that I pulled her down, it was everything that came afterward. We argued, like we haven’t argued since the first weeks of our marriage. I was so damned scared, and then I was so damned angry. The things I said to her, Toby … Lucy will never forgive me. That’s why she’s refusing to see me now. She knows I pushed her away, pushed her into labor before her time. She wants to punish me, and God knows I deserve it.”

He made a fist and pressed it against the window sash. “Right now, I scarcely care about the baby, that’s what a fiend I am. I just want Lucy to be all right. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost her.”

“You won’t lose her.” Toby put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Jem, I hate to put it this way, but Lucy knew well before this morning what an overbearing tyrant you are.”

“An addle-brained brute.” Jeremy grimaced. “That’s what she calls me when she’s cross.”

“Very well. She knows you’re an addle-brained brute, then. But she also knows you love her.

And she loves you. You’re not the only one with protective impulses. If she’s keeping you away, I doubt it’s from some desire to punish you. If I know Lucy, she’s the one shielding you. As your little row this morning proves, you can’t bear to see her in distress. She knows that, and she doesn’t want this to be any harder for you than it already is.”

“You’re wrong.” Jeremy rubbed his temples. “But I wish to God you were right.”

“When it comes to women, I’m always right.”

With that, Toby lost his grip on the conversation. Joss and Gray had long ago ceased talking, and the room tumbled into a well of silence. Eerie, lifeless silence. No screaming Lucy. No wailing infant. Just silence.

“It’s gone quiet up there,” Gray finally said. “Or had you noticed?”

Toby cursed inwardly. Of course he’d noticed. He’d been trying not to speculate on what it meant.

Jeremy returned to his armchair and sank into it. With a low moan, he buried his face in his hands.

“She’s fine,” Joss said. “She won’t die, not today.”

Jeremy made a sound of derision. “Suddenly you’re the voice of optimism? How do you know she’ll be fine?”

“I just know.”

Before there was any time to elucidate that pronouncement, Miss Osborne entered the salon.

The young woman’s apron was rumpled and stained, but her cool self-possession was intact.

Her placid expression revealed no hint of emotion, neither sorrow nor joy. “Lord Kendall,” she said, “Lucy’s asking for you now.”

“Oh God,” Jeremy groaned. “She’s dying, isn’t she? That’s the only reason she’d want to see me. She wouldn’t ask for me unless she was dying.”

“She’s not dying,” Miss Osborne said.

Jeremy paused. “The child?”

The young lady sighed. “My lord, I think you should go upstairs and see for yourself.”

Jeremy swore under his breath. “That doesn’t sound good. Are you certain Lucy wants to see me?”

“I’m certain. She asked for you, in no uncertain terms.”

Jeremy rose to his feet. “Tell me what she said. I want to know her exact words.”

“Very well.” Miss Osborne crossed her arms over her chest. “I believe they were something like this: ‘Tell my addle-brained brute of a husband that his son is in need of a name.’”

Toby added his voice to the masculine chorus of congratulations. “You see, I told you all would be well. You’ve gained a son, and you haven’t lost Lucy.”

“Haven’t I?” Jeremy’s face remained impassive. “You heard her words. She can’t forgive me.”

“You didn’t allow me to finish, my lord.” The faintest hint of a smile played on Miss Osborne’s lips. “She said, tell my addle-brained brute of a husband that his son is in need of a name,
and
…”

“And?”

“And his wife is in need of a kiss.”

Toby imagined that a rare smile cracked Jeremy’s stern expression as he bolted from the room

—but he didn’t really notice his friend’s exit. His attention was occupied with the arrival of Sophia. She brushed past Miss Osborne and flew straight to Gray’s embrace, burying her face in his chest. As she wept, Gray exhaled with obvious relief, releasing a string of colorful oaths befitting a seaman. Toby would never have uttered such words in a lady’s presence—hell, he’d never even heard a few of them before—but Sophia didn’t seem to mind. Her shoulders shook with laughter along with the tears.

Then he noticed Joss and Miss Osborne exchanging peculiar glances. The two stared at one another, not speaking—Miss Osborne still frozen in the doorway and Joss still reclined on the settee, arms propped behind his head. Toby could not quite name the emotions conveyed in

their eyes, but he could tell they were of a private nature. No gentleman—not even one as ill-mannered as Joss—greeted a lady in that posture unless some intimacy existed between them.

Well, this was a day of surprises. Of all the unlikely couples in the world …

Feeling a voyeur, Toby turned to stare out the window. A profound sense of envy welled inside him. It wasn’t jealousy. No longer did he hate Gray for stealing Sophia. Clearly the two belonged together, and without their marriage, Toby would never have found Isabel. No, he envied Gray—and Jeremy, and perhaps now Joss, too—for a different reason altogether. They were loved, unreservedly. Unconditionally. Not just for their strengths, but for their weaknesses, as well. Jeremy could rant and roar at his wife by morning, and find forgiveness before nightfall. Sophia was devoted to her husband, whether he was a fêted knight or a coarse sea captain.

Toby knew Isabel cared for him. So long as he lived up to all her ideals, he felt secure in her esteem. But just how long would that be? He was only human, after all. Even if he managed to come through this election business unscathed … he’d always known, from the day of their wedding onward, that he would inevitably falter in her estimation. When Isabel did see him at his most callow, self-serving worst, he would have no loving reprieve. It would be over.

What a fool he was. He’d been working so hard to win his wife’s heart, he’d neglected to guard his own. Now it beat for her, yearned for her, and the stakes were higher than ever. If he lost her regard now …

“Toby.”

A light touch warmed his hand. Isabel had entered so quietly, he hadn’t even heard her. But here she was—solemn, graceful, and so damned beautiful his heart ached. Only the shadows pooling under her eyes betrayed her fatigue. He pulled her into his arms, settling her weight against his chest. “Oh, my dear girl. How hard you’ve worked today.”

“He’s a beautiful baby,” she murmured, nestling into his body.

“Of course he is.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, inhaling the familiar verbena essence of her hair. He loved this scent, so fresh and comforting. He loved this woman.

Someday he would tell her so—and then stand there with his heart lodged in his throat, waiting to hear if she felt the same.

But not today. Today, he was all out of words.

“Really, Toby. Are you certain it’s proper?” Isabel frowned up at the gilded, curlicued sign:
Mme. Pamplemousse, Modiste
. A young couple jostled past, causing her feet to shuffle on the Bond Street pavement. “Do gentlemen truly accompany their wives to such a place?”