A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(40)

—Isabel had crawled straight into his breast pocket and made a home there. To be honest, it could also have had something to do with the point when his fingers crawled into her bodice …

At any rate, the game had changed. He didn’t want to get even with Gray anymore, or assuage his own wounded pride. He’d grown accustomed to Isabel’s lovely smiles and expressions of kindhearted delight. He’d come to live off her sweet faith, the perfect trust in her eyes when she gazed at him. Now he couldn’t imagine surviving without it—any more than he could imagine surviving without air, or food. Whether her brother believed it or not, Toby truly wanted, more than anything, to keep his wife happy.

Which meant keeping his promises.

Good Lord.

All his promises. Every blasted one of them.

The door burst open again. Toby looked up, expecting to see Jeremy, prepared to assume his role of best man. Instead, in walked a much older friend—in more ways than one.

“Mr. Yorke,” Toby greeted him. “What a pleasant surprise. Come to give me last-minute advice?”

“How’s this for advice? Run away. You’re making a terrible mistake. Marriage is for virgins and fools.”

“And here you’ve remained a bachelor all these years.” Toby chuckled. “Astonishing.”

The old man released a heavy sigh. “Didn’t think I’d be able to dissuade you. Thought it was worth a try, though—just to witness the fit that woman would have when her son’s wedding fell through for the second time.” Mr. Yorke withdrew a flask from his breast pocket. “Since you’re determined to go through with it, perhaps you need some encouragement of the liquid variety?”

Toby reached for the flask gratefully. “Actually, I believe I do.” He leaned against the stone window ledge and motioned for Yorke to join him. “You do realize, it’s been a good fifteen years since she took me to task for drinking. I hope you’re not expecting to ruffle her feathers with this.” He tossed back a mouthful of liquor.

“I only wish. Speaking of that woman—”

“You know, ‘that woman’ happens to be my mother. Not to mention, a lady.”

“That woman has just related to me another of her pernicious lies. She says you mean to stand up against me in the election. You mean to contest my seat in Parliament, she says! I know it has to be a falsehood.”

“Well…” Toby hedged. Here was one of those promises, come back to haunt him. “It’s true, I had been planning to—”

“Do you want to know how I know it’s a falsehood? Aside from the fact that you’d have no hope of winning, of course.” Yorke took back his flask and downed a swallow. “That woman tells me you’re running as a Whig.”

“That woman speaks the truth, I’m afraid. But I can explain. You see—”

“Gah!” Yorke drained the brandy and sent the flask clattering to the floor. “Honestly. As a Whig, Toby?” He might as well have recited, “Et tu, Brute?” “Have I taught you nothing? It would be one thing if you wanted to take up politics on the proper side. I’d take you under my wing, find a borough for you. Hell, I’d nominate you myself. But after all these years—all those times I let you sleep off mischief in my hayloft, poach grouse from my woods—this is how you repay me? By turning Whig?”

“I know, I know. It’s a tragedy. I’ll have to start frequenting Brooks’.” Toby put a hand on Yorke’s shoulder, taking quick stock of his friend and their lifelong acquaintance. The old man was right, Toby did owe him better than this. He owed him a great deal. He recalled many a fine afternoon spent angling for trout in the stream between their lands, and he recalled several occasions when his neighbor had fished him out of a scrape.

What he didn’t recall was precisely when Yorke had become so ancient. The man’s snowy hair had thinned considerably in recent years, and his once-subtle smile lines had deepened to permanent furrows.

“Give me a moment to explain,” Toby said. “It’s not my mother’s idea, it’s my lovely bride’s. She’s a very principled girl; I don’t deserve her at all. She has her heart set on seeing me in Parliament, Lord knows why. But I promised her I’d run, in a moment of… weakness. Serious weakness.”

“Ah,” Yorke said meaningfully. “While your wits had gone south on holiday?”

“Something like that,” Toby said. His wits began packing their trunks for a return visit, just at the memory. “Of course, I’ve explained to my bride your long history of service and unparalleled popularity with the electors. She’s been well informed that I have no hope of winning, but she is determined to see me try, I’m afraid. And besotted fool that I am, I’ve decided to indulge her.”

“And to inconvenience me.”

Toby raised his hands in an exasperated gesture. “What can I say? She’s prettier.”

Yorke laughed heartily. “She’s a rare beauty, is what she is.”

“Isn’t she, though? And I’m going to marry her in a matter of minutes. I can’t go ruining it the first week, by kidnapping her to the Lake District instead of fulfilling my promise to stand up in Surrey.”

“Wouldn’t be much of a honeymoon, would it? No, I understand.”