A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(65)

Toby winced. He’d imagined that wouldn’t help his cause. “Well, I couldn’t have done differently. Should I have simply stood back and waited for disaster?”

“No, of course not.” Yorke looked over his shoulder at Isabel. “And even I have to applaud you. It was well done, Toby. For a moment there, even I was certain you’d break your neck. But you should know, much as it pains my pride to admit it—now you may have to make a real effort to lose.”

“It’s only a bit of excitement and chatter. Don’t worry. I’ll be completely absent from the hustings; I’ll send no one to speak in my stead. You’re still a sure bet for reelection, I’m sure of it.”

“Perhaps. But it is a problem.”

“What’s a problem?” Isabel asked, surprising them both with her sudden nearness. She extended her hand to Toby. “Have some strawberries?”

He declined with a slight shake of his head. It was all the movement he could manage, what with his heart thudding against his ribs. Surely she hadn’t heard them. She didn’t have the look of a trusting newlywed bride who just discovered she’d been betrayed by her husband, less than one week into her marriage.

Toby cleared his throat. “We’re just discussing the irrigation canal. Mr. Yorke was about to tell me what his problem is.”

“I don’t have any problem.”

“Then why are you suddenly refusing to proceed? I need that canal, Yorke. Ever since they built that factory downriver, the north fields are flooding every spring. Meanwhile, our lands to the west are under-watered. The canal remedies both conditions.”

“Ah, but those are your problems. Not mine. Why should I allow you to dig a trench through my land, let alone share the costs of the labor to dig it?”

“Because the canal will water your western fields, too. Hadn’t you complained of the low yield last harvest?”

“I had,” Yorke said. “But I’ve since realized, it’s not for lack of water. The land’s merely overworked. I’ve decided to let it lie fallow this season, and therefore, I’ll reap no benefit from your canal. Neither do I have the extra income to pay for it. It’ll have to wait until next year.”

“Oh, but the lambs!” Isabel said. “Think of the lambs.”

“The lambs?” Yorke echoed.

“Yes, the lambs,” Toby groaned. “They’re overrunning Wynterhall. And they’re reasonably compact and adorable now, but by next year they’ll simply be sheep. Great, woolly, malodorous sheep. I need those north fields drained for pasture, this year.”

“So build the canal. Just keep it on your lands.”

“You know very well that would double the length and the cost. Come on, man. Be a friend.”

“Be a friend?” Yorke gave a chortling laugh. “What sort of negotiation is that? If you want your canal, you’ll have to make it worth my while.”

Toby narrowed his eyes at the old man. For the first time in his life, he was growing truly impatient with Yorke. “Crafty old devil. You want this canal, too. You’re just trying to get out of paying for it.”

Yorke puffed his chest. “Now you’re starting to sound like that woman.”

“Leave that woman—” Toby bit off that sentence and began again. “Leave my mother out of this. We’re the landholders, and this is between you and me. Now, if we can’t begin work on that canal directly, I shall have to spend much more time in Surrey this summer. I may have to go talking with the farmers in the neighborhood. Perhaps even perform another display of horsemanship.”

He stared hard at Yorke, letting the implications of his words sink in. The old man looked a bit shocked. Toby was a bit shocked, too, truth be told. He had no idea where it had come from, the gall to threaten his friend’s seat in Parliament simply to see a trench dug in the dirt. But much as he appreciated Yorke’s friendship over the years, he wasn’t going to let the man take advantage of it.

“Be careful, my boy,” Yorke said in a low, warning tone. The old man’s watery gaze flicked toward Isabel. “I don’t think that’s a bluff you want me to call.”

Oh, no. He wouldn’t dare. A knot formed in Toby’s gut. Surely Yorke wouldn’t betray their secret. If Isabel learned about their gentlemen’s agreement to fix the election, she’d never forgive him. He’d spend the rest of his life sleeping with the sheep. Mr. Yorke smiled at Isabel. “May I, Lady Aldridge?” he asked, plucking a strawberry from her palm.

“But of course,” she replied, returning his smile. So sweet, so innocent. So completely unaware of what a deceitful cad she called husband.

“A word to the wise, Toby,” Yorke said, popping the strawberry into his mouth. “Never gamble with something you’re not prepared to lose.”

Toby exhaled with frustration. He knew he was beaten. Yorke knew it too, damn his eyes. The old man could demand to plow a canal straight through Wynterhall’s gardens, and now Toby would be forced to agree.

“Surely some compromise can be reached.” Isabel raised another strawberry to her juicestained lips. “Take pity on the lambs, Mr. Yorke,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Don’t God’s little lambs deserve a home?”

“Is that the newlywed love talking?” Yorke directed his question at Toby. “Or is she always like this?”