Sycamore Dorning—“what a dear, darling young man”—served the duchess two restorative brandies and had poured her a third by the time every dog was back to sitting or lying on the carpet.
“Quimbey, I won’t have it,” Her Grace said. “You will not return such a dear puppy to that dreadful Ernestine March. Her idiot of a husband will simply sell the dog again and tell his imbecile wife the dog has run off. Alexander has already been through enough of an ordeal.”
Sycamore, in a display of reticence Will probably had to see to believe, merely petted Alexander’s head.
“You are not to worry, my dear,” Quimbey said. “I hold Lord March’s vowels and will accept Alexander in payment for some of them. Comus will adjust, if need be, but I suspect Alexander has other options.”
Sycamore’s ears turned red.
“I’ll just take Alexander to the garden for a moment,” Sycamore said. “Ordeals leave a fellow with a need to stretch his legs. Yorick, come along.”
“Take Comus too,” Quimbey said. “Make sure the footmen haven’t been licked into oblivion by Hunterton’s pet.”
Quimbey took a nip of Her Grace’s brandy, which earned him a swat on the hand. Caesar exchanged a look with Georgette suggesting humans were tiresome but dear.
Some humans.
“What about Effington?” Susannah asked, tugging gently on Georgette’s ear, when she wanted instead to tug on Will’s. “He deserves to be pilloried.”
Susannah had wanted to put an end to the Effington succession, and this, as much as anything else, had apparently earned her the approval of every man, dog, and horse in the Bloomsbury stable.
Bullies understood blunt displays of authority, a lesson Susannah wished she’d learned earlier.
“Effington shall be pilloried,” Her Grace said. “No hostess will receive him, and no young lady of any means will accept his addresses. His debts will come due immediately, and he’ll either pay them, be called out, or take a repairing lease on the Continent.”
Beside Susannah, Will shifted.
“Mr. Dorning, have you something to add?” Susannah asked.
“We’ll have the sworn statements of his two henchmen,” Will said. “Even the baiters apparently had little regard for him. Effington won’t return to England, ever. I know several large dogs and a half-dozen fellows who’ll be happy to remind him what a purple parasol can do, when wielded by the right hands.”
The parasol held pride of place on the mantel, though it was missing some of its lace.
“Such a lovely shade, that parasol,” Susannah said. The same shade as Will’s eyes, when he was content or amorous. He was neither at the moment, which was the pea under the mattress of Susannah’s happiness.
“Oh, Suze! Suze, you are all right!” Della cried, dashing through the parlor door. “You saved the day, and the dogs, and, oh, I am so proud of you, and so jealous. Are you all right? Of course you’re all right. I want to hear every detail, from the beginning. Hold nothing back, and use as much colorful language as you dare.”
Della held out her arms, clearly expecting a sisterly embrace, so Susannah left Will’s side, stepped over Georgette, and hugged her sister.
Ash Dorning hovered on Della’s right, smiling indulgently. Tresham stood on Della’s left, hands behind his back.
“I’m managing,” Susannah said, hugging her sister tightly. “There isn’t much to tell. Effington was a scoundrel of the first water. Willow gathered up these good fellows to take Effington and his dognappers in hand, I assisted in wresting Effington’s weapon from him, and the dogs are fine.”
“All’s well that ends well?” Della said, sniffing and blinking.
“A volume of the sonnets suffered a noble end,” Susannah said, “but I saved Papa’s dedication page. I also have five other copies, and had memorized the ones I enjoy most. Shall you have a seat, Della?”
“I shall have a brandy. Jon, if you’d oblige?”
Jon? Well, apparently yes, Jon. For Tresham was soon passing Della a glass while Ash Dorning took the place beside Della on the settee.
Della drew the gentlemen into a discussion of the afternoon’s events, the duchess had Quimbey’s staff bring around trays of ham, buttered bread, cheddar, and—in honor of the momentous day—sliced pineapple, while Susannah resumed her place at Will’s side.
He was unsettled, as was she, but simply being beside him, feeling his warmth, breathing in synchrony with him, restored her spirits. Dogs did this, kept close company, no need for words, no need for activity. They had each other, and that was pleasure enough.
And yet Susannah could sense in Will a discontent too. She kissed his cheek as Della prattled on and on—Della was in fine form today—though Susannah wanted to tug gently on his ears, and wanted him to once again tug on hers.
Eighteen