*
Susannah had on occasion studied her facial features in a mirror. They were adequate for their assigned tasks. Her eyes were blue, evenly spaced, where eyes were supposed to be. Nose in the middle, a fine place for a nose, even if that nose was a trifle more prominent than strictly necessary. Chin also in the middle, also a shade more pronounced than a lady’s chin ought to be.
Mouth between nose and chin in the expected location, and of the expected size and particulars.
But her ears? Her ears? Her ears had been content to remain unnoticed for her entire life. They were simply ears, doing what ears did…until Will Dorning had grasped them gently and firmly, and…stroked them.
Susannah’s ears apparently had a mysterious connection to her heart, which beat slowly and heavily against her ribs. Her ears also affected her body temperature, for she was abruptly warm all over. Her ears could control her intellect, which was having difficulty holding on to coherent thoughts.
Maybe that explained why she’d kept her hands around Will Dorning’s wrists. Without anchoring herself to him, Susannah might have floated off on the moon shadows when she needed, for the first time in her life, to enlist a man’s aid.
“I am at your service, my lady.” Will sat back on his heels and dropped his hands from Susannah’s shoulders. “Though I cannot imagine any great difficulty has found you. You’re a surpassingly sensible woman.”
He’d meant it as a compliment, the daft man. Sensible women became sensible spinsters, which Susannah had only recently settled on as an ideal fate.
“I am a determined woman. Will you sit with me for a moment, Mr. Dorning?”
He shifted and was beside her, just like that. No careful choosing of his spot, no ensuring a foot of space remained between them.
Susannah resisted the urge to put her head on his shoulder. “Do you know the play As You Like It, Mr. Dorning?”
“Of course. A lot of running about in the forest, silliness, and speechifying about the meaning of life. Death, for once, plays little part in the entertainment.”
Reality played little part in the entertainment. “I was reading As You Like It in the park this morning, natural sunlight being the best for reading, and it occurred to me: In what forest is the sun always shining? Orlando and Rosalind go cavorting and flirting and carrying on in the depths of an enormous forest, and all is bright days and soft air. In what forest does the cold or damp never make an appearance? In what forest does the sun shine relentlessly?”
“Do you liken the comedic forest to Mayfair ballrooms?” Will asked. “False illumination, false and flowery sentiments, pretty music and petty conceits, while outside the windows, the poor gather to gape at the spectacle?”
That very thought had held Susannah’s attention until she’d become oblivious to her surroundings.
“If I put that analogy into a letter,” she said, “and send it off to Professor Gillingham at Oxford, I’ll see my fanciful notion expanded into a learned article in the next quarterly publication of the Bodleian Crier, which injustice has nothing to say to anything. I’m having trouble asking directly for your assistance, Mr. Dorning, and wandering off into my own preferred forest instead.”
Susannah hadn’t had to ask for Will Dorning’s help the first time. She’d been so distraught that, simply by sitting beside her on a garden bench and proffering his handkerchief, he’d inspired her to a teary recitation of all the ills endured by one rather plain girl facing a rather boring come-out.
Petty tragedies for that girl, though, until Will Dorning had stepped in. Perhaps he could step in again.
“How may I be of service, my lady?”
Thank you. “I have offended Viscount Effington,” Susannah said, tugging off her long evening gloves. “I made a comment in your absence, about some ladies having no liking for dogs, and he took that to mean I have no liking for dogs, which is true enough. He will hold my dislike for dogs against Della, whose fortunes will be decided on Effington’s whim, whether he offers for her or not.”
“His lordship does seem to command the notice of many gossips,” Will said. “I’ve warned my brothers not to tangle with him, which was ill-advised on my part.”
“Sycamore will now take his lordship into dislike?” Younger siblings engendered an odd blend of affection, protectiveness, and exasperation known only to older siblings, something Susannah shared with Will Dorning.
“Sycamore will make it his mission in life to torment Effington,” Mr. Dorning said, “though I don’t think the boy is up to his lordship’s weight in nastiness.”
When had Susannah taken Will Dorning’s hand? Or had he taken hers? In any case, the contact was comforting.