Not Quite A Gentleman

with Dr. Oliver. She couldn’t wait to see him again, and after what they’d shared, she knew he would contact her.

She had never been more wrong in her life. She’d never seen nor heard from him again.

Now, looking out the carriage window at the endless verdant hills dotted with thatched roof cottages marking yet another small village, Victoria closed her eyes and inwardly cringed at how foolish she’d been, at the idiotic expectant hope that had ruled her for weeks afterward. She had searched for him at every soiree, waited impatiently for the daily delivery of letters, jumped every time the brass door knocker sounded, announcing a caller. The truth she’d been too blind to see didn’t finally hit her until one morning at breakfast, six weeks after Dr. Oliver had stolen that kiss, when she casually brought up his name to her father. In a single sentence Father had squashed all her hopes. Dr. Oliver had returned to Cornwall the morning after visiting the town house and had no intention of returning to London.

She still vividly recalled the fever of humiliation that had scorched her. What a fool she’d been! Here she’d hinged all these romantic, heroic ideals on a man who was nothing more than a cad! A man who had kissed her senseless with no intention of ever even speaking to her again. A man who had stolen her first kiss, a kiss that to this day she’d never been able to erase from her mind, whereas he no doubt would not even recall the exchange. It was the first time in Victoria’s life she had ever been so summarily dismissed, treated so shabbily, and she had not liked it one bit. Rude, insufferable man. He may have been born a gentleman, but clearly his education and moral fiber were severely lacking, for he possessed no manners at all.

Well, by the time she left Cornwall, he would remember her. She’d been young and dazzled, and he’d clearly been experienced enough to know he was taking advantage of her naпvetй. He’d toyed with her in a way she surely would have forgiven and accepted the blame for if only she’d been able to forget him. The idea of revenge had never occurred to her until this unwanted trip at her father’s request had come up, coupled with her recent acquisition of the Ladies’ Guide. But thanks to both, she would now see to it that Dr. Oliver was forgotten. The Ladies’ Guide advised avenging such cads, then burying them in the past where they belonged, and she had every intention of doing so. She would flirt with him and kiss him as ruthlessly as he’d done to her, then abruptly depart, leaving him with memories that haunted the long, dark hours between nightfall and dawn. She’d blithely return to London and marry one of her earls, the entire Dr. Oliver episode finally behind her. Yes, it was an excellent plan.

Aunt Delia’s voice pulled her attention away from the scenery. “According to your father, Dr. Oliver is a very fine physician, an assessment I’m sure is correct.”

“Why is that?”

Her aunt’s eyes twinkled. “ ‘Twas obvious he’d have an excellent bedside manner. Your father also mentioned Dr. Oliver’s interest in scientific matters.”

Victoria barely suppressed the grimace that tugged at her lips. Most likely he enjoyed pinning the wings of insects to boards and such. And as for his profession? Humph. Just further proof that he wasn’t a true gentleman, for no true gentleman would pursue a trade.

The coach slowed to a crawl, and the coachman’s deep, booming voice rang out, “Ye can see the side view of Creston Manor, beyond those tall trees on the right, my ladies. Just need to follow this road around to the front. We’ll be arriving within the quarter hour.”

The conveyance then resumed a brisker pace, and Victoria and her aunt craned their necks to look out the window. As they moved past the trees, an impressive manor house came into view. The brick facade, faded to a delicate creamy rose, appeared to glow in the soft gilding of golden, late afternoon sunshine. Nestled amongst soaring trees and emerald lawns, Creston Manor looked at once inviting and imposing. From her advantageous side view, Victoria could see the formal gardens and stables in the rear, and a sparkling blue pond in the front that reflected both the surrounding trees and the house, the building’s austere design softened by the rippling water.

A movement near the stables caught Victoria’s attention, and she leaned forward. Two men stood near the open stable doors. One of them, a gentleman with dark hair, was dressed in riding attire. He seemed to be speaking to the other man, who was clearly a servant, as he was shirtless and held what appeared to be a hammer.

Victoria’s gaze fastened on the man’s bare back, which even from a distance she could see was broad and gleamed with a sheen of sweat. Warmth crept up her cheeks, and although she tried to force herself to look away, her suddenly stubborn gaze refused to move. But certainly only because she was scandalized. Of course. The servants at her family’s country estate would never go about their chores half naked. She couldn’t help but wonder what the man looked like from the front, given that the rear view was so very… captivating.

Aunt Delia raised her quizzing glass. “I do believe the dark-haired gentleman is Lord Sutton.”

Victoria forced her gaze back to the other man, then nodded. “Yes, I believe you are correct.”

“And the other man,” Aunt Delia said, leaning so close to the window her nose was nearly pressed against the glass, “good heavens, none of my servants look like that at all. ‘Tis enough to make one want to do nothing more than think of excuses to summon the dear shirtless boy.”

Victoria’s lips twitched at the outrageous comment. “That’s one of the things I love most about you, Aunt Delia. You speak your mind-even when your thoughts are…”

“Naughty? My dear, that is precisely when it is the most fun to express your thoughts.”

“I’m sure he dons a shirt before entering the house,” Victoria said, still trying to pry her gaze away and keep the wistful note from her voice.

“Pity. But I suppose he would.” Their carriage rounded a corner and the man was no longer visible. After they’d leaned back in their seats, Aunt Delia said, “I imagine he’s left a trail of broken hearts in his wake.”

“I imagine so,” Victoria murmured, instantly sympathizing with those women, as she knew precisely how they felt. But thanks to the Ladies’ Guide and her well-thought-out plan, she was going to see to it that her heart-and pride-no longer lay in the dirt.

Two

Today’s Modern Woman must recognize that once she asserts herself, she will face many temptations. Sometimes this temptation takes the form of a delectable gown, or a delicious confection, which, depending on her financial situation, she should perhaps resist. However, sometimes this temptation takes the form of a delectable, delicious gentleman, in which case she should never resist.

A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of

Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment

by Charles Brightmore

Nathan hammered another nail into place, banging on the small metal head with a satisfying thump.

“Pounding out your frustrations?” asked a deep voice from behind him.

Nathan tensed at his brother’s question. He then drew a deep breath and forced his shoulders to relax, wondering when, or if, the awkwardness between him and Colin would ever dissipate. After exhaling, he whacked the nail head with a final grunting stroke, then looked over his shoulder. Impeccably dressed in riding attire, immaculately groomed, and exuding the image of a perfect gentleman that Nathan had long ago given up emulating, his brother regarded him with his usual inscrutable expression.

Nathan turned and grabbed his rumpled, discarded shirt to wipe his damp forehead. The sun warmed his bare back, and he welcomed the cool, sea-scented breeze that brushed over his heated skin. “Pounding out my frustrations,” he repeated. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”

“Based on the amount of hammering I’ve heard all morning, you must be frustrated indeed.” Colin jerked his chin toward Nathan’s handiwork. “Quite the animal pen you’re building.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I arrived at the estate with quite a number of animals.”

“Would have been damned difficult not to notice, what with all the mooing, baaing, clucking, barking, meowing, quacking, oinking, and… what sort of noise does that goat make?”

“That goat has a name. It’s Petunia.”