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

Jeremy groaned into his hands.

“Yes,” Toby said in a matter-of-fact tone, “it happens.” He refused to let his annoyance with Joss taint his efforts at reassurance. “But this is not some random woman we’re discussing.”

Lowering his voice, he spoke to Jeremy. “They don’t know Lucy like we do, Jem. Listen to me. I’ve a mother and three older sisters, all of whom eat adversity for breakfast. I’m married to the most principled lady on earth. But when it comes to strength of will, Lucy bests them all. She’s healthy, she’s young, and she’s determined to give you a beautiful child. And when Lucy’s determined to do something, she does it.”

“Jeremy!” Lucy’s pained cry clawed through the ceiling. “If you hear me down there, I want you to know … You are never. Coming near me. Again.”

Toby and Jeremy looked at one another.

The voice became more of a growl. “Never. Ever. Again.”

“You see?” Toby remarked at length. “That’s determination for you.”

When Jeremy made no response, Toby decided it was time to speak of other things. Diversion, that’s what this group needed. “How are the legal studies progressing, Joss?”

Joss stared out the window. “Fine.”

Several moments’ silence followed. Well, so much for that vein of conversation.

“I met with Felix in the park the other day,” Toby began again. “Jem, really—one of us needs to ward him off whenever he mentions Tattersalls. Or accompany him, at the least. He laid down an outrageous sum for a team of bays last week, more than double their worth. They’re not evenly matched at all, and his carriage pulled left so egregiously, I found him spinning in circles in the midst of Rotten Row.” Toby chuckled. “Not that driving has ever been Felix’s forte. He really ought to leave it to coachmen, instead of—”

“Toby.” Lifting his head from his hands, Jeremy gave him that insufferable autocratic Look. There really was no disobeying that Look. He would make a formidable father, indeed.

“Yes?”

“Shut it.”

Toby raised his eyebrows. “Very well.”

Jeremy lowered his head again, and quiet reigned. Gray sipped his drink. Joss stared out the window. Toby tugged at his neck cloth. The midsummer heat choked the room, oppressive and mute.

A scream tore through the tense silence.

Every man froze.

“Toby,” Jeremy said, his fingers white-knuckled webs against his black hair.

“Yes?”

“Keep talking.”

So he did. For hours. Afternoon faded toward evening, brandy dwindled in its decanter, and coats and cravats peeled away from restless, perspiring men. Through it all, Toby kept talking. He talked of foxhounds and boxing and every inane, meaningless topic he could dredge from his imagination. Mundane, everyday concerns that he hoped would serve as a reminder that beyond this day, beyond Lucy’s labor, mundane, everyday life would continue. As the sinking sun painted the salon carpet in shades of plum and crimson, Toby was just embarking on a detailed description of the new writing desk he’d ordered for his study. By this point, he was growing hoarse, and boring even himself. But until Jeremy told him to stop, he was going to keep talking. “I ordered dark-blue felt to line the drawers,” he said, yawning.

“And the handles are carved in the shape of—”

Miss Osborne saved them all, thank God, when she flung open the salon doors. Jeremy shot to his feet. Toby, Gray, and Joss followed suit, with lumbering movements.

“No babe yet,” Miss Osborne said.

Four chests deflated in unison. Jeremy sank back into his chair with a muttered oath. “Oh, God. She’s going to die.”

“She is not going to die,” Miss Osborne said firmly. “There is no cause for concern. Everything is progressing as it should. First labors are always lengthy, and Lucy is weathering the pains well. I expect it will be a few hours more.”

“Can I see her?” Jeremy asked.

She paused. “No, my lord.”

At the words “my lord,” Jeremy seemed to recall his position of authority. Toby watched the decision to pull rank travel up his face, starting with the firming of his jaw and ending with his ice-blue eyes and heavy brow as they flexed the Look.

“I’m going to see her,” he said, standing again and drawing to his full height.

“No, you’re not.”

Toby had to salute Miss Osborne. There weren’t many women—there weren’t many people—

who would have stood their ground against Jeremy in full Earl-of-Kendall arrogance.

“You can’t keep him away from her,” Joss objected. “She’s his wife.”

Gray joined the effort to argue Jeremy’s case. “Miss Osborne, surely you can permit him a few minutes with Lucy.”

The young woman shook her head. “It’s not a matter of me granting my permission, it’s a matter of Lucy granting hers.” Her sharp gaze landed on Jeremy. “And she doesn’t want to see you, my lord. She expressly told me so, and I will heed my patient’s wishes above even the demands of an earl.”