A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(15)

The number of his paramours? Bel almost asked Sophia to relate the estimate, then stopped herself. “Surely you don’t credit any of it? Sir Toby told me himself, one shouldn’t believe everything in the newspapers. Do you believe such behavior of him?”

“No,” Sophia said. “At least, not to this degree. But I am amazed that he has tolerated such treatment.” She lowered her voice. “Do you realize, he could have made an immense scandal when I eloped, or even sued my father for breach of our marriage contract? Yet he said nothing, at least not publicly. He allowed the illusion of my illness to stand and took a drubbing in the papers all the while.”

An unhappy realization settled on Bel. “He must have been very much in love with you.”

Gray coughed violently.

Sophia pursed her lips. “No, actually. I don’t believe he was. But his pride must have incurred deep wounds, even if his heart remained intact. It must have been difficult for him to endure all this”—she indicated the newspapers—“so quietly. I don’t know why he did, after the way I used him so ill. But he has borne the brunt of public speculation regarding our broken engagement, and if he had not, I would have been ruined. We should not have been welcome in Society. Your own prospects for marriage would have been destroyed.”

“We owe him much, then.”

“Yes, we do.” Sophia gave her a meaningful look. “We owe him the chance to find happiness. I did not love him as a wife should, but I cared for him—I care for him too much to see him trapped in a polite society marriage.”

“Trapped?” Bel’s teacup met its saucer with a loud crack. “Are you saying Sir Toby shouldn’t marry me? Am I not good enough for him?”

“No, that’s not it at all,” Sophia replied.

“Bel, he’s not good enough for you,” Gray said.

“I don’t mean to say that, either.” Sophia took a deep breath before continuing. “Bel, Toby will make some lady a fine husband. And you are everything he could dream of in a wife. Together, I daresay you could be very happy indeed—if you loved one another.”

“She’s not in love with the man.” Gray’s knife clattered to his plate. “She only met him last night.” He muttered an oath.

Bel cringed. Love. It seemed there was no escaping that word lately. Her brothers, Sophia …

they all exhorted that she must marry for love. As if by saying this, they granted her some grand indulgence, a gift any young lady would be delighted to receive. But to Bel, this insistence on a love match presented an unwelcome obstacle. “I don’t wish to marry for love. Not romantic love, at any rate.”

“Whyever not?” Sophia asked.

She hedged. It seemed impolite, and most likely in effective, to decry romantic love to two people so thoroughly steeped in it. Her parents had married for love, as had both of her brothers. Of the three matches, two had ended in desolation and the third—successful as it appeared thus far—was just a few months old. She avoided love for the same reason she eschewed spirits: she’d witnessed, firsthand, the ravages of both.

“I have so many plans, so much work to do,” she said. Striving for a diplomatic tone, she added, “And I’ve noticed love has a way of altering a person’s priorities.”

“As well it should, if the thing’s done right,” Gray said.

Sophia touched her wrist. “Of course you could not be in love with Toby so soon. But deep in your heart, if you search, do you detect some inclination to affection? Could you grow to love him, with time?”

I hope not. Bel pushed back from the table and stood. “Sophia, please understand. I am delighted that you and my brother have found one another. I know you mean to be kind. But I do not wish to marry for love; and I would ask you to consider that perhaps Sir Toby feels the same. Otherwise, why did he propose to you?”

Sophia made a subtle wince. Bel’s was overt. Those were the most uncharitable words she’d ever spoken to her sister. Perhaps the most uncharitable words she’d spoken to anyone. But here she’d resolved to embrace this engagement with optimism, and Sophia seemed determined to ruin it all—first with her revelations, then her stack of scandal sheets, and now this questioning.

“Please,” Bel said, sinking back into her chair, “I know you mean well, but Dolly …” She turned to her brother, knowing he was powerless to deny her anything when she employed a soft tone and his pet name from their youth. “Dolly, you promised I might marry whom I choose. I choose to marry Sir Toby.”

“For God’s sake, why?”

“For … several reasons.”

Not because she desired him, or because she’d allowed him to kiss her on the terrace. Truly, that wasn’t it at all. It wasn’t.

“I want a marriage that will place me in the public notice and make me a lady of influence.” She gestured toward the stacked copies of The Prattler. “Sir Toby is perfect. All London takes an interest his exploits, he will soon serve in the House of Commons, and by Sophia’s own account he is a fine man.”

“Toby told you he would be serving in Parliament?” Sophia asked.

“Yes. Did he never mention it to you?”

“No.” She looked stunned.

Gray studied Bel for a moment, then put a hand to his temple. “Bel, it’s not that I—”