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

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.”

“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.”

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.”

Jeremy swore again.

When Joss echoed him, Miss Osborne threw him a strange look.

“I came to inform you of Lucy’s condition,” she continued. “Now that I’ve done so, I must return upstairs.”

She turned to leave, but Jeremy darted forward to catch her arm.

“Hetta, please.” His voice cracked. Toby thought he had never seen his friend look so vulnerable. “I know Lucy’s angry with me. We did not part well earlier. But you must let me see her, give me a chance to put things right.”

“You will have a chance, my lord. After the babe is born, but not before.”

“You mean to keep me from her?” Jeremy loomed over the young woman. Her face blanched, throwing her freckles into sharp relief. “If I decide to see my wife, ten men couldn’t keep me from her.”

“Jem.” Toby stepped between them, placing a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder and guiding his friend back with a light yet firm touch. “I know it’s difficult, but you must respect Lucy’s wishes. As Miss Osborne says, you’ll have ample time to make up later.”

“Listen to your friend, my lord.” With that, Miss Osborne dropped a perfunctory curtsy and left the room.