Sycamore had been doing exactly what Will might have done at his age, exactly what Will’s instincts goaded him to do even now: protect those who couldn’t protect themselves, look out for mute beasts left to the mercy of humankind’s fickle honor.
Will settled his top hat more firmly on his head. “What you did, Sycamore, was brave, clever, and bold. I’m proud of you and your quick thinking, as well as your willingness to risk your well-being to look after an unfortunate creature in need of rescue. If you ever do anything like that again”—Ash was grinning at his boots, Cam looked bewildered—“I will bankrupt myself paying for your legal defense, and black the eyes of anybody who says a gentleman should have done differently.”
“Will can nearly afford the legal defense too,” Ash said as they set off across the street. “Our Willow has entrusted his coin to Kettering, with encouraging results.”
“Sycamore, please don’t take similar risks in the future,” Will went on, because what mattered Ash’s teasing, when Sycamore could have been arrested or mauled to death? “Bring the problem to me, and we’ll find a safer way to handle it.”
The duchess had hinted that Will ought to be looking for the missing dogs, and Will had pretended to misconstrue her innuendo—despite the nagging sense that Her Grace was right.
“I couldn’t see a safer way,” Cam said. “Poor dog was being dragged to perdition. Ash didn’t try to stop me, so he agrees with me.”
“I never said—” Ash began.
“He’s your brother, and you didn’t tie him to the saddle,” Will said. “That’s resounding agreement, Ash, and I’ll thank you not to bruit my financial status about in the streets.”
They sauntered along, tipping hats to the ladies, and Will wished for a moment that Casriel might have joined them. The earl deserved to banter with his brothers, to be proud of them, to know they could get both into and out of scrapes without moment-by-moment supervision.
A sense of wistful hope wafted through Will, because the boys would grow up, Casriel would marry, and maybe someday…
“If a man leaves his financial reports in his coat pocket,” Ash said, “where his brother, an aspiring solicitor, can find them, then that man is not very careful with his privacy, is he?”
“Will’s rich?” Cam asked.
“Now you’ve done it,” Will said. “The town crier has got hold of the news, but having two coins to rub together hardly makes me wealthy. One has dogs to feed, and coats to order from the tailor. Unlike you lot, I don’t take an allowance from Casriel and never have.”
“You live off Georgette’s affairs,” Cam said.
“Georgette does not have affairs,” Will retorted. “She makes her visits to the stud dogs of my choosing, and when the puppies are old enough, and have sufficient training—why must every conversation with you eventually turn to the topic of procreation?”
“Here it comes, the procreation and self-restraint lecture,” Ash muttered. “You have more than two coins, Willow.”
“How rich is he?” Cam asked.
Ash, thank heavens, did not name figures. “Look on the third page, Willow. Kettering is breaking records to get your finances put to rights. I shall ask him about investing a sum for me. Cam, I’m sure, would rather spend all of his allowance on wenches and wine.”
“Can’t spend it on the opera dancers,” Cam lamented. “Kettering takes a dim view, and then Casriel starts clearing his throat, and Jacaranda peers down her nose at me so disappointedly even a lusty fellow such as my handsome self finds it difficult to muster a proper—”
“Sycamore!” Both older brothers spoke at once.
Cam grinned, stopped walking, and tipped his hat. “Right. Gentlemanly discretion and all that. I’ll leave you two well-dressed old nuns to make your calls. I’m for an ice at Gunter’s.”
He strolled, off looking entirely too self-possessed and rakish for a mere boy.
“That went well,” Ash said, resuming their progress. “That went very well, in fact, but what will you do when he decides his calling is rescuing the oppressed canines of London, because that’s how brave, bold, honorable fellows occupy themselves of a drunken evening?”
Will stared at the figure on the third page of Kettering’s report, though Ash’s question conjured scenes of Cam beaten and incarcerated, like the very dogs he’d seek to rescue.
“If Cam insists on disregarding the dictates of prudence,” Will said, “I might be forced to go out dog-rescuing with him, despite the danger to life, limb, and reputation. Ash, could this total be in error?”
“No, it could not. Kettering’s people don’t make silly mistakes. They don’t even make brilliant mistakes. Kettering is shrewd, and you gave him a decent sum to start with.”
Every penny Will could spare. Still the figure was larger than he’d anticipated. Not a fortune, but…not a pittance.