A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(74)

“You’re wrong.” Jeremy rubbed his temples. “But I wish to God you were right.”

“When it comes to women, I’m always right.”

With that, Toby lost his grip on the conversation. Joss and Gray had long ago ceased talking, and the room tumbled into a well of silence. Eerie, lifeless silence. No screaming Lucy. No wailing infant. Just silence.

“It’s gone quiet up there,” Gray finally said. “Or had you noticed?”

Toby cursed inwardly. Of course he’d noticed. He’d been trying not to speculate on what it meant.

Jeremy returned to his armchair and sank into it. With a low moan, he buried his face in his hands.

“She’s fine,” Joss said. “She won’t die, not today.”

Jeremy made a sound of derision. “Suddenly you’re the voice of optimism? How do you know she’ll be fine?”

“I just know.”

Before there was any time to elucidate that pronouncement, Miss Osborne entered the salon. The young woman’s apron was rumpled and stained, but her cool self-possession was intact. Her placid expression revealed no hint of emotion, neither sorrow nor joy. “Lord Kendall,” she said, “Lucy’s asking for you now.”

“Oh God,” Jeremy groaned. “She’s dying, isn’t she? That’s the only reason she’d want to see me. She wouldn’t ask for me unless she was dying.”

“She’s not dying,” Miss Osborne said.

Jeremy paused. “The child?”

The young lady sighed. “My lord, I think you should go upstairs and see for yourself.”

Jeremy swore under his breath. “That doesn’t sound good. Are you certain Lucy wants to see me?”

“I’m certain. She asked for you, in no uncertain terms.”

Jeremy rose to his feet. “Tell me what she said. I want to know her exact words.”

“Very well.” Miss Osborne crossed her arms over her chest. “I believe they were something like this: ‘Tell my addle-brained brute of a husband that his son is in need of a name.’”

Toby added his voice to the masculine chorus of congratulations. “You see, I told you all would be well. You’ve gained a son, and you haven’t lost Lucy.”

“Haven’t I?” Jeremy’s face remained impassive. “You heard her words. She can’t forgive me.”

“You didn’t allow me to finish, my lord.” The faintest hint of a smile played on Miss Osborne’s lips. “She said, tell my addle-brained brute of a husband that his son is in need of a name, and …”

“And?”

“And his wife is in need of a kiss.”

Toby imagined that a rare smile cracked Jeremy’s stern expression as he bolted from the room

—but he didn’t really notice his friend’s exit. His attention was occupied with the arrival of Sophia. She brushed past Miss Osborne and flew straight to Gray’s embrace, burying her face in his chest. As she wept, Gray exhaled with obvious relief, releasing a string of colorful oaths befitting a seaman. Toby would never have uttered such words in a lady’s presence—hell, he’d never even heard a few of them before—but Sophia didn’t seem to mind. Her shoulders shook with laughter along with the tears.

Then he noticed Joss and Miss Osborne exchanging peculiar glances. The two stared at one another, not speaking—Miss Osborne still frozen in the doorway and Joss still reclined on the settee, arms propped behind his head. Toby could not quite name the emotions conveyed in

their eyes, but he could tell they were of a private nature. No gentleman—not even one as illmannered as Joss—greeted a lady in that posture unless some intimacy existed between them. Well, this was a day of surprises. Of all the unlikely couples in the world …

Feeling a voyeur, Toby turned to stare out the window. A profound sense of envy welled inside him. It wasn’t jealousy. No longer did he hate Gray for stealing Sophia. Clearly the two belonged together, and without their marriage, Toby would never have found Isabel. No, he envied Gray—and Jeremy, and perhaps now Joss, too—for a different reason altogether. They were loved, unreservedly. Unconditionally. Not just for their strengths, but for their weaknesses, as well. Jeremy could rant and roar at his wife by morning, and find forgiveness before nightfall. Sophia was devoted to her husband, whether he was a fêted knight or a coarse sea captain.

Toby knew Isabel cared for him. So long as he lived up to all her ideals, he felt secure in her esteem. But just how long would that be? He was only human, after all. Even if he managed to come through this election business unscathed … he’d always known, from the day of their wedding onward, that he would inevitably falter in her estimation. When Isabel did see him at his most callow, self-serving worst, he would have no loving reprieve. It would be over. What a fool he was. He’d been working so hard to win his wife’s heart, he’d neglected to guard his own. Now it beat for her, yearned for her, and the stakes were higher than ever. If he lost her regard now …

“Toby.”

A light touch warmed his hand. Isabel had entered so quietly, he hadn’t even heard her. But here she was—solemn, graceful, and so damned beautiful his heart ached. Only the shadows pooling under her eyes betrayed her fatigue. He pulled her into his arms, settling her weight against his chest. “Oh, my dear girl. How hard you’ve worked today.”