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

“Oh.” Lady Violet gave her friend a speaking look. “An innovation.”


“And an exciting one,” Mrs. Breckinridge said with a smile. “It must be thrilling indeed, my dear. You’re positively aglow. I should like to learn your secret.”

The ladies tittered, and Bel’s confidence wavered. Then she thought of Toby and lifted her chin. “I do find it exciting,” she said. “There is a grave transgression being perpetrated on the helpless children of London, and we have the power to stop it.”

“Through innovations in house hold management?” Lady Violet looked dubious.

“Yes.” Bel passed each of them one of her leaflets. “As a member of the Society for Obviating the Necessity of Climbing Boys, I—”

“What an absurdly long name,” opined Mrs. Breckinridge. “Why, it hardly fits on the leaflet.”

Bel resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “As a member of the Society, I invite you to attend our demonstration this Friday. The practice of forcing small children to remove soot from flues is not only barbaric, but inefficient. As our demonstration will show, the proper cleaning of chimneys is a task that can only be performed satisfactorily by a grown man.”

“A grown man.” Lady Violet’s eyes went wide. “Did I hear you correctly? Only the services of a grown man are satisfactory?”

“Yes. Well, not any grown man … he must have the proper equipment, of course.”

Mrs. Breckinridge looked on the verge of losing her mouthful of tea. She swallowed with apparent difficulty. “But of course. Tell me, Lady Aldridge, will your husband be a party to this demonstration? I think all the ladies of the ton have been curious regarding the state of Sir Toby’s equipment. One has only to look at you to see his services are quite satisfactory.”

Now Lady Violet choked on her biscuit.

Bel frowned, trying to imagine why these women would think Toby would be cleaning his own flues. “Why, my husband is currently occupied with the polling in Surrey. But if the election concludes early, perhaps he will attend. The demonstration itself will be performed by a chimney sweep.”

“Ah,” Lady Violet murmured to her friend. “She has turned to the help already. And a chimney sweep, no less. Worse than a footman.”

“This is not a demonstration for gentlemen,” Bel went on, ignoring the cryptic comment. “The power to change this deplorable situation rests within the female sex.” She continued speaking over their giggles. Why did this strike them as so amusing? “It is a true mark of our modern age, when we, the ladies of English society, find ourselves in a position to exert influence over our husbands and effect social change.”

Lady Violet struggled to compose her expression. “And what position would that be, Lady Aldridge? For exerting influence over one’s husband? Not supine, one supposes?”

“No, indeed not. This is precisely my point. We must not take this injustice lying down.”

The ladies collapsed into laughter. Bel wanted to growl with frustration. Why could she not make these women see? Were they purposefully misunderstanding her, or merely that obtuse?

And was it her passion-addled imagination, or did all of their barbs have a distinctly carnal implication?

“Yes, well,” she muttered, rising to her feet. Perhaps she would find a more sympathetic audience with the Countess of Vinterre across the parlor. “I do hope you will be able to attend.”

“Oh, we shall,” Lady Violet said. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world, Lady Aldridge. Friday promises the best amusement of the season.”

It is not meant for your amusement, Bel longed to retort. It is for your edification, you silly, thoughtless wench.

Oh, heavens. Had that thought truly originated in her brain? She felt so queer, so out of sorts. She would have liked to blame her odd behavior on fatigue from the night before, but she suspected the lingering passion had more to do with it. Even staring at the illustration of poor, maltreated climbing boys, she could not muster her usual zeal. Instead, as she surveyed the assortment of wan ladies decorating the richly hued salon, all she could think was that she wanted to return home, return to bed. Return to Toby.

And worse, it was as though everyone in the room could sense it. Lady Violet’s comments were only the beginning. From every corner of the room, the ladies stared at her, whispering to one another across the card table and laughing into their tea.

“Bel.” Sophia touched her elbow. “The air in here is so close, and with the baby”—she laid a hand over her abdomen in a universal gesture of incipient motherhood—“Will you take a turn with me, outside?”

Bel nodded and followed her sister-in-law out the door and into the garden. The moment they rounded the corner of a hedge, Sophia turned to her. “You haven’t seen it?”

“Seen what?”