Ash had an instinct for business—he had read law—but he lacked the cunning Cam had in abundance.
“Ash makes you a generous offer, Cam,” Will said, stowing the leash on the mantel and enduring Georgette’s but-I’ll-die-if-we-remain-indoors look. “Alas, for your finances, Ash, you’ll be too busy procuring an exact replica of the lady’s abused accessory, from your own funds.”
“My own funds?”
Ash hadn’t any funds to speak of. What little money Casriel could spare his younger siblings, they spent on drink and other Town vices.
“An exact replica,” Will said. “Not a cheap imitation. I will expect your purchase to be complete by the time Cam has drafted an apology. Away with you both, for I must change into clothing suitable for a call upon an earl’s daughter.”
Into Town attire, a silly, frilly extravagance that on a man of Will’s proportions was a significant waste of fabric. He was a frustrated sheep farmer, not some dandy on the stroll, though he was also, for the present, the Earl of Casriel’s heir.
So into his finery he would go.
And upon Lady Susannah Haddonfield, of all ladies, he would call.
*
“A big, well-dressed fellow is sauntering up our walk,” Lady Della Haddonfield announced. “He’s carrying a lovely purple parasol. The dog looks familiar.”
Though dogs occasionally accompanied their owners on social calls, men did not typically carry parasols, so Lady Susannah Haddonfield joined Della at the window.
“That’s the mastiff we met in the park,” Susannah said. “The Dorning boys were with her.” A trio of overgrown puppies, really, though the Dorning fellows were growing into the good looks for which the family was well-known.
“Effington said that mastiff was the largest dog he’d ever seen,” Della replied, nudging the drapery aside. “The viscount does adore his canines. Who can that man be? He’s taller than the two we met in the park.”
Taller and more conservatively dressed. “The earl, possibly,” Susannah said, picking up her volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets and resuming her seat. “He and Nicholas are doubtless acquainted. Please don’t stand in my light, Della.”
Della, being a younger sister, only peered more closely over Susannah’s shoulder. “You’re poring over the sonnets again. Don’t you have them all memorized by now?”
The genteel murmur of the butler admitting a visitor drifted up the stairs, along with a curious clicking sound, and then…
“That was a woof,” Susannah said. “From inside this house.”
“She seemed a friendly enough dog,” Della replied, taking a seat on the sofa. Della was the Haddonfield changeling, small and dark compared to her tall, blond siblings, and she made a pretty picture on the red velvet sofa, her green skirts arranged about her.
“She’s an ill-mannered canine,” Susannah said, “if my parasol’s fate is any indication.”
Though the dog was a fair judge of character. Lord Effington fawned over all dogs and occasionally over Della, but Susannah found him tedious. The Dornings’ mastiff had lifted her leg upon Lord Effington’s knee, and Susannah’s parasol had been sacrificed in defense of his lordship’s tailoring.
Barrisford tapped on the open door. One never heard Barrisford coming or going, and he seemed to be everywhere in the household at once.
“My ladies, a gentleman has come to call and claims acquaintance with the family.”
The butler passed Susannah a card, plain black ink on cream stock, though Della snatched it away before Susannah could read the print.
“Shall I say you ladyships are not at home?” Barrisford asked.
“We’re at home,” Della said, just as Susannah murmured, “That will suit, Barrisford.”
She was coming up on the seventy-third sonnet, her favorite.
“We can receive him together,” Della said. “If Nicholas knows the Earl of Casriel, he very likely knows the spares, and Effington fancied that dog most rapturously.”
“Effington fancies all dogs.” The viscount fancied himself most of all. “You’ll give me no peace if I turn our caller away, so show him up, Barrisford, and send along the requisite tray.”
“I’ve never drunk so much tea in all my life as I have this spring,” Della said. “No wonder people waltz until all hours and stay up half the night gossiping.”
Gossiping, when they might instead be reading. Was any trial on earth more tedious than a London Season?
“Mr. Will Dorning, and Georgette,” Barrisford said a moment later. He stepped aside from the parlor door to reveal a large gentleman and an equally outsized dog. Susannah hadn’t taken much note of the dog in the park, for she’d been too busy trying not to laugh at Effington. The viscount prided himself on his love of canines, though he was apparently fonder of his riding breeches, for he’d smacked the dog more than once with Susannah’s abused parasol.