A Lady of Persuasion (11 page)

“Certainly I will.”

“He’s always liked you. Though I never understood why.”

With a self-effacing smile, Toby laid down his fork. “This, from my own mother.”

“You know I don’t mean it that way, dear,” she said. “It’s just—that man doesn’t like anyone.”

Archibald Yorke owned the lands bordering their estate in Surrey. He was a fixture in the neighborhood, known for his dry wit and shrewd bargains, and as the other primary landholder in the borough, he’d taken some pride in his position as the Aldridge family’s archnemesis.

Because Toby had assumed the baronetcy in his infancy, for many years, the task of dealing with Mr. Yorke had fallen to his mother. Now their scuffling had simply become a matter of habit, a sport neither party seemed inclined to give up. Despite the history of rancor between the two—or perhaps because of it—Toby had always liked the man immensely. In his youth, he’d been drawn to the prickly old bachelor. They’d spent many an afternoon in Yorke’s stables or by the fishing stream. In keeping with his life goal of thwarting Lady Aldridge, Yorke had provided young Toby with sanctuary and a sympathetic ear anytime he fled a punishment or simply chafed on his mother’s leading strings.

“Who’s Mr. Yorke?” Isabel asked.

“A friend,” Toby replied.

At the same instant, Augusta answered, “Mother’s enemy.”

“He’s just a neighbor,” their mother said. “And he’s not worth further discussion. Let us speak of pleasanter things.”

“Oh, Augusta,” Isabel said, brightening. As ever, charity absorbed her complete attention. “I have an idea for the Society pamphlets. My sister-in-law, Soph—”

Her voice trailed off. Forks teetered midair.

“Sophia,” his mother completed smoothly. “We know Sophia, dear.”

“Yes, of course you do,” Isabel murmured. She cast a guilty look at Toby.

He forced a smile and a wave of nonchalance. “Go on then, darling,” he said, although he hoped she wouldn’t.

“Sophia has agreed to sketch a portrait of little Peter Jeffers, to illustrate the pamphlet. We must put a human face to the climbing boys’ misery, to stir the hearts of potential donors. Augusta, don’t you agree?”

“I think it’s a splendid idea,” Augusta answered. “Can your sister provide a sample before the next meeting?”

And on and on it went through dessert—which, of course, Isabel did not eat. Toby stabbed at his portion of quince tart. It wasn’t that he begrudged Isabel her good deeds—he just wished she’d warm up to
him
a bit. After nearly six weeks, he was still clinging to this betrothal by the skin of his teeth and an arm-long list of absurd promises.

By his own agreement with Gray, he had to keep Isabel smiling. And none of his usual methods—compliments, jests, fawning attention, little gifts—earned even the slightest twitch of her lips. No, there was nothing to make Isabel Grayson smile like an impetuous act of self-denial:

Yes, of course I’ll raise funds for the dispensary’s new building.

Though I’d just as soon pay for the thing myself
.

Certainly, I’ll canvass the gentlemen’s club for subscriptions.

The day they terminate my membership
.

Absolutely, I’ll let grimy gutter waifs ride on my shoulders.

Can’t I just give them a pony instead?

No, I didn’t notice the children had fleas.

Scratch, scratch, scratch …

Charity was all well and good, but Isabel’s version of it was extreme. If he made it to their wedding before completely impoverishing or debasing himself, it would be a small miracle. Of course, Toby would promise Isabel damn near anything now. Once they were safely married, he could negotiate different terms. But it bewildered him that even after weeks, none of his romantic overtures swayed her in the least. By what cruel twist of fate had he proposed to the one woman in creation who remained immune to all his practiced charm?

Well, if he was honest with himself, Toby had to admit there were apparently
two
women in creation who were immune to his charms. And the first had already jilted him.

Isabel said, “I long for the day we can disband the Society altogether.”

Now that remark piqued Toby’s attention. There was a sentiment he could wholeheartedly endorse.

“Yes,” Augusta agreed. “If only Parliament would pass meaningful restrictions on child labor, none of these efforts would be necessary.”

“Oh dear,” Reginald interrupted. “I smell a new charitable venture in the offing. The Society for Obviating the Necessity of the Society for the Obviating the Necessity of Climbing Boys …”

Isabel gave a soft laugh. “No, no. There is no need for another Society. Once Toby assumes his place in Parliament, he will take up that cause.”

“Toby,”
Reginald echoed. “In Parliament.”

“Yes, of course.”

With an unladylike burst of laughter, Augusta turned to him. “Has Mr. Yorke heard of this?

Toby, she can’t be serious.”

“Augusta.” Toby inhaled slowly through his nose. “Isabel is always serious.”

Of course, the notion of him serving in Parliament was patently absurd, but he couldn’t very well admit it. Not when Isabel looked at him with expectation in those dark, solemn eyes.

Promise her anything. Keep her happy. Make her smile
.

“And on Isabel’s counsel,” he said, “I’ve been giving the matter serious consideration.”

Isabel didn’t smile. She beamed, and Toby viewed the expression with profound gratitude and just a trace of alarm. God, what wouldn’t he promise her, just to earn her approval? It was a good thing less than a month remained before a clergyman declared them man and wife, or she’d have him renouncing all his worldly belongings and taking orders himself.

“Toby in Parliament,” Lady Aldridge said in a tone of false innocence. “What an idea.”

He gave her a warning look over his wineglass. She’d been hinting at him to challenge Mr.

Yorke’s seat in Commons for an age now, and he’d been loudly denouncing the idea for an age and a half. Indulging his mother’s petty vendetta was an even worse reason to seek office than appeasing his naïve bride.

Now his mother fixed him with the most unnerving gaze, coupled with a serene smile. Just like a mother, to take an unnatural delight in watching her offspring squirm.

“Mother,” he said in a conciliatory croon, “you’ve ten grandchildren now—three of them tearing apart the nursery as we speak. Might I suggest you sharpen that look on one of them?”

“Isabel,” she finally said, still directing her smile at Toby, “have we told you how delighted we are to welcome you to the family?”

“What the devil—”

Josiah Grayson bit off the chain of curses uncoiling in his mind. Such language wasn’t meant for a child’s ears. But then, neither were children meant to be climbing atop their fathers’ desks and emptying inkwells onto stacks of crucial correspondence.

Joss lunged for his son, scooping the boy off the polished cherrywood desktop now marred with inky fingerprints. He attempted to pry Jacob’s chubby fingers from the inkwell, holding the wriggling urchin at arm’s length so as not to spoil his own new topcoat.

Damn Gray. This was all his fault for leaving London so soon. He’d gone to Southampton to survey progress on two ships under construction, taking Sophia with him. Two days he’d been gone, and already everything had gone to hell. Wouldn’t the arrogant devil just love to know it, too? First, Jacob’s nursemaid quitting her post, then problems with these insurance contracts, and to top it all off, Bel taken ill…

“Jacob, give that to Papa. I said, give it to Papa. Jacob, for the love of—”

Suddenly, the boy let go the inkwell. Bereft of resistance, Joss’s arm snapped back at the elbow. Ink splattered him from cravat to trousers.

“Blast, bugger, damn, and hell.” There was no preventing the improper vocabulary lesson Jacob received then. Mara would have been furious with him for using that language in front of their son.

“Mrs. Prewitt.” Joss summoned the housekeeper from the hallway and deposited Jacob in her reluctant embrace. “Clean him up and send him to Cook for a biscuit.”

His son temporarily occupied, Joss turned his attention to the ink-spattered contracts covering his desk. God, what a mess. As partner in Grayson Brothers Shipping, Joss was fully empowered to sign the contracts and deal with the matter in Gray’s absence. But it chafed him that he didn’t truly understand the crux of the problem, had no idea whether he signed the new contract for good or ill. He had only the advice of their solicitor to work from, and Joss didn’t trust that toadying prig with tuppence.

Not that Gray would have known any better how to handle the situation. His brother had no education in legal matters, either. This was why Joss was determined to study law. They couldn’t build a successful family business unless one of them could look at these piles of legal prattle and make sense of them.

The butler appeared in the entryway. “A caller, sir.”

“I’m not at home.”

“It’s Sir Toby Aldridge, sir.”

“Damn,” Joss muttered, sifting through a stack of parchment. Just what he needed—the task of entertaining that insufferable ass in addition to everything else. “Didn’t he get the message that Bel’s taken ill?”

“Yes, he did,” a voice said from the corridor. The insufferable ass himself rounded the doorway and entered the study. “All the more reason for me to call.”

Joss dismissed the butler with a look. “You’ll have to come back another day,” he told Toby, sitting down to his desk. “She’s feeling too poorly for social calls, and I’m in no humor for them either.”

Toby flopped into a chair opposite. “Don’t treat me as if I’m some stranger off the street. I’m marrying Isabel in less than a month, for God’s sake. Now, what’s the nature of her illness?

Has a doctor been called? Can I see her?”

“It’s just a sore throat,” Joss said. “She doesn’t want a doctor. And no, you can’t see her.”

The butler appeared in the doorway again. “The Countess of Kendall and a Miss Osborne, for Miss Grayson.”

“Tell them I’ll be there momentarily. I’ll show them up to Miss Grayson’s chambers myself.”

“Now see here.” Toby rose from his chair. “You just said she’s not to receive callers. Why can Lucy and her friend go up, and not me?”

“Because Bel asked to see them. She didn’t ask to see you.” Joss brushed past Toby and walked down the corridor to the entryway. Toby’s footsteps followed him to the foyer, where Lucy waited. Joss bowed to the countess first. “Please excuse my appearance,” he said, gesturing toward his ruined attire. “The work of my son, I’m afraid.”

Lucy smiled. “Yes, I’ve heard young Master Jacob is a handful.” Her gaze drifted over Joss’s shoulder. “Toby, what a pleasant surprise. I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“Why should it be such a surprise? Wouldn’t any gentleman call on his invalid intended?”

Ignoring Toby’s complaint, Lucy continued, “Miss Osborne, this is Miss Grayson’s brother, Captain Josiah Grayson, and her betrothed, Sir Toby Aldridge. Gentlemen, allow me to introduce my friend, Miss Hetta Osborne.”

“Miss Osborne. You are welcome.” Joss bowed to the newcomer, a young lady a few years older than Bel, dressed in a simple muslin frock and a curry-colored spencer. He straightened to find her regarding him with intense, unwavering curiosity. Joss suppressed the urge to pull a face, call attention to her rudeness.

“Miss Obsorne’s come to stay with me through my confinement. Her father is the doctor at Corbinsdale. When Bel sent word that she’d been taken ill, I immediately thought to bring Hetta with me.” Lucy laid a gloved hand on her friend’s arm. “Miss Osborne’s practically a physician in her own right.”

“A female physician?” Now Joss enjoyed his turn to stare. Miss Osborne was a compact, efficiently made sort of woman. In manner and bearing, she had the air of a matron, but girlish freckles dusted her milk-white complexion. Indeed, she stared with all the unabashed curiosity of a child, but intelligence sharpened her eyes—eyes that were a warm shade of hazel.

They gave him pause.

It had been a long time since Joss had noticed the color of a woman’s eyes. Lately, a cursory glance was all he spared any new acquaintance before slotting the person into one of two categories: “Tolerate” or “Dismiss.” But he wasn’t sure yet how to categorize this woman. He needed a closer look. Thus, he found himself studying her appearance with undue concentration.

He found himself noting that her eyes were a rather appealing shade of hazel, flecked with green.

Behind him, Toby made a sound of derision.
“Practically
a physician? If Isabel is ill, she’s going to be seen by a real doctor. I’ll send my own personal physician.”

Miss Osborne lifted her chin. “The only reason I cannot claim the title ‘physician’ is my sex.

I’ve received the same benefit of education and experience as any of my male counterparts.”

“As any country quack, you mean.” Toby turned to Joss. “You can’t seriously mean to entrust your sister’s health to this … this girl.”

Lucy grasped her friend’s arm. “Hetta, don’t be offended. Toby doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s just upset over Bel’s illness.”

“Yes, I understand.” Miss Osborne fixed Toby with a withering look. “I’m well acquainted with the irrational behaviors gentlemen exhibit when their ladies are ailing.”

“Irrational behaviors?” Joss said. “It’s irrational for a man to display concern?” Now Miss Osborne was truly becoming a problem. She was making him side with Toby. Much as he begrudged Toby any consideration, Joss understood all too well the agony of watching—at least,
hearing
—a woman suffer. “One would think you’d have some sympathy,” he said.