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

“Ah, yes.” Isabel remembered her mother-in-law’s complaint. “Mr. Yorke went back on his agreement, simply to vex your mother?”


“I’m certain there’s more to it than that. Mother has a way of exaggerating when it comes to Yorke. You’d think him the three-eyed ogre under the bridge, rather than the neighbor living across it.” Their boots made hollow clunking noises as he led her over the graying planks that bridged a small rill. “I hope you don’t mind the walk,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d feel up to the carriage just yet.”

“No,” Bel agreed, her pulse accelerating at the mere mention of yesterday’s calamity. She’d be just as happy never to ride in a carriage again.

“And I suppose I could have left you at home and allowed you to rest,” he continued, winking at her. “But I’m too selfish for that. This is our honeymoon, after all, and I mean to keep you close.”

They edged a wheat field in silence, walking arm in arm, and Isabel tilted her face to the warm June sunshine. If God had ever created a more beautiful morning, Isabel would still prefer this one. She didn’t think her heart could withstand a day that came any closer to perfection. If the breeze teasing the grain were just a degree warmer, if this sky were just a slightly deeper shade of blue … if her husband, the handsomest thing under the sun, winked at her just one more time—true disaster could strike.

She could fall in love.

“We have a problem.”

Toby frowned as Mr. Yorke tugged him closer to the garden hedge. Behind them, Isabel marveled over a clump of late-blooming strawberries, gathering the tiny red fruits in one palm. Imagine, the dear girl had never seen strawberry plants. There were so many things he could show her, so many delights she’d never experienced.

“We have a serious problem,” Yorke whispered again. “This little plan of yours is off to an inauspicious start.”

“How so?” Toby asked.

“Let me give you a hint. If you don’t want the populace to support your candidacy, you shouldn’t go performing dashing heroics in front of the crowd. You’re the talk of the borough, after that little trick-riding stunt.”

Toby winced. He’d imagined that wouldn’t help his cause. “Well, I couldn’t have done differently. Should I have simply stood back and waited for disaster?”

“No, of course not.” Yorke looked over his shoulder at Isabel. “And even I have to applaud you. It was well done, Toby. For a moment there, even I was certain you’d break your neck. But you should know, much as it pains my pride to admit it—now you may have to make a real effort to lose.”

“It’s only a bit of excitement and chatter. Don’t worry. I’ll be completely absent from the hustings; I’ll send no one to speak in my stead. You’re still a sure bet for reelection, I’m sure of it.”

“Perhaps. But it is a problem.”

“What’s a problem?” Isabel asked, surprising them both with her sudden nearness. She extended her hand to Toby. “Have some strawberries?”

He declined with a slight shake of his head. It was all the movement he could manage, what with his heart thudding against his ribs. Surely she hadn’t heard them. She didn’t have the look of a trusting newlywed bride who just discovered she’d been betrayed by her husband, less than one week into her marriage.

Toby cleared his throat. “We’re just discussing the irrigation canal. Mr. Yorke was about to tell me what his problem is.”

“I don’t have any problem.”

“Then why are you suddenly refusing to proceed? I need that canal, Yorke. Ever since they built that factory downriver, the north fields are flooding every spring. Meanwhile, our lands to the west are under-watered. The canal remedies both conditions.”

“Ah, but those are your problems. Not mine. Why should I allow you to dig a trench through my land, let alone share the costs of the labor to dig it?”

“Because the canal will water your western fields, too. Hadn’t you complained of the low yield last harvest?”

“I had,” Yorke said. “But I’ve since realized, it’s not for lack of water. The land’s merely overworked. I’ve decided to let it lie fallow this season, and therefore, I’ll reap no benefit from your canal. Neither do I have the extra income to pay for it. It’ll have to wait until next year.”

“Oh, but the lambs!” Isabel said. “Think of the lambs.”

“The lambs?” Yorke echoed.

“Yes, the lambs,” Toby groaned. “They’re overrunning Wynterhall. And they’re reasonably compact and adorable now, but by next year they’ll simply be sheep. Great, woolly, malodorous sheep. I need those north fields drained for pasture, this year.”

“So build the canal. Just keep it on your lands.”

“You know very well that would double the length and the cost. Come on, man. Be a friend.”