The heat alone could kill a man there, and the calculus wasn’t of much use against tigers.
“I didn’t antagonize Mannering,” Cam said, turning his horse to the left. “I contradicted him. Mannering was muttering about Lady Della being a trial to her family, and I took exception to that.”
“Lady Della is not a trial to her family,” Ash said. “What could Mannering have been about? He’s not only harmless and decorative, but also usually benign.” Of late, Mannering had also been a very poor card player, though he could afford to be.
“My point exactly, as I’ve already explained to Willow, who, in a rare and dazzling show of fraternal common sense, has agreed with me. What does it mean to be a gentleman, after all, if a woman you know, a woman to whom you’ve made your bow, can be maligned in the men’s retiring room, as Mannering was maligning Lady Della, while all the other fellows do nothing but stand around waving their—that’s the same dog.”
Such was the labyrinth of Mayfair’s streets that the man with the disobliging mastiff was emerging from the mouth of an alley.
The dog was now bleeding from a gash to its head.
“I don’t like this, Ash. You beat a great beast of a dog like that, and the dog won’t like it either.”
“We’re not Will, and that’s not our dog. We’re supposed to pay a call on Jacaranda and Kettering, then I’d like to drop in on the Haddonfield sisters. Sycamore, what the hell are you doing?”
Cam was already off his horse and passing Ash the reins.
“There are two rewards,” Cam said, shoving his gold watch at Ash, but keeping his riding crop. “Two rewards for missing dogs, both great brutes. That man is not the dog’s owner, and whatever is afoot, somebody will get hurt much worse if it’s allowed to continue. Do you have any cheese?”
Ash fished in his pocket and passed over two misshapen, linty lumps. “For God’s sake, be careful and do not bring that damned dog home unless you want Casriel to send you back to Dorset at the cart’s tail.”
“My regards to the ladies,” Cam said as the dog was dragged across the street thirty yards ahead. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Right,” Ash said as Cam fell in step with the throng of people bustling about in the middle of a Mayfair day. “You’re impulsive, temperamental, on your own, without much coin, and pursuing a man who beats dogs—oh, and you’re in pursuit of a large, hostile canine in a foul mood too. Why should I worry?”
Ash turned his horse around, Cam’s gelding coming along docilely. Before paying any calls, he’d have to drop the horse off, and hope neither Will nor Casriel was around to notice.
Two rewards would be enough to send the last pretention to sense Sycamore Dorning possessed clear to France.
*
As You Like It weighed down Susannah’s reticule, an awkward anchor that bumped against her leg as she and Georgette strode along. She’d carried the book with her for most of the last week, never quite finding time to finish the play.
Walking with a dog was different from mincing about by oneself. Georgette turned heads, drawing notice with her sheer size, but she also gave off an air of happy dignity, of being a lady about her business with no time to tarry over polite chitchat.
Susannah approved of that approach to life, and walked beside the dog, in charity with the day. Then too, Willow Dorning made a handsome picture with Samson, who was an all-black, shaggy mastiff-mongrel with an enormous head and substantial paws. His coat was longer than Georgette’s, and he took greater notice of his surroundings.
Which was to say, he lifted his leg frequently and sniffed the ground, the bushes, and himself at every opportunity. He fascinated Susannah, and intimidated her a little.
Samson was larger than Georgette, which should not have been possible, but Will Dorning controlled the dog easily. Or maybe he didn’t control the dog, but used some other means of conforming the dog’s behaviors to the owner’s desires.
“Let’s review a few commands,” Will said when they’d made their usual circuit of the path. “Did you bring your cheese?”
This business of conversing with the dogs by means of rewards and affection sat awkwardly with Susannah. Some people explained matters to a pet with stout blows and scathing set-downs. While Susannah abhorred such behaviors, she did not relish the moment when she half tossed, half dropped a morsel of food in the vicinity of Samson’s jaws.
Will set his hat on the only bench in the clearing as Georgette settled on her haunches and rested her weight against Susannah’s side. The dog leaned casually, as if Susannah were as solid and dependable as a cast-iron hitching post.
“Is she tired?” Susannah asked, stroking a palm over Georgette’s head. Georgette was hard not to pet, for her height put her head and shoulders in the same vicinity as Susannah’s hand.