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

He simply couldn’t know. Toby could view this miserable waif, feel a small, inconvenient twinge of sympathy, and then go on discussing kisses and weddings as if nothing had happened—because nothing of the sort had ever happened, to him. One had only to observe the easy, loving repartee between Toby and his mother to see it. He could not know how it felt, to be a lonely, friendless child. He would never understand what it was, to receive beatings at the hand of a trusted adult—to fear the same person he most loved in the world. No, Toby’s world was Sunday dinners with Augusta and Reginald, newborn babies with two living parents, and an efficient, gracious mother who smelled of lavender and dispensed warm kisses, never blows.

And neither he nor his mother could realize the small miracle that had just occurred, when they’d invited Bel to join them. To come by the house Sunday and dine on roast chicken, served up with dishes more exotic and tempting than any flavored ice: stability, affection, normalcy.

For the first time, Bel realized marriage meant more than choosing a husband. It meant acquiring a family.

How unexpected. How … wonderful.

Toby’s hand squeezed hers. “Are you well, darling?”

“Yes, of course.” She forced a smile. “Just… a bit surprised.”

Lady Aldridge patted her cheek, as if she knew how much Bel craved a maternal touch. “Oh, I know we can be overwhelming at first. You’ll grow accustomed to it.”

“I’m certain I will.” Bel cleared her throat. “I’m so gratified to see the good work you do here, at the dispensary. Might I accompany you on your weekly visits?”

“Isabel is devoted to charity,” Toby said.

“Well, of course she is.” Lady Aldridge gave her son a beatific smile. “She’s marrying you.”

CHAPTER SIX

“Will you take more chicken, Isabel?”

Toby gave the nearest footman a significant look. The servant immediately extended a liveried sleeve toward the domed platter.

Isabel warned him off with a little shake of her head. “Thank you, no. I am quite satisfied.”

“Are you certain?” Lady Aldridge asked. “You’ve been having dinner with us for weeks now, and you seem to grow a bit thinner every Sunday.” She turned to Toby. “You must be certain she’s eating properly. It won’t do to have her fainting dead away in the middle of your wedding ceremony.”

“No, of course not.” His sister Augusta smiled. “Imagine what the papers would say then.”

Across the table, her husband laughed. “Yes, our Mr. Hollyhurst would have great sport with that one, after what happened the last time. Betrothal to Toby would be declared a public health concern, on par with smallpox.”

“Watch yourself, Reginald,” Toby said, giving his brother-in-law a look of limited forbearance.

“Perhaps I will take a bit more.” Isabel extended her plate, and the footman served her another helping. “Thank you, Jamison.”

As Bel ate, Toby studied his intended bride for any signs of embarrassment. He found none. Amazing, how easily she’d fallen into the pattern of their family life. Most ladies would have been mortified to have their health or eating habits questioned in company, but Isabel never appeared to mind Lady Aldridge’s presumptive mothering or Reginald’s brash humor. She seemed only eager to become a part of the family madness, teasing and all. She even knew the footmen by name.

No, he noted no flush of humiliation or displeasure. But his mother was right, Isabel did look a trifle pale. Heart-stoppingly beautiful, as always. But pale.

“Perhaps you’re overtired,” he said, taking the excuse to stroke the underside of her wrist. Her skin was so soft there. “Between the wedding preparations and your weekly visits to the dispensary, and then those meetings with Augusta’s Society of the Ridiculously Long Name

…”

“It’s not so long,” his older sister protested. “It’s the Society for Obviating the Necessity of Climbing Boys.”

“Come now, that’s not even all of it.” Reginald forked a small potato into his mouth. “Toby’s right, it goes on and on. It’s a wonder you accomplish any business at those meetings. Once the name has been read aloud for the record, it must be time to adjourn. What is it, the Society for Obviating the Necessity of Climbing Boys, By Encouraging a New Method of Sweeping Chimneys and for Improving the Condition of Children, and so on and so on ad infinitum …”

Augusta gave her husband a sharp look. “I refuse to be lectured on verbosity by England’s most long-winded barrister.”

“What ever the name,” Toby interjected, “perhaps Isabel ought to leave off attending the meetings and the dispensary, at least until after the wedding and honeymoon.”

“Oh, no.” Isabel’s fork clattered to her plate. “I couldn’t possibly. Those poor children, Toby

… you don’t understand.”

“I do understand. I understand that you are a selfless, generous angel who would put the most pitiful wretch’s health above her own. But if you don’t look after yourself, I shall be forced to look after you. I will insist.”

“Forced? Insist?” Augusta gave him an amused glance. “That’s a bit barbaric, don’t you think?”

“Precisely what is barbaric about expressing concern for my future wife’s health?” Toby set down his wineglass, a bit more forcefully than he’d intended.

Everyone’s eyes fell to the table. In unison, each person lifted a glass and drank. Slowly.