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

“Here?” Isabel asked. A moan rumbled through the plastered ceiling, and she tilted her head toward its source. “Now?”


“Yes.” Sophia ushered them toward the salon, drawing them aside for a private conference just before they entered. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “She and Jeremy had some kind of row, and Lucy left in a fit of temper. She drove here in the phaeton, and by the time she arrived her pains had already begun. Miss Osborne says it’s not safe to move her. She must deliver the child here.”

Toby exchanged a quick glance with his wife. “We really should leave.”

Isabel nodded. “Yes, of course.” When another muffled cry floated down the corridor, she turned to Sophia. “We’ll come for the Society leaflet another time.”

“No!” Sophia reached for them, grasping Toby’s arm in one hand and Isabel’s wrist in the other. “Don’t leave, I beg you.”

Toby said, “Surely Miss Osborne has matters in hand. Or would you like me to summon another physician?”

Sophia shook her head. “It’s not Lucy I’m concerned for. Hetta says her labor is progressing well, if a bit slowly. That’s normal with first babes, she says. No, it’s Jeremy who needs looking after.”

“Jem?” Toby flicked a glance toward the salon. “He’s already here?”

“Yes. Gray and Joss are there with him, but I think he’d be glad for the company of a friend. He’s not taking this well, I’m afraid.”

A long, piercing scream interrupted their conversation. All eyes rolled ceiling-ward.

“No,” Toby said finally, staring at the stamped plaster. “I can imagine Jem wouldn’t be taking this well at all.”

“Did you say Joss is with them?” Isabel asked. Sophia nodded, and a speaking glance passed between the ladies. “Oh, dear. This must be torture for him.”

Toby thought it rather sounded like Lucy was the one being tortured. He himself wasn’t overly concerned, seeing as how his three sisters had survived ten noisy births, collectively, and he knew Lucy to be hardier than any of them.

But then—he took the briefest moment to imagine these were Isabel’s cries of pain. He immediately shared Jeremy’s unease. Now each small moan and whimper had him wincing like a kick to the gut. How much worse for Joss, who had lost a wife in childbirth?

Sophia squeezed his arm. “Please, just sit with them.” Imploring him with watery blue eyes, she tilted her head toward the salon. “Try to convince Jeremy that all will be well. Keep his mind occupied with other things. Just… Toby, just be yourself. More than anyone I know, you have a gift for putting people at ease.”

Words failed him for a moment. Of all the people he hadn’t expected to hear praising his character, the woman who’d run away rather than marry him was at the top of the list. At length, he gave a mute nod of assent.

Releasing his arm, Sophia turned to his wife. “Bel, would you come upstairs and help me? I’m gathering fresh linens and supplies.”

“Yes, certainly.”

Toby watched them disappear up the stairs, hand in hand. Remarkable. He wished now were the time to really talk to Sophia. To ask her why—if he put everyone so at ease—she’d fled halfway across the world rather than speak to him about ending their engagement. But now wasn’t the time. At the moment, he had a friend in need.

Mustering all the blithe, irreverent charm he could find, Toby donned a carefree smile and sauntered into the salon. “Good afternoon. Gray, Joss … Jem. No, don’t get up.” He crossed to the bar and began pouring himself a brandy. After filling his own glass, he took the decanter over to Jeremy and topped off his friend’s drink, noting the pale, drawn mask of worry on his face. “Well, Jem,” he said lightly. “I understand congratulations are in order.”

Jeremy stared into his glass. “Prayers are in order. This shouldn’t be happening. It’s too soon. And it’s all my fault. We argued, and …” He scrubbed his face with one hand, leaving his eyes heavy and laced with red. “I should send an express to Waltham Manor.”

“Let me do it,” Gray said, sitting down to a writing desk. “She’s at my house, after all. Shall I address it to her father or her mother?”

“To her brother, Henry. Lucy hasn’t any parents living.” When another growling moan sounded from above, Jeremy dropped his head in his hands. “Oh, God. I can’t endure this.”

Toby sat down next to him. “It’s perfectly normal, Jem. All my sisters sounded the same in labor, or worse. And babies arrive in their own time—a few weeks early, a few weeks late. Everything comes out fine.”

“Except when it doesn’t.” Joss rose from his chair and strode to the window. Toby glared at him, and Joss stared back with hollow eyes.

“Don’t, Joss.” Gray gave his brother a warning look.

“Don’t what?” Joss asked defensively. “Don’t prepare a man for all possibilities? There’s no benefit in denying the truth. We all know women die in childbirth. It happens.”