A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(26)

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.