“What does Ash say?” Casriel asked.
“That he can’t control Cam, so he simply keeps an eye on him. This is how young men become spoiled or worse. My Lady Heathgate, her sister-in-law Lady Fairly beside her, with the matched chestnuts.”
“Wasn’t there some scandal involving Lady Fairly?” Casriel asked, when his hat had been dutifully tipped.
“She was a vicar’s daughter taken advantage of by a scoundrel,” Will said in the same tones he’d report on a Drury Lane play seen last Tuesday. “She managed Fairly’s brothel, though she never entertained clients, and he’s since divested himself of that business. The titled ladies in the family treat her as respectable, though she and Fairly live very quietly.”
“Willow, no wonder the boys are in awe of you. Thank God our papa forbade me to buy any commissions, or Wellington would have turned you into an intelligence officer and shortened the war considerably.”
Will drew back, allowing Casriel to ride first through a gap between a stopped curricle and the walkway.
“I would never have managed in the military,” Will said. “Bad enough they kill boys who’ve barely learned to shave, but they also kill horses by the thousands.”
This was the problem with Cam’s bad behavior. Not that the youngest Dorning brother was wasting money, for an earl’s younger son was bred to waste money, and not that he was making friends in low places.
Earls’ sons did that too.
From Casriel’s perspective, the problem was that Cam sought entertainments involving harm to animals. Blood sport was supposed to be part of a young gentleman’s diversions, true, but Will had no patience for entertainment based on inflicting misery on animals.
Cam had known that from the cradle.
Will did not have friends, though he knew everybody and was well liked. He had his brothers and his dogs. Casriel could not have said which Will would choose to save, if the choice were forced upon him.
“I can send Cam back to Dorset,” Casriel said, “but we’re better off keeping him where we can supervise him.” Where Will could supervise him.
“He might be trying to get sent back to Dorset,” Will replied as the green oasis of Hyde Park came into view. “One of the Dorset housemaids had her eye on our youngest brother, and has had her hands on him too.”
“Angels deliver me,” Casriel muttered. “We don’t dare leave him in Dorset without one of us to watch over him, and yet I’m not about to turn off a housemaid simply because Cam can be lured into the butler’s pantry.”
“Younger siblings grow up more quickly than heirs and spares,” Will said. “I’ll think of something.” He tipped his hat to a flower girl and tossed her a coin.
The girl was plump, plain, and her apron was streaked with damp and dirt, but her smile was radiant as she passed Will a bouquet of violets.
“Thank you, Miss Allen,” Will said, bringing his mare to a halt. “Can you spare a posy for his lordship too? He must make himself agreeable to the ladies who are thronging the park.”
The flower girl shot Casriel a dubious look, then selected a nosegay of lily of the valley. She handed the flowers to Will, who passed them over.
“Excellent choice,” Will said. “Good day to you, Miss Allen.”
The mare walked on, while Casriel dealt with holding a batch of delicate blossoms in addition to four reins.
“What am I to do with these, Willow? Carry them between my teeth? Why does that flower girl look familiar?”
“I’ve hired her to supply flowers for the house. She rarely speaks because of a stammer, but she’s quite bright, and has the best prices. An earl’s home must be maintained according to certain standards, which of course a countess would see to.”
Oh, of course. The fate of the earldom rested on flowers Casriel probably could not afford, but stammering street vendors would have a fine Christmas. Whatever was amiss with Will, it was getting worse.
The closer they drew to the park, the more crowded the streets became, so the horses could move only at the walk. Willow deftly braided his batch of violets into the mare’s mane, where they somehow did not look ridiculous. Casriel, by contrast, felt the veriest fool riding through Mayfair, flowers in hand, and horse likely to turn up mischievous at any moment.
“The Duchess of Moreland’s two nieces,” Will said quietly. “Miss Bethan and Miss Megan Windham. Their cousin, Lady Deane, the duchess’s youngest daughter, at the ribbons.”
“How in God’s name do you keep them all straight?”
“Flowers to the elder,” Will murmured. “Miss Bethan, sitting on the outside.”