A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)

“I wish I could say I’m sorry for your gown,” Bel said at length, stepping back. “But really, the invitation did explicitly call for black.”


She removed her own soot-matted apron and cast it aside. “Well,” she said to the gawping ladies, who had now most certainly witnessed the scandal they came for, “this concludes the demonstration. Lady Grayson will pass round the list of professional chimney sweeps who use machinery in place of climbing boys. I do hope you will employ their services in your house holds. Unless, of course, Lady Violet is taking on clients.” She giggled again as she headed for

the door.

Sophia rushed to her side. “Bel, where are you going? Are you well?”

“I don’t know that I’m well. But I’m going to Surrey.” Craning her neck, she glanced at the clock in the corridor. “And I have to make haste, or I’ll be too late.”

“Too late for what?” Sophia asked.

Ignoring her, Bel turned to the ladies. “Please excuse me, but I’ve just remembered an urgent appointment and I need to …” Her laughter turned to nausea as she realized what her plan entailed.

Oh, blast.

But she’d made the decision now. Just as Joss had said, she couldn’t let fear hold her back. She finished weakly, “I need to order the carriage.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Toby stood at the foot of the hustings platform, waiting for Colin Brooks to wrestle into that abominable yellow topcoat and come make his victory official. As he waited, he paced back and forth, every so often tossing his walking stick into a fresh grip and resisting the urge to do something truly ridiculous, like fondle the ivory knob.

Really, what a sentimental fool he’d become. He had a full set of clothing at Wynterhall—more than enough to see him through Yorke’s funeral and the election—yet he’d sent two servants to Town with directions to pack up half his wardrobe. All that effort, simply an excuse to retrieve this useless walking stick.

Certainly, if he could have done so without looking a complete ass, he would have requested even more embarrassing mementos. A lock of jet-black hair, a verbena-scented pillow, a swatch of that red silk gown … But this walking stick was the only thing of her that belonged unequivocally to him—and as a consequence, he was making rather a fetish of it.

“What’s keeping Brooks?” he asked the sheriff’s deputy.

The man gave him a mumbled “dunno” and picked his teeth.

Toby paced away again, swinging the stick with impatience. The sooner Brooks arrived, the sooner the election results could be made official—and the sooner Toby could be on his way back to London. To her.

What an idiot he’d been. Sophia’s words had shown him the error of his ways even before he’d left the Town limits. Well, truthfully, he’d sulked most of the way to Surrey, but he’d come to his senses sometime before the carriage drew up to Wynterhall’s moat. All he’d wanted was for Isabel to see him at his worst, and love him. And stupid blighter that he was, he’d failed his own test. He’d professed his undying love for her, and the moment she’d become (quite rightfully, he might add) angry with him, he’d deserted her. God, what a struggle he’d had over the past two days, fighting the urge to ride back to her and simply fall at her feet, beg her forgiveness. But there were things he needed to do here in Surrey—not just because they needed doing, but because Toby needed to do them, to prove his own worth. He needed to see his friend buried with honor, he needed to lend support to his grieving mother … and now he needed to secure this seat in Parliament. Really, it was all she’d ever asked of him. Such a small thing. Why the devil had he ever resisted? He could have so easily secured her regard, if not her love. Now he’d lost any chance for either.

He could only try his best to put things right and hope her anger would fade with time. Perhaps he’d never earn her love, but Toby could live with being allowed to love her. He’d have to learn to live with that much, because he certainly couldn’t survive without her. The past two days had taught him that.

“Toby.”

He ceased pacing. His eyes snapped up, and he spied a familiar figure coming toward him. Make that two familiar figures.

“Gray. Jem.” Toby nodded at his brother-in-law, then his friend. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m financing your campaign,” Gray said, patting the pocket of his coat.

“What, with bribes?” Toby asked.

“If it comes to that. So far, pints of ale are doing well enough.”

Toby turned to Jeremy. “What are you doing here?”

“Honestly?” Jeremy shrugged. “I have no idea. Gray made me come.”

“I bring the gold,” Gray said, gesturing toward Jeremy, “and he brings the class. Figured it couldn’t hurt to have an earl backing you.”

Toby scratched the back of his neck. “Gray, you do realize that, of the two opposing candidates, one has died—”

Gray nodded.

“And the other is the local bedlamite.”