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

“Be a friend?” Yorke gave a chortling laugh. “What sort of negotiation is that? If you want your canal, you’ll have to make it worth my while.”


Toby narrowed his eyes at the old man. For the first time in his life, he was growing truly impatient with Yorke. “Crafty old devil. You want this canal, too. You’re just trying to get out of paying for it.”

Yorke puffed his chest. “Now you’re starting to sound like that woman.”

“Leave that woman—” Toby bit off that sentence and began again. “Leave my mother out of this. We’re the landholders, and this is between you and me. Now, if we can’t begin work on that canal directly, I shall have to spend much more time in Surrey this summer. I may have to go talking with the farmers in the neighborhood. Perhaps even perform another display of horsemanship.”

He stared hard at Yorke, letting the implications of his words sink in. The old man looked a bit shocked. Toby was a bit shocked, too, truth be told. He had no idea where it had come from, the gall to threaten his friend’s seat in Parliament simply to see a trench dug in the dirt. But much as he appreciated Yorke’s friendship over the years, he wasn’t going to let the man take advantage of it.

“Be careful, my boy,” Yorke said in a low, warning tone. The old man’s watery gaze flicked toward Isabel. “I don’t think that’s a bluff you want me to call.”

Oh, no. He wouldn’t dare. A knot formed in Toby’s gut. Surely Yorke wouldn’t betray their secret. If Isabel learned about their gentlemen’s agreement to fix the election, she’d never forgive him. He’d spend the rest of his life sleeping with the sheep. Mr. Yorke smiled at Isabel. “May I, Lady Aldridge?” he asked, plucking a strawberry from her palm.

“But of course,” she replied, returning his smile. So sweet, so innocent. So completely unaware of what a deceitful cad she called husband.

“A word to the wise, Toby,” Yorke said, popping the strawberry into his mouth. “Never gamble with something you’re not prepared to lose.”

Toby exhaled with frustration. He knew he was beaten. Yorke knew it too, damn his eyes. The old man could demand to plow a canal straight through Wynterhall’s gardens, and now Toby would be forced to agree.

“Surely some compromise can be reached.” Isabel raised another strawberry to her juicestained lips. “Take pity on the lambs, Mr. Yorke,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Don’t God’s little lambs deserve a home?”

“Is that the newlywed love talking?” Yorke directed his question at Toby. “Or is she always like this?”

“Oh, I’m always like this,” she said. “Aren’t I, Toby?”

“Yes.” Toby smiled despite himself. Only Isabel could insult him so sweetly. She continued, “I’m not a romantic, Mr. Yorke. Fairness, justice, honesty—these are the qualities that move my heart.”

“Is that so?” Yorke gave Toby a chastening look.

Toby shrugged and studied the oak standing sentinel atop a distant hill. He imagined he saw his own noose hanging there, twisting in the breeze. Yes, old man. There you have it. I’m sunk.

“Very well,” Yorke said gruffly. “In the interests of fairness, we’ll proceed with the canal as agreed, if” —he stayed Isabel’s thanks with a curt gesture—“if you lease my western fields for the summer.”

“But you just said you plan to let them lie fallow!”

“I do. You can use them as—”

“As pasture,” Toby said, shaking his head as the obvious dawned. “Of course. And the land will be the richer for it, in time for winter planting.” He had to hand it to Yorke; the man really was shrewd. No wonder he’d been so successful in Parliament all these years. What mad whim had led Toby to consider making a serious challenge? “This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

“No, it wasn’t,” Yorke said, slapping him on the back. “Really, Toby. You were supposed to be clever enough to think of it yourself. It’s a fortunate thing you married this one,” he said, nodding at Isabel. “At least she knows God’s little lambs need a home.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A primal scream greeted them as Toby and Isabel crossed the threshold of Grayson House.

“Dear heavens.” Isabel clutched at his arm, drawing her body into his. Her instinctive response gave Toby a deeply male sense of satisfaction. His wife trusted him. To protect her, to pleasure her. Surely it could not be long before she surrendered her heart. When this absurd election was over, Isabel would put aside her disappointment, and Toby had every hope that their relationship could continue to deepen and grow. In short, life was good. A savage growl shook the walls.

Or not so good.

Sophia rushed toward them, her cheeks flushed and hair in disarray. “Thank God you’re here.”

“What the devil is going on?” Toby handed his hat and gloves to a footman. “Are they murdering cats above-stairs?”

“It’s Lucy,” Sophia said. “She’s gone into labor.”