A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(19)

A strange compulsion gripped Toby. Sank teeth into him. Before him stood this living portrait of divine domesticity, and in some deep corner of his being, he longed to be a part of it. He’d never experienced a need so sudden, so visceral, so strong. He couldn’t even put a name to the sensation. It wasn’t desire, lust, infatuation, attraction … it most certainly wasn’t love. But it still distilled to those three simple words:

I want that.

A wife. A child. All the pleasant activities a man enjoyed with his wife in the getting of a child. Months of anticipating the arrival of said child—wondering if the shade of his hair would be black like his mother’s or light brown like Toby’s or some shade in the spectrum between. New boots fashioned in cured leather, resistant to the impressions of milk teeth. Marriage. Family. A smiling Isabel.

I want that.

And I’m going to have it.

Isabel blushed. “I’m so sorry for the intrusion. We’ll leave you to your conversation,” she said, dipping in a little curtsy.

“No,” Toby blurted out, snapping himself from his reverie. “That is, don’t go. After all, it’s you I’ve come to see. I thought perhaps you’d like to go driving.” When she looked nonplussed, he added, “It’s something betrothed couples do.”

“Oh.” She gave him a shy smile. “Then I’d like that.”

Toby looked to Gray and Joss. “I believe we’ve finished our business here, gentlemen?” They

offered begrudging nods. “Oh,” Toby continued, speaking to Isabel, “there was one thing. We were discussing the wedding date. I suggest July. Never mind the unbearable heat in July. The only reason to be married in June is to make a public splash, to have all of Society watching. In July, many of the good families will already be leaving for the countryside, and the guest list will be smaller. Your brother need not incur so much expense. This is my reasoning … but naturally, Isabel, your own preference is paramount.”

“Why, if the decision is mine, I think I should prefer to be married in June.” Allowing young Jacob to slide to the floor, she turned to her brother. “I’m certain Dolly is not concerned with the expense.”

Toby shot Gray a cold smile. “Well, Dolly, are you concerned for the expense?”

“No, of course not. But—”

Toby captured Isabel’s hand and tucked it into his arm. “Then I gladly make the concession. June it is.”

CHAPTER FIVE

An hour later, Bel feared she would not live out the day, much less survive to see June.

“Well, then.” Sir Toby nestled closer on the phaeton seat. “This is a lovely morning.”

Bel managed a slight nod in agreement. It was all the motion she dared venture. With one hand latched to the seat iron, the other gripping her bonnet, and both feet braced against the footboard, she had no free appendage with which to gesture. And as for speaking … speaking was out of the question. She kept her jaw clenched, lest her teeth rattle loose from her skull as Sir Toby urged the horses faster over the cobblestones. When they rounded the bend at a perilous tilt, she did manage a little sound. Unfortunately, it was less of a word and more of a scream.

“What’s the matter?” Turning to face her, he took the reins in one hand and stretched the other arm along the seat behind her. “Are you well?”

The phaeton bounced over a small rut, tossing Bel off-balance. Before she could catch herself, she had fallen against his side. His arm enfolded her shoulders, drawing her tight against his chest.

Whistling through his teeth, he slowed the horses and pulled the carriage to the side of the street. “Isabel, darling, are you ill?”

“N-no …” Bel fought to recover her breath. The carriage had come to a halt, but her world remained in motion. She was dizzy—not only from that terrifying drive, but now from the sensation of his strong body wrapped so protectively around hers. “I’m not ill, it’s only … I’m unaccustomed to driving like this, that’s all. We don’t have such fast carriages and fine teams on Tortola. It’s a small island.” She sat up a bit, placing her hand between them on the seat as a buffer.

“What a dolt I am. I should have realized. And look, you’ve gone all pale.” He removed his hat and began fanning her with it. “Shall I take you back home?”

“No. No, please don’t. Truly, I am perfectly well now.” Bel readjusted her bonnet.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, I’m very certain.” The concern in Toby’s amber-flecked eyes pleased her. Sophia had been right. He would make a kind, solicitous husband. “I don’t mean to complain. It’s a lovely phaeton.” She ran a hand over the tufted, butter-soft leather.

At his soft command, the horses resumed a sedate walk. “We needn’t continue driving at all,”

he said. “Why don’t we leave the phaeton with a groom and have a stroll about the shops?”

“The shops? I suppose we could, but I don’t have need of anything. Do you?”

He laughed. “Why, that’s the very time to visit the shops—when you don’t need anything. To be truthful, however, I have been thinking of buying a new walking stick. I’ve had my eye on a fine ivory-topped one at Brauchts’.”

“A walking stick? Do you have some injury, then?” Bel surreptitiously eyed his legs. They looked fit enough to her, his well-formed thighs and calves sheathed in tailored wool. She flushed and quickly averted her eyes. Yes, his legs looked well indeed. “Or perhaps you suffer from the gout?”