A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(41)

“I knew you would. Don’t worry, I’ll not put up any real opposition. After the nominations, I’ll stay away from the hustings entirely. Once Isabel understands how capably you represent the borough and what faith the electors have in you, she’ll recover from any disappointment. In the meantime, I’ll do my best to find other methods of keeping her occupied.”

Yorke gave him a merry look. “No doubt.”

“See? There’s no need for concern.”

“Who’s concerned?” The old man harrumphed. “It’s not as though I’ve been running unopposed all these years, you know. I know something about beating out upstart candidates.”

“Madman Montague doesn’t count. Don’t throw me in with him.”

“And,” Yorke continued, undeterred, “it gives me one more opportunity to thwart that woman’s machinations. She’ll be bitterly disappointed when you lose.”

Toby smiled. “Indubitably. Don’t you see? I’ll keep my promise to run for Parliament, you’ll keep your seat. I’ll make my bride happy; you’ll continue making my mother miserable. It’s the perfect solution, all around.”

“So long as the women don’t catch on, eh?”

Toby gave a self-conscious tug on his ear. It might not be an auspicious beginning to a marriage, plotting to deceive his bride just minutes before the ceremony. But once they were married, he fully intended to go about deserving Isabel’s good opinion. On his own terms, by some endeavor of his own choosing. Surely he could find some way to make himself useful that did not involve sooty foundlings or arse-numbing sessions of Parliament. A method that didn’t require him to publicly trounce an old, respected friend.

Chuckling, Yorke held out his hand. “I do like the way you think. Very well, then. May the best man win.”

“Precisely,” Toby said, shaking it.

“Actually,” Jeremy said, standing impatient in the doorway, “the best man is here. And he’s tired of fending off anxious looks from the priest, the bride’s brothers, and the mother of the groom. Can we get this thing underway?” Remembering himself, he added a perfunctory bow toward the older man. “If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Yorke.”

Toby stood, pulling down the front of his waistcoat.

“This is your last chance to change your mind,” Yorke said. “Are you certain you want to do this?”

“Yes,” Toby answered, to all the questions implied. “Yes, I am.”

CHAPTER TEN

At the knock on the connecting door, Bel nearly jumped out of her skin. Absurd, to be so surprised by the very event she’d been standing there anticipating. Her heart slammed into her ribs, and her eyes darted wildly about the bedchamber. Should she meet him at the door? Lie down on the bed? Flee to her dressing room and hide?

And here she’d thought the wedding ceremony taxing on her nerves. Parading down the aisle of St. George’s under the scrutiny of hundreds? That was nothing, compared to waiting for her new husband to attend her on their wedding night. At least in church, she’d known in which direction to walk.

In the end, she did what she always did when shock rendered her immobile. She stood still. The door swung open, and Toby struck a casual pose, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. “Good evening, Lady Aldridge.”

He was still dressed in the same pinstriped trousers he’d worn for the wedding, though his topcoat, waistcoat, and cravat had disappeared. Bel tore her gaze from the gaping collar of his shirt to focus on the one permanent fixture of his appearance: that charming, boyish grin. She attempted a smile in return, instinctively wrapping her arms about her chest and gathering the edges of her lace-trimmed dressing gown. How she envied his easy confidence in every situation. Throughout the ceremony, the wedding breakfast, their installation here at Aldridge House, and even their first dinner as husband and wife—he’d been the epitome of poise. Bel had remained close to his side all day, praying some of his self-assurance might rub off on her. Perhaps, she thought, the same strategy would serve her well this evening. Perhaps she did know in which direction she should walk. Really, it was the same as in church. She walked toward him.

His grin widened as she approached. She felt her own smile growing, too.

“Good evening, Sir Toby,” she said, stopping just inches from him.

His arm snaked around her waist, and he pulled her tight for a kiss. It was the briefest, most chaste of kisses, but somehow more intimate than any kiss they’d shared before. This was not a suitor’s kiss, but a husband’s kiss. Comfortable, authoritative … and performed in a state of undress.

Before Bel had any chance to catch her breath, he released her waist and strolled past her into the bedchamber. Now she was the one left leaning against the doorframe for support.

“Did I tell you,” he asked, taking up the poker and stirring the fire, “how immensely proud you made me today?”

“You did,” she said, smiling to herself. “Several times.” In the carriage, after the ceremony. Then again, whispering in her ear during the wedding breakfast. Once more, over dinner. “I begin to believe it.”

“Well, I’ll be certain to tell you several more times, so there can be no misunderstanding.” He replaced the poker and met her in the center of the room, grasping her hands in his. “Truly, Isabel. I’m the most fortunate fellow in England. As long as I live, I’ll never forget how lovely you looked this morning.”