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

Yes, she truly needed to stand.

“Jacob.” The deep command from Joss had the instantaneous effect of loosening the child’s grip. A moment later, circulation resumed in Toby’s toes.

“Your son?” Toby asked Joss.

Joss nodded in confirmation.

“Delightful child. And did his mother travel with you to London?”

“No, my wife remained on Tortola,” Joss said. “In the churchyard.”

Right. A surly, illegitimate widower. The man’s ill humor began to make sense.

“Come to Auntie Bel, darling.” Rescuing them all from the awkwardness of the moment, Isabel scooped the child into her arms, jutting out one hip to make a seat for him, all the while tickling the squirming bundle of mischief. She had the look of an early Renaissance Madonna: dark, radiant, rounded and soft, serene in the face of squalling infants, and beautiful to an unearthly degree.

A strange compulsion gripped Toby. Sank teeth into him. Before him stood this living portrait of divine domesticity, and in some deep corner of his being, he longed to be a part of it. He’d never experienced a need so sudden, so visceral, so strong. He couldn’t even put a name to the sensation. It wasn’t desire, lust, infatuation, attraction … it most certainly wasn’t love. But it still distilled to those three simple words:

I want that.

A wife. A child. All the pleasant activities a man enjoyed with his wife in the getting of a child. Months of anticipating the arrival of said child—wondering if the shade of his hair would be black like his mother’s or light brown like Toby’s or some shade in the spectrum between. New boots fashioned in cured leather, resistant to the impressions of milk teeth. Marriage. Family. A smiling Isabel.

I want that.

And I’m going to have it.

Isabel blushed. “I’m so sorry for the intrusion. We’ll leave you to your conversation,” she said, dipping in a little curtsy.

“No,” Toby blurted out, snapping himself from his reverie. “That is, don’t go. After all, it’s you I’ve come to see. I thought perhaps you’d like to go driving.” When she looked nonplussed, he added, “It’s something betrothed couples do.”

“Oh.” She gave him a shy smile. “Then I’d like that.”

Toby looked to Gray and Joss. “I believe we’ve finished our business here, gentlemen?” They

offered begrudging nods. “Oh,” Toby continued, speaking to Isabel, “there was one thing. We were discussing the wedding date. I suggest July. Never mind the unbearable heat in July. The only reason to be married in June is to make a public splash, to have all of Society watching. In July, many of the good families will already be leaving for the countryside, and the guest list will be smaller. Your brother need not incur so much expense. This is my reasoning … but naturally, Isabel, your own preference is paramount.”

“Why, if the decision is mine, I think I should prefer to be married in June.” Allowing young Jacob to slide to the floor, she turned to her brother. “I’m certain Dolly is not concerned with the expense.”

Toby shot Gray a cold smile. “Well, Dolly, are you concerned for the expense?”

“No, of course not. But—”

Toby captured Isabel’s hand and tucked it into his arm. “Then I gladly make the concession. June it is.”

CHAPTER FIVE

An hour later, Bel feared she would not live out the day, much less survive to see June.

“Well, then.” Sir Toby nestled closer on the phaeton seat. “This is a lovely morning.”

Bel managed a slight nod in agreement. It was all the motion she dared venture. With one hand latched to the seat iron, the other gripping her bonnet, and both feet braced against the footboard, she had no free appendage with which to gesture. And as for speaking … speaking was out of the question. She kept her jaw clenched, lest her teeth rattle loose from her skull as Sir Toby urged the horses faster over the cobblestones. When they rounded the bend at a perilous tilt, she did manage a little sound. Unfortunately, it was less of a word and more of a scream.

“What’s the matter?” Turning to face her, he took the reins in one hand and stretched the other arm along the seat behind her. “Are you well?”

The phaeton bounced over a small rut, tossing Bel off-balance. Before she could catch herself, she had fallen against his side. His arm enfolded her shoulders, drawing her tight against his chest.

Whistling through his teeth, he slowed the horses and pulled the carriage to the side of the street. “Isabel, darling, are you ill?”