“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.