Lord Effington neatly took Willow’s place in the semicircle that had formed around Della, his golden good looks contrasting with the darker Dornings at his side. Behind Effington, Lyle Mannering shifted from foot to foot, and even tried a little hop to see past the taller Dorning brothers.
“We’re discussing the best breed of dog to serve as a lady’s pet,” Casriel said. “Your thoughts on the subject are, of course, welcome, Effington.”
Effington studied Della, his expression pensive. The immediate company grew quiet, but Susannah realized others were also monitoring the conversation. Effington was unrelenting and vocal about his affection for dogs, so of course, his opinion would be noted.
The throb at the base of Susannah’s neck threatened to climb higher, and if it reached her temple, then the entire evening was doomed.
“Not every woman is suitably matched with a noble canine companion,” Effington observed. “Dogs are sensitive creatures, and a woman so absorbed with her own consequence that she neglects the adoration of a loyal defender—a fellow who is at her side through all the vicissitudes of life, one who asks virtually nothing of her in return—that woman is sure to be unworthy of his devotion.”
Murmuring reached Susannah over the bewilderment threatening her composure. Effington was apparently feeling peevish, and willing to vent his feelings publicly. A rotten whiff of disaster wafted on his languid condescension.
Others heard Effington’s comment, though Susannah was at a loss to decipher its entire meaning. Behind Ash Dorning, the Mannering twins were fanning themselves, their gazes hard and eager.
“Seems to me,” Ash observed, “if a fellow is truly a loyal defender, noble, handsome, and all that other twaddle, then his lady’s happiness ought to matter more to him than the occasional pat on the head or kiss on his ear.”
Casriel’s eyebrows shot up, and another chorus of murmurs rose.
“Seems to me,” Cam Dorning said, glaring at Effington, “if a man is a true devotee of the canine, then he ought to occasionally take his dogs to the park to run and enjoy themselves as dogs ought. That man should not be perpetually foisting his dear pets off on the footmen and grooms for quick trips to the mews, and he most certainly shouldn’t treat the poor beasts as if they were interchangeable fashion accessories.”
Figurative fur would be flying any moment.
“Gentlemen,” Susannah said, “your opinions are all very interesting, but you’re supposing every lady enjoys the company of dogs. I regret to inform you that assumption is in error. Perhaps we should discuss what sort of pets appeal to ladies who don’t care for canines at all?”
Casriel put a gloved hand on Cam’s shoulder and squeezed firmly. “Excellent question,” the earl said, a bit too heartily.
“Irrelevant question,” Effington countered. “If a lady has no respect for the companionship of canines, if she has no affection for the species that has been man’s loyal companion since the dawn of time, the staunch defender of his hearth and family, then I have to wonder why anybody would associate with such an unfortunate woman. Wouldn’t you agree, Lady Della?”
Five
In the silence following Effington’s languid inquiry, Susannah was certain of only one thing: his lordship was offended. He was mortally, lethally offended, and Susannah’s efforts to deflect his ire had only made matters worse. Where was Nicholas, where was anybody who might salvage a situation that had gone so wrong so quickly?
“I do love dogs,” Della said with a desperate smile. “Everybody knows of my fondness for the noble hound.”
“Your own sister professes to have no use for canines of any variety,” Effington rejoined, adjusting the lace of his cuff. “I hope you weren’t saving your supper waltz for me, my dear?”
The question had no good answer. No from Della would be an insult. Yes was an invitation for Effington to publicly reject her. In his present pique, his lordship would politely, publicly, inform Della she’d saved her waltz for nothing.
Will Dorning shouldered between Cam and Effington. “Casriel, weren’t you intent on sharing supper with Lady Della?” He passed Susannah and Della glasses of bright red punch, his manner simply friendly and curious.
“I certainly was,” Casriel said. “Then we went chasing off on the topic of noble hounds, running riot like a pack of puppies. If Effington has spoken for the lady’s waltz, then I must, of course, yield to an earlier claim.”
Effington’s regard for Della became subtly affectionate. He smiled slightly, his gaze warmed. Nothing effusive, but a relenting that allowed Susannah to breathe again.
“Lady Della must choose,” he said, bowing elaborately. “Much about a woman’s circumstances are beyond her control, but she can choose her partner for the waltz, as—happily—can we all.”
“I must accept such a prettily worded invitation,” Della said, giving Effington her hand, “and hope Lord Casriel will content himself with a dance at some other time.”