Oh, Della. Oh, no.
“God rot your stubbornness!” Effington bellowed as the horse came to a quivering standstill. “Take the damned alleys then, but get me to Bloomsbury or it’s the knacker’s yard for you.”
Bloomsbury, where Sycamore had last seen the dognappers.
Find the dogs, Will had said. Find the dogs, or risk injury to multiple reputations, and injury or worse to several beloved pets. Susannah tucked the parasol under her arm and stole after the viscount and his fractious horse.
*
“Mr. Dorning!” Lady Della beamed at Will across the parlor as if he’d brought news of Wellington’s victory at Waterloo. “I was expecting Lord Effington.”
While Will had expected Susannah to greet him. “You don’t seem disappointed, my lady.”
“Your brother Ash was here not fifteen minutes ago. He has a very cheering effect on a lady’s disposition. Disappointment is beyond me, though I’m to simper and sigh and blush when Effington tenders his suit.”
Georgette sighed and sat at Will’s feet.
“Then Lady Susannah has acquainted you with my suspicions regarding your—regarding Lord Effington?”
And where was Susannah? The last time Will had fallen prey to this nameless, pulsing dread, he’d come upon a missive from Jacaranda, informing her brothers she’d gone into service, where—according to her note of farewell—being a drudge for an ungrateful household would at least earn her some coin and a half day off.
Will had not seen his sister again for months afterward.
Lady Della went to the window which looked out across the back garden. High walls separated the earl’s property from those on either side, but from a second-floor vantage point, Will could see a milkmaid coming up the alley separating the garden from the mews.
“Susannah had a blunt talk with me at breakfast,” Lady Della said. “I have been a very great fool, but I had my reasons for coming to London, Mr. Dorning. We’ll resolve the situation with Effington, and then I’ll return to the countryside. I hope you and Susannah will invite me for frequent visits at times when your brother Ash is likely to call.”
The midday light revealed fatigue about her ladyship’s eyes, but determination about her mouth. Will suspected he knew why.
“Quimbey asked me to have a word with Tresham,” Will said. “We can discuss that topic later, my lady, but right now, I feel a pressing urgency to speak with Lady Susannah. Might you ask her to join us?”
Please.
“Susannah isn’t here, Mr. Dorning. She popped out to Hanford’s hoping to have a book rebound, but she knew you were coming, and said she’d be right back. Through the alleys, it’s only a few streets over.”
“She took a footman, I trust?” Three footmen would have been better, or Georgette.
“Susannah didn’t want to miss your call, Mr. Dorning, so she left without taking Jeffers with her. Jeffers is not exactly fleet of foot.”
The dread gnawing at Will’s belly grew claws to go with its teeth. Dognappers prowled Mayfair’s alleys, Effington’s proposal was about to meet with a less-than-enthusiastic response, Sycamore had gone off hunting for Alexander again, and Will needed to know Susannah was safe.
“Don’t feel compelled to sit here with me swilling tea and getting crumbs on the carpet,” Lady Della said. “Effington is late, though he’s been none too reliable in the past. If he appears, I’ll keep the door open, and ensure Barrisford alerts my brother and sister-in-law to the identity of my caller.”
“Don’t leave the house with Effington,” Will said. “Plead sore feet, a megrim, female indisposition, anything, but don’t let him take you from the safety of your brother’s home.”
Will kissed Lady Della’s forehead, and with Georgette at his heels, ran for the door.
The milkmaid, fortunately, had stopped outside the stable to flirt with the Haddonfield groom, and Will quickly discovered that, yes, Lady Susannah had gone haring off alone, right after the toff on the cranky gelding had raised such a ruckus closer to the street.
The groom didn’t speak as if he’d been raised in London, but rather, had Kent in his vowels and intonation, suggesting he was staff who traveled with the family. The horse had been tired and troublesome—“truu-blesome”—but the gent whackin’ and whalin’ on the beast hadn’t helped.
Della had said Effington was late to call on her. Effington was a toff, and he’d be stupid enough to beat a tired horse in expectation of making it more obedient.
Worse and worse. “Can you describe the gentleman?” Will asked.
“Blond, not overly big, fancy gold waistcoat, and lots of lace,” the groom said. “Told the beast to get him to Bloomsbury. Half Mayfair would have heard the row.”