A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(67)

Releasing his arm, Sophia turned to his wife. “Bel, would you come upstairs and help me? I’m gathering fresh linens and supplies.”

“Yes, certainly.”

Toby watched them disappear up the stairs, hand in hand. Remarkable. He wished now were the time to really talk to Sophia. To ask her why—if he put everyone so at ease—she’d fled halfway across the world rather than speak to him about ending their engagement. But now wasn’t the time. At the moment, he had a friend in need.

Mustering all the blithe, irreverent charm he could find, Toby donned a carefree smile and sauntered into the salon. “Good afternoon. Gray, Joss … Jem. No, don’t get up.” He crossed to the bar and began pouring himself a brandy. After filling his own glass, he took the decanter over to Jeremy and topped off his friend’s drink, noting the pale, drawn mask of worry on his face. “Well, Jem,” he said lightly. “I understand congratulations are in order.”

Jeremy stared into his glass. “Prayers are in order. This shouldn’t be happening. It’s too soon. And it’s all my fault. We argued, and …” He scrubbed his face with one hand, leaving his eyes heavy and laced with red. “I should send an express to Waltham Manor.”

“Let me do it,” Gray said, sitting down to a writing desk. “She’s at my house, after all. Shall I address it to her father or her mother?”

“To her brother, Henry. Lucy hasn’t any parents living.” When another growling moan sounded from above, Jeremy dropped his head in his hands. “Oh, God. I can’t endure this.”

Toby sat down next to him. “It’s perfectly normal, Jem. All my sisters sounded the same in labor, or worse. And babies arrive in their own time—a few weeks early, a few weeks late. Everything comes out fine.”

“Except when it doesn’t.” Joss rose from his chair and strode to the window. Toby glared at him, and Joss stared back with hollow eyes.

“Don’t, Joss.” Gray gave his brother a warning look.

“Don’t what?” Joss asked defensively. “Don’t prepare a man for all possibilities? There’s no benefit in denying the truth. We all know women die in childbirth. It happens.”

Jeremy groaned into his hands.

“Yes,” Toby said in a matter-of-fact tone, “it happens.” He refused to let his annoyance with Joss taint his efforts at reassurance. “But this is not some random woman we’re discussing.”

Lowering his voice, he spoke to Jeremy. “They don’t know Lucy like we do, Jem. Listen to me. I’ve a mother and three older sisters, all of whom eat adversity for breakfast. I’m married to the most principled lady on earth. But when it comes to strength of will, Lucy bests them all. She’s healthy, she’s young, and she’s determined to give you a beautiful child. And when Lucy’s determined to do something, she does it.”

“Jeremy!” Lucy’s pained cry clawed through the ceiling. “If you hear me down there, I want you to know … You are never. Coming near me. Again.”

Toby and Jeremy looked at one another.

The voice became more of a growl. “Never. Ever. Again.”

“You see?” Toby remarked at length. “That’s determination for you.”

When Jeremy made no response, Toby decided it was time to speak of other things. Diversion, that’s what this group needed. “How are the legal studies progressing, Joss?”

Joss stared out the window. “Fine.”

Several moments’ silence followed. Well, so much for that vein of conversation.

“I met with Felix in the park the other day,” Toby began again. “Jem, really—one of us needs to ward him off whenever he mentions Tattersalls. Or accompany him, at the least. He laid down an outrageous sum for a team of bays last week, more than double their worth. They’re not evenly matched at all, and his carriage pulled left so egregiously, I found him spinning in circles in the midst of Rotten Row.” Toby chuckled. “Not that driving has ever been Felix’s forte. He really ought to leave it to coachmen, instead of—”

“Toby.” Lifting his head from his hands, Jeremy gave him that insufferable autocratic Look. There really was no disobeying that Look. He would make a formidable father, indeed.

“Yes?”

“Shut it.”

Toby raised his eyebrows. “Very well.”

Jeremy lowered his head again, and quiet reigned. Gray sipped his drink. Joss stared out the window. Toby tugged at his neck cloth. The midsummer heat choked the room, oppressive and mute.

A scream tore through the tense silence.

Every man froze.

“Toby,” Jeremy said, his fingers white-knuckled webs against his black hair.

“Yes?”

“Keep talking.”

So he did. For hours. Afternoon faded toward evening, brandy dwindled in its decanter, and coats and cravats peeled away from restless, perspiring men. Through it all, Toby kept talking. He talked of foxhounds and boxing and every inane, meaningless topic he could dredge from his imagination. Mundane, everyday concerns that he hoped would serve as a reminder that beyond this day, beyond Lucy’s labor, mundane, everyday life would continue. As the sinking sun painted the salon carpet in shades of plum and crimson, Toby was just embarking on a detailed description of the new writing desk he’d ordered for his study. By this point, he was growing hoarse, and boring even himself. But until Jeremy told him to stop, he was going to keep talking. “I ordered dark-blue felt to line the drawers,” he said, yawning.