For years, Will had known that during the London Season, he’d be able to catch the occasional glimpse of Lady Susannah Haddonfield in this quiet clearing in a vast and busy park. Lady Susannah also frequented Hanford’s bookshop on Bond Street, though she never noticed the gentleman in the corner pretending to be absorbed in some zoological text.
“She has become part of my pack,” Will said to Georgette. “One keeps an eye on pack mates. Simple biology. No harm in it.”
And yet this Lady Susannah was different from the version Will had first noticed at Lady March’s tea dances years ago. More confident, also more reserved, more brisk and sure of herself.
“Prettier too, or pretty in a different way?”
Georgette cocked her head. To greet the lady or not?
“Wish her good day, but watch out for that parasol.”
Georgette licked Will’s gloved hand and trotted away toward Lady Susannah. The dog woofed once, an unusual exuberance for her.
Also a happy greeting, but still Lady Susannah trundled along, absorbed in her book. Will took a moment simply to behold her, so focused on her stories and poems that even the glory of Hyde Park on a spring day could not deflect her attention.
“My goodness,” she said, stopping abruptly. “Georgette? Is that—it is you.” Though her ladyship was wearing a bonnet, she shaded her eyes with her book and peered about. “Mr. Dorning, greetings.”
“My lady, good day.” Will could not bow over Lady Susannah’s hand because she was still holding the book in one hand and the parasol in the other. “A pleasure to see you.”
“Likewise, Mr. Dorning. Georgette has apparently regained her privileges in the park. Della and Lord Effington are strolling closer to the Serpentine. You might want to avoid them.”
To blazes with his lordship, whom Lady Susannah also probably wanted to avoid. “Shall we bide here for a moment, my lady? What are you reading?”
“A critique of Shakespeare’s tragedies. Does Georgette want you to do something with that stick?”
The same stick, of course. “If that stick were taken from her, and hidden in the farthest reaches of the most obscure hedge of the park, she’d find it. It’s hers now.”
“I feel the same way about my books. My sisters say I’ve grown eccentric.”
Will enjoyed this about Susannah Haddonfield. She was honest, had no airs or affectations. When she spoke, she spoke the truth. He peeled off his gloves, stuffed them in a pocket, and held out his hand.
“May I see the book?”
She passed it over, though her gaze followed her treasure the way Georgette kept track of a beloved toy. The book had been read many times, the spine well creased. Pages were not dog-eared, though, nor was anything scribbled in the margins. One could tell a lot from a person by how they cared for what they claimed to value.
“This was your father’s?” Will asked, reading the inscription.
“My mother gave it to him. She had a gift for reading dramatically. Shall we sit, Mr. Dorning? Della will make an entire morning’s work of toddling around at Effington’s side, and they have a maid with them to observe the proprieties.”
Will snapped the book closed. “Leaving nobody to observe the proprieties on your behalf, my lady.”
“You sound like my brother Nicholas.” Her ladyship plucked the book from Will’s grasp. “He’s become a Puritan since the title befell him. You and I are old friends, Mr. Dorning, and nobody will remark our passing a few minutes together in a public park.”
Will did not like the sound of “old friends.” Lady Susannah was quite youthful, and he was…hardly doddering. He accompanied her ladyship to the nearest bench, which sat beneath a canopy of maples in their vernal glory. The park was at a grand pause, between tulips and irises, a few of each in evidence, but not enough to overpower the sheer, lush greenery.
“This place keeps me sane,” Will said when he and the lady were sitting side by side. “My dogs love it here, and for an hour at a time, I can pretend I’m back in Dorset, taking a long walk to work out some problem, or simply enjoying a pretty day.”
Lady Susannah set the book aside and untied her bonnet ribbons. “The libraries keep me sane,” she said, placing her bonnet on top of her book. “As do the Bard, Mr. Pope, Mr. Donne. Books, books, and more books.”
“I’ve seen you from time to time,” Will said as Georgette settled at Lady Susannah’s feet. The dog commenced gnawing on one end of the stick, a habit that would content her by the hour, though she’d stop short of destroying her toy. “The last time was at Almack’s. You dance beautifully.”
Every time Will saw Lady Susannah turning down the room, he was pleased for her all over again. She had never been an ugly duckling, but she made an impressive swan. When he caught sight of her, he’d find a convenient pillar or palm to shield him from her view. He satisfied himself that she was faring well, and did not intrude on her happiness.
“I dance adequately now,” she said, turning her face up to the sun. “I was a proper disaster at it as a girl. I’ve never thanked you for rescuing me.”
“Hardly a rescue, my lady.” Will had been dragooned by his university acquaintances into accommodating Lady March’s demand for young men to partner the girls at her tea dances. These were the practice sessions held for prospective debutantes, the private entertainments that ensured the young ladies had some confidence before facing their first Season.
For Lady Susannah, the result had been quite the opposite of confidence.
“You still don’t enjoy dancing, do you?” Will asked.
Her ladyship was risking freckles, enjoying the sun that way. For years, Will had told himself Lady Susannah Haddonfield was a sweet memory from his youth. Then another spring would come around, and he’d find himself leaning against another shadowed pillar as she twirled past with some other fellow.
She looked in want of something. A favorite toy, or…kisses, perhaps.
“I enjoyed dancing with you, Mr. Dorning.”
Her eyes were closed, her expression serene. If she’d been a dog, a cat, a horse, or even a bird, Will might have gathered insights from her posture, her expression, her attitude, her breathing. She wasn’t a dog, and neither was he, but the only conclusion thumping through his male brain was, “Yes, kisses. Lots of kisses.”
He’d been away from Dorset too long.
“I’m expecting the Duke of Quimbey to come by directly,” Will said, a reminder to himself, a warning to the lady if she wanted to put her bonnet back on.
Lady Susannah retrieved her book from under her bonnet by feel, her eyes remaining closed.
“You have an assignation in the park with a wealthy duke? You intrigue me, Mr. Dorning.”
Will Dorning intrigued nobody, nor had he any aspirations to acquire that skill. “I have an assignation with His Grace’s dog. The hound is young and rambunctious, not a good pet for an older fellow who hasn’t owned a dog before. Quimbey’s brother gave him the dog, a final gift before the brother’s death, so Quimbey’s determined to keep it.”
“My father always had dogs,” Lady Susannah said, opening her eyes and casting a glance at Georgette. “Muddy, smelly creatures. Not like Georgette.”
Georgette paused in her gnawing long enough to toss Lady Susannah an adoring look.
Will slipped his pet a nibble of cheese. “Dogs needn’t be smelly or muddy any more than little boys do. Perhaps you enjoy cats?”
They’d never discussed pets before. Why was that?
“Cats sit staring at one, their expression rife with condescension. Then they lick themselves in certain locations, and one must pretend not to notice, though how can one ignore that?”
She had liked cats, years ago. Had had a tom named Aquinas.
“What about birds?” Will asked. “Surely you can’t take exception to creatures both pretty and musical?”
Lady Susannah peered at Will, her expression bewildered and grim around the edges.
“Surely, Mr. Dorning, you do not expect
me to approve of birds, intended by God to soar across the heavens, but instead caged for our entertainment?”
Maybe this was why Will hadn’t approached Lady Susannah, because she wasn’t the sweet, shy creature he’d waltzed around Lady March’s garden, and never would be again. Neither was he the young fool who’d waltzed with her.
“Not all birds are trapped in gilded cages, my lady.” And not all earl’s sons were forced to bide in London for months at a time. “Yonder robin looks happy enough.”
Opera dancers looked happy too, though Will knew their lives were difficult and exhausting.
“I aspire to be like that robin,” her ladyship said as the bird flitted from one branch of the maple to another. “Plain, unnoticed, cheerfully obscure in my high, leafy bower. I’ll surround myself with books, and nobody will notice me.”
At sixteen, Lady Susannah had been intimidated by London, but determined to take her rightful place among the other debutantes.
She was still determined, but determined to hide.
“Has someone tried to cage you up, my lady?” This close, Will could detect a slight redness to her eyes, a weariness. “Have the gossips been unkind?” Unkind again. The little debutantes and their mamas had torn Lady Susannah Haddonfield to shreds simply for sport, a pack of rogue bitches roaming without supervision.
He’d intervened on principle.
Lady Susannah patted Will’s hand, her fingers cool against his knuckles. “I’ve missed you, Will Dorning, missed your gallantry. I no longer cry, but I read late into the night. My eyes reflect an excess of Shakespeare, not an excess of sentiment.”
Her ladyship’s touch was extraordinary, in part for being unexpected. She wore no gloves, probably the better to turn pages, but neither did she hurry her caress to his knuckles. Her fingers rested on the back of Will’s hand, soft, gentle, breathtaking in their daring.
Animals learned one command after another, all simply to earn a pat on the back or a scratch between the shoulders. For an instant, Will understood why, understood the peace and pleasure that a simple, gentle touch could engender. Everything came right inside him for a moment, because Susannah Haddonfield had offered him a single caress.
Will turned his hand over and closed his fingers around Lady Susannah’s, the gesture pure, baffling instinct.
“You don’t cry, my lady, but do you laugh?”
“There you are, Mr. Dorning!” called a cheerful male voice.
Georgette left off chewing her stick, Lady Susannah slid her hand from Will’s, and the Duke of Quimbey’s dog yelped in greeting.
“Stay, Georgette.” Will rose and put a hand on Susannah’s shoulder. “Guard.”
Georgette excelled at guarding. Her fixed position and calm would set a good example for Quimbey’s youngster—and encourage Lady Susannah to remain on the shady bench, while Will paced off to search for his wits.
Also to greet the duke.
The pup capered about on the end of its leash, tail wagging madly. When a half-grown mastiff capered, elderly dukes were in danger of toppling to the grass, so Will took the leash from Quimbey.
“Good day, Your Grace. Comus, down.” Will signaled the dog, lowering his hand, palm toward the earth.
The dog sat, a good try for a young fellow.
“You’re close,” Will said, petting the dog once with the hand Lady Susannah hadn’t touched. “Try again. Comus, down.”
Quimbey remained quiet while Comus cocked his big head, his expression suggesting he was trying to puzzle out what a fellow had to do around here to get a bite of cheese.
“Comus, down,” Will said again, repeating the hand signal. One paw stretched forward as if the dog might be considering a lie down in the grass. “Good boy.”
Down he went.
“You praise him, Your Grace,” Will said, passing the duke a piece of cheese. “Tell him what a good, smart, clever fellow he is.”
“He’s a big, strong, energetic fellow.” Quimbey patted the dog’s head and dropped the cheese between enormous paws. “He’s always a saint for you, Dorning, while for me, he’s deaf, rambunctious, and stupid, rather like half the young men in London. I say, is that your Georgette keeping the young lady company?”
“Georgette is with Lady Susannah Haddonfield, Your Grace. A friend of long-standing.”
Quimbey was a bachelor, universally liked, and more shrewd than he let on. When he died, a nephew would inherit the dukedom, unless a young bride caught the duke’s eye and presented him with a son. Nearly a half century of debutantes had tried, and so far, Quimbey had remained charmingly impervious.
“I knew Lady Susannah’s parents,” Quimbey said. “The present earl seems a fine man. Too smart to acquire any unruly puppies.”
Comus, who had been sprawled in the grass, rolled over to expose his belly. His tongue lolled, and his tail wagged even in that undignified posture.
“Comus is a happy fellow, Your Grace, and he likes you.” Will liked the duke too, as did Georgette, and Georgette’s assessment of character was faultless.
“Let’s greet the young lady,” His Grace said, tugging gently on Comus’s leash. “Comus, heel.”
After three tries, with Will reminding the duke to stride off as if he expected the dog to come along, Comus eventually recalled this command as well.
Lady Susannah rose and curtsied to the duke, with whom she was apparently acquainted. Comus and Georgette touched noses, for they were acquainted as well.
What would touching noses with Lady Susannah be like?
“I’ll leave you gentlemen to your canine dame school,” Lady Susannah said, gathering up her bonnet and plunking it on her head a few minutes later. Her tone suggested Lady Della and the viscount would not be an improvement over present company.
“A moment, my lady.” Will repositioned the bonnet and tied the ribbons in a bow. “A pleasure to see you, Lady Susannah, and we will definitely be calling upon you.”
We, meaning Ash and Cam, who needed to work on their manners, and Casriel, who needed to acquire a wife. Will’s role would be supervisory.
Mostly.
“Good day, Your Grace. Mr. Dorning.” Her ladyship curtsied prettily, kissed Will’s cheek, and strode off.
Kissed his cheek, in public, out-of-doors, with a damned smirking duke and two dogs looking on. Then her ladyship disappeared down the path, not so much as a bush rustling in her wake.
“Down, Mr. Dorning,” His Grace said. “A handy command to know in many circumstances.”
Georgette woofed and Comus resumed trying to pull the duke off his feet. Will helped himself to a nibble of cheese and thanked God grown men were not, in most circumstances, afflicted with visibly wagging tails.
Three
Susannah wanted to run, to whoop and leap and yodel for joy.
She’d surprised The Honorable Mr. Willow Dorning, had caught him off guard, and left him smiling faintly in the shade of the maples, a duke and two dogs looking on. Will was devastatingly attractive when he smiled. She’d forgotten that about him.
When he smiled, all the affection in his nature bloomed in his gaze, and for a moment, he exuded such warmth of heart as not even the Bard could have adequately described.
“Well done,” Susannah assured herself. Will Dorning had given her flowers after all, and in public. He’d called upon her at home, he’d laced his fingers with hers, and, oh, the park was indeed a lovely place.
Not that she had designs on Mr. Dorning, of course, though he was an old and dear friend, and his brother had taken notice of Della.
And that business with Susannah’s plainest, oldest bonnet, while Quimbey had stood by, petting his dog and looking bemused.
Will Dorning had taken Susannah in hand so…so…matter-of-factly, repositioning her hat gently, tipping it back an inch to reveal her face and tying the ribbons off in a jaunty side-bow. He’d simply put her to rights, and affection for him, for a man who’d see Susannah Haddonfield¸ had inspired her kiss.
&n
bsp; Life was so lovely.
Susannah rounded a stand of lilacs past their prime, and all her joy dimmed. Viscount Effington was standing too close to Della by half, his golden male beauty a contrast to Della’s darker coloring.
Effington held his little dog wedged between them. Yorick always looked uncertain, but his expression was…alarmed, and too frightened to let it show.
Georgette never wore a worried expression, though Will Dorning didn’t fuss and coo over his dog as Effington did Yorick.
“Della, I thought you’d gone home without me,” Susannah said, affecting great good cheer. “We’ll be late for our midday meal if we tarry much longer, and I’m sure his lordship has a busy afternoon ahead. Where could Jeffers have got off to?”
Effington stepped back from Della, slowly. He was making a point of some sort, a nasty point. Susannah was reminded of the Mannering twins, who’d filled her first forays into Polite Society with gracious, public assaults. Their voices echoed in memory as gratingly as if they’d attended last night’s musicale.
“That ensemble disguises nearly all of your height, my lady!”
“How clever, to let your blue eyes and blond hair be the plain, ordinary attributes they are. Nobody else would be so daring.”
“It’s not that Lady Susannah has no conversation, you see, it’s that she hopes her silences will make her more mysterious than witty rejoinders ever could. An intriguing strategy.”
Their cruelty had been so unexpected, Susannah at first hadn’t realized she was being ridiculed. Her older sisters, Nita and Kirsten, had explained the realities to her, though they had been helpless to intervene when Lady Mannering herself was apparently encouraging the twins.
Will Dorning had intervened.
“I suppose the maid is off making eyes at some footman,” Effington said, stroking Yorick’s head. “We will doubtless find her, cap askew, waiting at the park’s entrance with a besotted smile on her face. Come, my lady. Never let it be said I kept you from your victuals.”
He set the dog down, and laced his arm through Della’s while Susannah resisted the urge to tug her bonnet forward.
Will's True Wish Page 4
