“May I take off my boot?”
Worth exchanged a look with his dog. “I work financial miracles, and you want to take off your boot. Only the one?”
“Yes,” Willow said, tugging his footwear off and setting it out of Georgette’s sight. “I tramped too far in the wrong boots, you see.”
Georgette licked her master’s hand, as if she’d clearly heard the metaphor Worth had barely noticed rustling among the undergrowth of Willow’s usual reserve.
“Then let’s get you in the right pair, Willow. Have you a monetary scheme in mind?”
“Georgette and Caesar are likely to become parents this summer,” Willow said. “That can happen, when a dog and a bitch spend time together. If he’s the right fellow for her, he can bring her into season, despite all calendars and convenience to the contrary. Quimbey saw them in the garden, and wants to give the pick of the litter to Tresham. I want my funds to have puppies too.”
The day had been harrowing from all accounts, but Willow Dorning was a stouthearted creature.
“Willow, can you speak English instead of Dog-gish? Coin of the realm does not have offspring.”
“Coin produces interest, Kettering. The hardest-working coin produces compound interest. I can continue to train the occasional aristocrat, two or three a Season, on how to be an ideal owner for their pets. It’s enjoyable work and helps me find deserving homes for some of my hounds. But I ought to be training others to be trainers, training the masters of foxhounds, the shepherds.”
Worth’s mind was attracted to numbers the way some women were attracted to shoes and bonnets, the way other men were fascinated by games of chance.
“You can train one Duke of Quimbey, or two dozen of his chief shepherds, in other words. One Earl of Hunterton, or all four of his masters of foxhounds.”
Compound interest, indeed.
“And I can explain to those fellows how to train their inferiors, perhaps over the course of several summers. The result will be I’ll have a volume of trained dogs to sell or otherwise distribute as a result of my students’ work with them. I will have a reputation throughout the realm as opposed to a slight cachet in one corner of Dorset and one clearing in Hyde Park. I will see more quickly and with my own eyes which puppies have great promise as working dogs, which are better suited to life as a pet.”
Willow leaned back, hands linked on his flat belly, his gaze on the stars coming into view above.
“I will operate the equivalent of Oxford University,” Will said, “for the people whose livelihood and dearest diversion is dependent on the canine. The dog has long been a best friend to many Englishmen, from King Charles’s spaniels, to an aging duchess’s companion, to the Yorkshire shepherd who may go days without hearing another human voice but is in constant conversation with his collie. Those dogs are my countrymen, Kettering, and I intend to take my place among them.”
Not the Duke of Dogs, as Will’s brothers referred to him, but king of an entire empire that could yield significant returns in a very few years.
Better still, nobody that Kettering knew of had had the vision to undertake such a project. England had world-renowned stables, and was exporting sheep and wool products, cheese…but why not export first-rate collies to go with the sheep?
“Willow Dorning, you have impressed me. Better still, I know of at least two dukes who will be similarly impressed, if you’re looking for investors.”
Please let him be looking for investors. Casriel, at least, ought to back this venture, Tresham and Quimbey had been casting around for something to undertake together, the earls of Westhaven and Hazelton were canny fellows open to unusual opportunities, and Hazelton’s seat was in the sheep-infested north.
Willow wiggled his toes inside a large wool sock. His feet were similar in their proportions to Jacaranda’s, something only family would know.
And Will and Worth were family.
“I must discuss this with Lady Susannah,” Willow said. “I wanted to discuss it with you first, though, for a commonsense assessment of its feasibility. I’ll undertake this project even if you tell me it’s doomed, because it’s all I know to do, Kettering. Lady Susannah might be willing to extend me some patience, but I cannot be so generous. I have promised I will not fail her.”
Jacaranda appeared in the French doors, the baby in her arms.
“My ears deceive me,” she said, strolling out onto the terrace. “I might have heard Willow discussing business. Good evening, Georgette.”
“Woof.” The dog apparently knew not to raise her voice around the baby.
“Willow, why is your boot off?” Jacaranda asked, passing her brother the baby. “I hope you are not setting this sort of example for Sycamore.”