Will's True Wish

by Grace Burrowes

  He kissed her. A quick little smack of lips upon lips that danced through Susannah like the leafy shadows danced with the breeze.

  “A simple ‘please be quiet’ would have sufficed, Mr. Dorning.”

  “But it wouldn’t make you smile, and you are apparently not one to take offense at simple kisses, so you might endure a few more from me. I don’t like Effington, I don’t respect him, and I don’t trust him, though none of that matters.”

  Kisses mattered. Susannah was coming to believe they could matter a lot. “Then what is the difficulty? You teach me what dogs like, I’ll do that, and Effington will see he’s brought me to heel, so to speak.”

  “Is that image supposed to inspire my cooperation, my lady?”

  Will Dorning would be a complicated dog to train. He was always thinking, and he missed little.

  “You have the knack of disagreeing with a lady without arguing with her,” Susannah said. “If more men cultivated this habit, social conversation might become interesting.”

  “Or the race might die out. Here’s the problem: one can’t fool a dog. If you don’t like them, they know it. If you’re frightened of them, if you disdain them, if you do like them, they know. Cats are the same, as are horses. I haven’t met an animal who can be regularly fooled by somebody they’ve spent any time around.”

  “You’re saying animals are smarter than we are?” Smarter than Susannah, in any case. She’d thought the Mannering sisters were her friends. She’d thought Edward Nash, former neighbor in Haddondale, would make a biddable husband.

  She’d been howlingly wrong about Mr. Nash and the Mannerings, both.

  “I’m saying animals aren’t fooled by appearances,” Will replied. “Maybe they can smell the fear and anger and love on us, maybe they see our actions more clearly for being unable to decipher our conversations. In any case, you can’t fake a love of dogs.”

  Defeated by dogs? First by the petty intrigues of cruel girls, then the avarice of a greedy country squire, and now defeated by the honesty of dogs?

  “I can go home to Kent,” Susannah said, though abandoning Della was eighteen varieties of cowardly and wrong. “I can go home to Kent, and start on all the comedies, again. As You Like It is an excellent bellwether of the Bard’s lighter charms. I haven’t made a study of the comedies for nearly two years.”

  Had Will moved nearer? The urge to lean on him had certainly become more acute. He brushed a lock of Susannah’s hair over her shoulder.

  “You don’t want to return to Kent, my lady. Or perhaps you simply can’t stand to leave your sister to fend for herself.”

  Maybe, like an attentive hound, Will Dorning could discern truth beneath human babble.

  “I have two older sisters in Kent, both recently spoken for by worthy men,” Susannah said. “Both quite happy with their choices. I, on the other hand, attached the interest of a local squire. I should have consulted his dogs, perhaps, because Squire Nash was interested in my settlements, not me. I found this out rather later than I wish I had.”

  Three times later than Susannah wished she had: once in the saddle room, once in Edward’s parlor, and once in his library, though how a room without a single copy of the Shakespeare sonnets could aspire to the name library defied explanation.

  Susannah should have heeded that evidence.

  “I’m sorry,” Will said. “The man was an idiot and your brothers should not have let him near you.”

  “You’re a brother. Brothers do the best they can, Mr. Dorning. So do sisters. Will you help me?”

  For Susannah did not want to return to Kent. Wedded bliss for a sister was a fine, fine objective, in theory. Having one’s face rubbed in that objective happily achieved twice over was purgatory.

  “You’d tuck tail and scurry back to Kent?”

  “I’d leave the field so Della’s future is not jeopardized. The Bard and I have become excellent friends.”

  “Shakespeare is dead, Susannah.”

  “That is often a point in his favor, Willow Dorning.”

  This time, he kissed her knuckles, which helped a little, though he didn’t try to keep hold of her hand.

  “I can’t make you like dogs,” he said, “but there’s hope, and I can work with that hope. You spend a great deal of time with books, and dogs like the smell of books, especially old books. That, among other factors, is in your favor.”

  “How refreshing, to have something in my favor besides a title and some settlements.” Susannah ought not to have said that, for Will’s smile was pained, and she would not for the world see him hurt.

  “You’re sensible, my lady. Also logical, not given to dramatic displays, you’re persistent and orderly. You have many fine qualities that domestic animals appreciate.”

  Will was again offering backhanded compliments, though he couldn’t know that. “To be found agreeable by the animals for the very qualities people find tiresome in me is a bit lowering, Mr. Dorning.”

  He rose, right when Susannah might have again reached for his hand.

  Willow Dorning had excellent instincts.

  “You are not tiresome, my lady, but Polite Society certainly can be. I don’t expect everybody to like dogs, cats, horses, or nightingales, but you have an advantage many others don’t, and for that reason I expect you will achieve your goal.”

  Susannah rose too. They’d been closeted for too long, and not nearly long enough. “What is my advantage, Mr. Dorning? I can’t see that an affinity for Shakespeare will gain me much notice among the canines.”

  Among anybody who counted. The occasional quote was entirely acceptable, but not entire memorized plays.

  “The advantage you have, my lady, is that the dogs like you. They are discerning, and while tolerant of many, their affections are reserved for a few. If my own Georgette finds your company agreeable, then you may not be a dog lover, but the dogs apparently love you.”

  Susannah didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that pronouncement, so instead, she kissed Willow Dorning on the cheek—another simple, enjoyable gesture of affection between friends—and took his arm.

  “We’re probably in time for the supper waltz, Mr. Dorning. You may use that exercise in tedium to begin my instruction. I can think of no better use for time spent on the dance floor.”

  Six

  “I come bearing excuses,” Ash Dorning said, flourishing a bow before Della. “Also an invitation. Casriel had to take Sycamore home. Something on the buffet didn’t agree with Cam, and thus I was deputed to tend to your good-night waltz—if you’ll have me?”

  Della wished Susannah hadn’t stood up with the Duke of Quimbey, because Susannah enjoyed a puzzle, which this invitation assuredly was. Why hadn’t Casriel simply sent Sycamore home in Ash’s company? Or in Willow’s?

  “You’re wondering if Casriel abandoned you because of Effington’s little drama earlier,” Mr. Dorning said, setting aside the glass of punch Della had been holding for the last half hour. “You’re thinking the innocuous younger brother has been sent to handle the waltzing, so as to avoid antagonizing your guard dog.”

  “Lord Effington is not my guard dog, Mr. Dorning.” Not yet, though Della was supposed to consider herself fortunate to have his lordship’s notice.

  “Effington wants to be your loyal hound, but he’s off to his club where the play is more interesting than in Lady Holderby’s card room. I’m here. Will you dance with me?”

  Not even Della’s older brothers talked to her like this, half dare, half in confidence. “Effington gambles?”

  Dark lashes lowered over intriguing violet eyes. “We all gamble, my dear. I’m betting my heart this very moment.”

  “You are a flirt,” Della said, placing her hand over his. “I like flirts, generally, though I’m not much good at flirting, myself.”

  “An excellent strategy. Be yourself. You’ll confound the perishing lot of idiots who have nothing better to do than intrigue with each other all night long.”

  He esco
rted Della onto the dance floor and bowed correctly. Della curtsied, weary to her bones from a long evening of being witty, charming, and utterly false.

  “I prefer the good-night waltz,” Mr. Dorning said as the introduction began. “I like the slower tempo, the less crowded dance floor. If I weren’t charged with keeping Sycamore out of trouble, I’d be home studying the calculus, truth be told.”

  Most men asked Della what her favorite dance was, and she was supposed to reply that tonight whichever dance that gentleman had stood up for was her favorite, though “she enjoyed them all.”

  She did not enjoy them all, but she was enjoying this one. “You’re a scholar?”

  Mr. Dorning had the look of the scholar. His gaze bore a calm equanimity that put Della in mind of settled horses and bachelor uncles. He smelled a good deal better than a horse even this late in the evening.

  “I’m a younger son,” he said, moving off with the music. “I hope to find a place in my brother-in-law’s offices as a man of business. I like numbers, which is not the same thing as liking money, though money in its place is fine too. For now I’m pretending to be sociable in aid of setting an example for Sycamore.”

  Ash Dorning led beautifully. Considering that he was tall and Della petite, this was an enormous pleasure, for she spent most balls being hauled about like a sack of laundry.

  “Susannah sets an example for me, though I wish she wouldn’t,” Della said. “She’s fixed on marrying me off so she can retire to spinsterhood in the arms of Mr. Shakespeare or Mr. Pope or Mr. Donne.”

  “A woman of varied appetites. What about you? What is your objective?”

  Della had several objectives, at least one of which she didn’t share with even her closest sister. “I was mistaken, Mr. Dorning. Your flirtation needs work. What sort of question is that?”

  “An honest one,” he said, twirling her under his arm. “Are you looking for ten thousand pounds a year and a few thousand acres in the Midlands?”

  No, Della was not. What she sought was at once easier and harder to find than that. “Is that your objective, Mr. Dorning?”

  “Not particularly. I see how Casriel labors endlessly to keep up with changing agricultural science, changing laws, changing expectations from the tenants. I like fresh air and a hearty gallop as much as the next man, but give me a ledger or a good book, and I’m content.”

  How easy for a man to state his priorities and saunter along in life, happily accepted by others on his own terms.

  “I am a legitimate by-blow, Mr. Dorning,” Della said softly. She wasn’t daft. “My options are limited as a result. I must take no risks, must never laugh too loudly, never grimace too publicly. Ten thousand a year and an estate in the Midlands would be heaven.”

  Della hadn’t risked this admission with any other man, though she knew there was speculation regarding her lamentably un-Haddonfield height and coloring. Mr. Ash Dorning was in a position to pass along Della’s situation to the earl, though, and to save Casriel wasted courting.

  “One of my brothers is in the same predicament,” he said. “At least one, but he isn’t half so pretty as you. He’s not as quick as you are either, poor lad.”

  They twirled and dipped and turned along for another few bars, while Della dealt with a sense of reality tipping beneath her feet. She was more tired than she knew, and had probably drunk too much wine, the overly sweet punch being an affront to sound digestion.

  “I ought not to have told you that,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m tired, and yet I can’t be seen going home early. Not tonight.”

  Mr. Dorning guided her an inch closer. Nobody watching would have noticed, but Della felt the firming of his hand at her back.

  “You may trust my discretion, my lady, and I’m not just saying that. Will and Casriel would beat me silly for violating a lady’s confidences, and well they should. I can use a friend in these shark-infested waters, somebody who won’t be horrified if I prose on about profit and risk. Shall we be friends?”

  “I’m not offended by a discussion of profit and risk, Mr. Dorning.” Was he implying something else?

  “I’m offended when I see Effington posturing and sneering, dripping innuendo and sarcasm into the punch bowl. Cam’s instincts were on the mark in that regard.”

  Della had forgotten what the company of an honest gentleman felt like, she’d spent so much time lately around the polite variety.

  “Lord Effington is protective. You mustn’t goad him.”

  “Where is his protectiveness now?”

  Excellent question. “His lordship and I are to walk in the park tomorrow afternoon, so stop goading me, Mr. Dorning.”

  The music’s final refrain was softer, slower, appropriate to a good-night waltz. Mr. Dorning twirled Della one final time, so she could sink into a curtsy, holding his outstretched hand. She wanted to keep right on going, to settle onto the floor in an exhausted heap, for she’d made no progress tonight with any of her objectives.

  Mr. Dorning drew her gracefully to her feet. “I’m not goading you. If we’re friends, we’ll be honest with each other. I honestly do not like your viscount.”

  Said without malice, also without a smile. “He’s not my viscount,” Della said, placing her fingers over Mr. Dorning’s proffered hand.

  Right now, she did not much like Viscount Effington either. Della kept that to herself as well.

  * * *

  “That is not a dog, that is a mastodon,” Lady Susannah said, stopping short four yards from Will and Samson.

  Georgette gnawed on a stick over in the shade of the maples, and on the far side of the lilac border, children yelled about a kite stuck in the trees. Lady Susannah had worn a lovely periwinkle walking dress for this outing and apparently left her parasol at home.

  “His name is Samson,” Will said, stroking a gloved hand over the dog’s head. “He’s shy and reserved, but well mannered.” Much like present company. Samson needed to learn to make friends too, also like present company.

  “He is to be my teacher?” Lady Susannah asked, coming not one step closer.

  Will would be her teacher, because he was an idiot. He’d already stolen too many kisses from her ladyship, though she seemed to enjoy his thievery.

  “You and Samson will learn together. I’ve only had him for a few months, but he’s ready to enlarge his social circle. Come make his acquaintance.”

  “He’s quite sizable, Mr. Dorning. I suppose he has all of his teeth?”

  Samson was studying Susannah, women being something of a novelty for him. He seldom came into the house during daylight hours, now that the weather was moderate, and thus spent most of his time with the grooms in the mews, with Will, or napping in the garden.

  “His nickname is Sam,” Will said. “You must not smile at him.” Not that her ladyship had been on the verge of any such display.

  “He’ll pounce on me and lick me to perdition?”

  “He’ll think you’re showing him your teeth, and he’s easily unnerved by aggressive displays.”

  Throughout the exchange, Samson had been sitting calmly at Will’s feet, which was a testament to the dog’s steady nerves.

  “I’m unnerved by aggressive displays too,” Lady Susannah said, taking a few steps closer. “Oddly enough, those do tend to be accompanied by bright, toothy smiles. Good day, Samson.”

  The dog’s ears twitched, for he knew his name.

  “Hold out your hand,” Will said, “but remain relaxed, and look at me, not the dog.”

  Her ladyship complied, more easily than Casriel’s head groom would have. Some women had an innate sense of how to avoid confrontation, and that served them well with powerful, nervous animals.

  “He’s breathing on my glove,” Lady Susannah said, studying Will’s lapel. “Exactly like a presuming gentleman. That pansy is the same color as your eyes, Mr. Dorning.”

  While Lady Susannah’s eyes were the same shade as… Some cats had eyes that blue, that steady and noticing.
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  “When you’re out late dancing, you can’t be reading by candlelight,” Will said. “Your eyes aren’t as tired this morning.”

  “The rest of me is tired enough. Do you think those children will ever rescue their kite, and do you suppose Samson is done sniffing at my glove?”

  Yes, Samson had sniffed her ladyship’s glove to his satisfaction, while Will wanted to list the colors of blue that matched Lady Susannah’s eyes.

  “You can pet him, a pat on the head, a tug on his ear, nothing effusive. Then we’re taking a walk. Georgette, come.”

  Georgette gave up her stick and ambled over, while Lady Susannah offered Samson the minimal overtures necessary to establish friendly relations.

  “If this dog decides to go bounding off, Mr. Dorning, I will either drop the leash or be yanked off my feet.”

  “Dropping the leash is the wiser alternative in many situations, my lady. Today, you’ll have Georgette, and I’ll take Samson.”

  They kept to the less traveled trails, but Hyde Park was popular even on a quiet morning, and so inevitably, they crossed paths with other people walking their dogs.

  “I thought dogs always had to sniff each other, and growl and paw,” Lady Susannah said. “Georgette and Samson barely notice the other dogs as long as the other dogs are well behaved.”

  While Will could not stop noticing Susannah. She and Georgette made an adorable picture, a fetching pair of ladies out taking the air.

  “Georgette and Samson will react to overt threats,” Will said, “but they’ll notice first how we react. If you and I are not upset by the approach of another dog, then neither will Georgette and Samson be.”

  They were walking in a large circle, and the hour was such that the gentlemen on horseback had retired to their breakfasts, while the governesses with children were not yet out in force. The air bore the scent of greenery, and that alone soothed Will’s nerves.