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

“Aye.”


“And nearly all the votes have been cast and tallied, and I have an insurmountable lead. Yet you still seem to think I need bribes and aristocratic backers to scrape out a victory?” Toby shook his head. “Your faith in me … What to say? It’s so inspiring.”

“I’m not here for you,” Gray said testily. “I’m here for Bel.”

“I’m here for Bel, too,” Toby said. “Jem, are you here for Bel?”

Jeremy heaved an exasperated sigh. “I have no idea why I’m here. I really wish I weren’t.”

“Good,” Toby said. “Then go home, the both of you.”

Gray narrowed his eyes. “Now see here. I’m not taking any chances with—”

“No, you see here.” Toby leveled his walking stick at his brother-in-law. “Isabel is my wife. She asked me to run for Parliament, not you.” He turned to Jeremy. “And she hasn’t asked you for anything.”

“I know,” Jeremy said, raising his hands in defense. “I told you, I don’t know why I’m here. He told me we were going to the club.”

Toby continued, “When I win this election, it may be no great victory—but it will be my victory. Mine alone to lay at Isabel’s feet. I refuse to share what ever thimbleful of glory I earn with either of you. So go home. You don’t get to be the heroes today.”

“Actually,” a gravelly voice announced from behind, “none of you do.”

The barrel of a musket forced its way into their triangle, sending Toby’s walking stick clattering to the ground. All three men took a quick step back—

Only to freeze in unison when they heard a chorus of ominous clicks—the unmistakable sound of several guns being cocked.

“Bloody hell,” Toby whispered, raising his hands. He swiveled his head to either side. Colonel Montague’s oafish nephews surrounded them, each training a gun on Toby’s person. “What the devil is going on?” he asked the nephew who’d spoken. The largest one, he noted with dismay.

“Now Sir Toby,” he said, “we don’t think you really want to be a candidate for MP.”

“Yes,” Toby said. “I assure you, I do.”

The oaf prodded Toby’s chest with his gun. “No, you don’t. A London toff like you? You never cared spit about this borough before. Going on thirty years, the colonel’s been standing up as a candidate. The old man’s getting weaker every winter. He won’t likely have another chance. And now that Yorke’s dead, he can finally win. So you’re going to let him.”

“Let him?” Toby echoed, incredulous. “Even if I wished to, I couldn’t. The polling is closed. Colin Brooks will be out here any moment to make the result official.”

“Colin Brooks is currently having a little chat with my cousin,” the oaf said. “I have it on good authority, he won’t make it out here until after you’ve withdrawn your candidacy.”

At that moment, Gray took a step to the left. The red-faced oaf swung around, training his gun on him. Gray froze.

“Don’t anyone try anything funny,” Montague’s nephew said.

Toby sighed. “For God’s sake, man. Do you honestly think you’re going to shoot us? I may be just a baronet, but Jem there is an earl. Murdering a peer of the realm is a certain ticket to the gallows. And you’re surrounded by witnesses.” He gestured broadly at the spectators pressing in around them, all of whom had gone stone quiet. “Not to mention, the Colonel’s election would never stick. Someone would have him declared incompetent and removed from office, and where would that leave the poor old fool?”

“Well, then he’d have been an MP, wouldn’t he? Even if only for a while. The poor old fool would die happy.”

“This is pointless,” Toby said, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter what you say. I won’t do it.”

The gun swung back to point at him. “You really think you’ve earned this seat in Parliament?

You think you want it as badly as the Colonel does?”

“No, and no,” Toby answered. “But my wife wants me to have it with a righteous passion. And I love my wife more than I love the Colonel.”

The crowd erupted in laughter, and Montague’s nephew’s face turned an impressive shade of purple.