A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(13)

“Can you believe it?”

“No,” Gray said tersely, his face hidden behind a newspaper. “I can’t.”

To be honest, neither could Bel. She’d passed a fitful night, plucking at the lace-edged coverlet and reliving the evening’s events again and again in her mind—each time hoping for a different conclusion. By dawn, she’d nearly convinced herself the entire episode was simply a strange, vivid dream. But judging by her brother’s ill-humor this morning, it would seem to have been real.

“I’m engaged,” she said again. If she said it enough times, she might begin to believe it. Gray cleared his throat. “For God’s sake, Bel, you’re not—” He stopped himself and appeared to consider before beginning again, more softly this time. “Your … engagement” —he ground out the word—“is still a matter of discussion.”

“What your brother means to say, is that it happened so quickly,” Sophia said. “It’s taken us all by surprise.”

It had taken no one by surprise more than Bel. She couldn’t even recall her thoughts at the moment when her traitorous lips had formed the word “yes.” Obviously, there had been no thoughts in her head at all. Only the sight of Sir Toby’s devilish grin, and the warmth of his hands grasping hers, and the sound of a hundred pairs of lungs seizing in anticipation of her very next word.

And—God help her—some emotion akin to enjoyment.

Madness, that’s what her acceptance had been. A moment of sheer insanity. Not that she could let anyone suspect it now. No, the only thing worse than impetuously accepting a proposal at her first ball would be callously breaking it the next day. She would appear fickle, immature, prone to wild vacillations of emotion: everything a lady of influence was not. The decision had been made in a moment of madness, but as Sir Toby himself had pointed out, a marriage to him could still further her goals. So long as, from this point forward, she behaved with restraint and acted as though it were all part of her plan.

“Yes,” Bel replied. “It did happen quickly, and I’m glad of it.” She nibbled at a point of toast.

“But why did we have to leave the ball so early? People wanted to congratulate us.”

“There’s nothing to congratulate, not yet.” Gray attacked a slab of ham with knife and fork. “I haven’t given my consent.”

Bel stared at him. “You don’t mean to withhold it? You promised I might marry whomever I choose.”

“I should know better than to make promises,” her brother grumbled around a bite of ham.

“Picked a devil of a year to start keeping them.”

Sophia mediated with a soothing tone. “Gray wants to speak with Toby before he gives his formal consent. Joss will want to meet him, too. He may not be your guardian, but he is your brother.”

“Where is Joss this morning?” Bel asked.

“He took a tray to the nursery. Little Jacob is cutting teeth and feeling out of sorts.”

“What in God’s name did that man say to you?” Gray asked, snapping open a newspaper. “I can’t imagine what dastardly lies he must have spun, to persuade you to accept him.”

“I’m sure he did not tell me any lies,” Bel replied calmly. “We merely had the opportunity to converse, and arrived at the conclusion that we would be well-matched.”

“Well-matched,” her brother echoed with disbelief. “You say he told you no lies? Well, then I suppose he told you about his history with—”

“Gray,” Sophia whispered in a reproving tone. The two exchanged pointed glances over the paper before Gray folded it and laid it aside. What ever conflict had existed moments ago was evidently resolved now, as evidenced by the affectionate brush of Gray’s fingers over his wife’s wrist. Bel normally found it sweet, the way they conversed in looks and light touches in place of words.

It was less sweet when they were clearly discussing her.

“We need to speak privately,” Sophia whispered to Bel, dismissing the servants with an elegant, self-assured flick of her wrist.

Bel sighed inwardly. She loved her new sister, but living with Sophia meant a daily struggle with envy. She was so beautiful, so graceful. And though Bel rejoiced to see her brother happily wed, in moments of weakness she—just the tiniest bit—resented sharing his attention. But she needn’t share Sir Toby’s attention with Sophia. He was her betrothed; he belonged to Bel alone. The thought sparked a little fire inside her.

Sophia inched her chair closer to Bel’s. “I wasn’t certain how much to say last night, but after talking it over with Gray …” She cast Gray a cautious look, and he nodded in encouragement. Sophia turned back to Bel. “There is something I must tell you. Before I met your brother, I was betrothed to another man. Bel, I was engaged to Toby.”

Bel choked on her toast. “No.”

“Yes. We were to have been married last December.”

“What happened?”

Sophia worried a crease in the tablecloth. “I lied to him, and to all my friends and family, and then I ran away.”

“What dreadful act could Sir Toby have committed, to make you flee your home?”

“No, no,” Sophia said. “Toby was a perfect gentleman. The dreadful acts were all mine, I’m afraid. I can’t regret making the choices that led me to Gray, but I’m still ashamed of how I treated Toby.”