Page 74 of Miss Determined
“You say that as if you’d like him to be present, while the rest of us… He’s family, and he generally means well. Yes, I know: He would say the same of me. Are you thinking of moving your finances into his capable hands?”
“Some investments, yes, if he’ll take them on, but for day-to-day business, I was hoping your brother Ash would lend a hand.”
Ash Dorning, married to Lady Della, was as good-looking as Sycamore and possessed of the famous Dorning eyes, but he was a more subdued fellow. He and Sycamore were surprisingly close, given the difference in their personalities. But then, all the Dornings were close in a way Trevor could sense without exactly understanding.
They communicated with glances and elbows to the ribs, made humor out of the most unlikely topics, and had thirty-second arguments that nonetheless made Trevor fear for the king’s peace.
“Ash handles the club’s business,” Sycamore said. “He’s responsible for Valerian’s publishing contracts, Casriel’s estate finances, Oak’s commissions… Anything he turns his hand to is soon better organized, more precisely worded, and more thoroughly accounted for. He and Della do like to spend their winters in sunnier climes, though. Kettering steps in then, if a matter becomes urgent. Ash does the same when Kettering rusticates.”
Trevor had spent plenty of winters in sunnier climes. He wanted to spend the coming winter snuggled up with Amaryllis in the snowy wonderlands of Berkshire.
“You’re sure the DeWitts are coming?” he asked.
“You doubt the word of a Dorning?”
“I doubt your infallibility, certainly. I also doubt my luck when it comes to courting Amaryllis. We got off on a splendid foot, but she takes a dim view of dissembling.”
“Lying, you mean. About your title, your standing, your expectations, your name?”
“But not about my devotion. She hasn’t sent my flowers back.”
“Mrs. DeWitt probably hid the card before Amaryllis saw it.”
Trevor shoved Sycamore’s shoulder. The horse took a step sideways, but Sycamore’s seat remained secure.
“The problem,” Trevor said, “is that Amaryllis thinks I don’t need her. Everybody needs her, and she’s comfortable in that role. She’s occasionally out of patience, often bored, and growing exhausted, but she will never shirk her duty, and I am not a duty for her, so she doesn’t know what to do with me.” Hours spent tossing and turning though the din that passed for a London night, and Trevor had finally landed on a sensible theory.
“Love has made you philosophical, my lord.”
“Love has made me determined.”
“Or daft. Might Amaryllis think you need her money?”
“You have blundered intoeven a blind hogterritory, or perhaps you are purloining Jeanette’s insights. I will give the possibility some thought.”
A lot of thought.
“Doyou need Miss DeWitt’s money?” Sycamore asked. “And before you put up your fives, know that I inquire because I might be in a position to help, if you need a loan, say, for that beer business. The Dornings are in a position to help. Hawthorne’s herbals and whatnot are selling faster than new hats, Valerian’s little stories are the sine qua non of every nursery bookshelf, Willow can charge a king’s ransom for training the aristocracy’s mutts, and Oak has more commissions—ouch. No more pugilism, please. Jeanette grows testy if I don’t show up where I’m expected, and sorting you out would take more than a moment.”
“Is this what youdo?” Trevor asked, bringing Jacques to a halt. “Lend each other money, advise on courtships, exchange insults, and meddle? Is that how the Dornings go on?”
“Yes,” Sycamore said, rubbing his shoulder. “That is precisely how we go on. ‘For better or for worse’ isn’t just for the mama and the papa. Goes for the whole family, but you have no way of knowing that, given that you were saddled with a titled ninnyhammer for a father. All you had when he cocked up his toes was Jeanette, and then I stole her away from you. You will allow a fellow to offer reparations, because I have no intention of parting from her. I was and am in the grip of true love, for which we must allmake allowances.”
Sycamore urged his horse into a canter, and Trevor was left to ponder whether he’d just been scolded, apologized to, hugged, or spanked. Maybe all of the foregoing, because that, too, was how the Dornings went on.
He cued Jacques into a brisk trot, the gateposts of Sycamore’s Richmond estate having come into view. More to the point, the Dorning traveling coach was turning through those gateposts, meaning Trevor would soon once again be in the company of his beloved.
“They aren’t even subtle, are they?” Lissa asked, slipping her arm through Trevor’s. “One would think a game of hide-and-seek was in progress, so quickly did the Dornings disappear after tea.”
“’Strolling the gardens to admire the view of the river,’” Trevor said, resting his hand on Lissa’s forearm. “What they lack in subtlety, they make up for in the agreeableness of their schemes. Jacques has missed you.”
The Dornings en masse must have been strolling the gardens at Kew, because as Lissa surveyed the expanse of tulips, irises, and greening beds at the foot of the terrace steps, she saw not a single Dorning.
“Jacques has missed me?”
Trevor smiled down at her, and oh, how she’d missed that smile. Friendly, a little mischievous,personal.
“Missed you terribly. He has paced his stall by the hour, wishing we could call on you, sent up little horsey prayers for your wellbeing, and counted the hours until he could trot himself out here to this family gathering.”
