Jacquie D’Alessandro - Not Quite A Gentleman

Moisture warmed Victoria’s eyes and she pulled her aunt into a snug embrace. “Dear Aunt Delia. I’m delighted for you both.” Pulling back, she asked, “Have you decided upon a date?”

“Yes. One month from today. Here, in Rutledge’s parish.”

“But that’s an enormous amount of traveling for you…” Victoria’s words trailed off as understanding dawned. “You’re staying here. You’re not leaving with me and Father tomorrow.”

“No. I wish to remain here. Become better acquainted with this lovely house, this quaint area which shall become my new home.”

Victoria blinked. “But what of your love for Society and London? Your life there?”

Aunt Delia laughed. “Don’t look so stricken, darling. Rutledge has agreed to spend the Season in Town if I wish.” Her expression turned thoughtful. “And as for my love of Society and London, I can only say that my love for Rutledge far exceeds any fondness I have for city life.” She gave Victoria a searching look. “Have you spoken to Dr. Oliver this evening?”

“Not privately, no.” To her mortification, hot tears pushed behind her eyes. “I don’t know how I’m going to say good-bye to him,” she whispered.

Her aunt’s eyes grew troubled. “Your heart will tell you the right thing to say, Victoria. The right thing to do. Listen to what it tells you.” It appeared she wanted to say something more, but instead she merely brushed a quick kiss against Victoria’s cheek. “I’ll leave you now, my dear. I’ll see you in the morning before you leave.” With no further explanation, her aunt quit the room.

Victoria stood frozen in place, staring at the closed door. A myriad of emotions ambushed her, hitting her with such force she staggered to the nearest chair, an overstuffed chintz settee set in front of the fireplace, and sat down with an unladylike plop.

Aunt Delia’s announcement of her decision to marry Lord Rutledge had stunned her. Literally left her breathless. Dazed. Happy. But underneath all that, there was something else. Something she feared looking at too closely because it felt suspiciously like…

Envy.

A single tap sounded at the door. Before she could rouse herself to answer, the door opened and Nathan walked in. Their gazes met and Victoria’s throat swelled with emotion. God help her, she loved him so much she ached. How had she allowed this to happen? Was there any chance he felt the same way about her? He’d never said so. Yet even if he did, what did it matter? Their lives were so drastically different.

But what if he had fallen in love with her? What if, like his father had offered her aunt, Nathan intended to offer her marriage? The mere thought brought on a sensation she couldn’t define. Was it elation-or fear? None of this-Nathan, falling in love with him-had been in her plans. How could she consider giving up everything she’d planned her entire life based on a weeklong affair?

An affair based on a spark that was lit three years ago , her inner voice whispered slyly. But perhaps she had nothing to worry about. He hadn’t said he loved her. Or wanted her in any way beyond what they’d already shared. If she’d been capable of doing so, she would have laughed at her own conceit. Here she was fretting about a proposal that he’d never given any indication he intended to offer. A proposal she wasn’t prepared to hear. Still, if she became all choked up just looking at him, how would she be able to say good-bye to him tomorrow?

After closing and locking the door behind him, he walked slowly toward her, his gaze riveted on hers. He carried a wrapped parcel in one hand and a single red rose in the other. He rounded the settee, then sat next to her, setting his package on the floor. He held out the rose to her. “For you.”

She touched the velvety petals. “Thank you.”

“I checked on your father. He’s doing well. Exceedingly well if one judges health by the level of complaints coming from the patient.”

She smiled weakly. “He dislikes inactivity.”

“Indeed? I hadn’t particularly noticed. I also spoke to my father and your aunt. They told you their news.”

“Yes.”

He studied her face. “You’re not pleased?”

“Yes, of course I am. No one deserves joy more than Aunt Delia. It’s just that I’m…”

“What?”

Envious of their happiness. Of my aunt’s daring . “I’m just surprised,” she finished lamely. “Aren’t you?”

“Actually, no. I had a conversation with my father that made it clear he cared deeply for your aunt. It’s good to see him so happy. Good to see them both so happy.” His gaze searched hers. “When I opened the door, you looked pensive. What were you thinking?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

A faint smile touched his lips. “Yes.”

“I was wondering how I was going to say good-bye to you.”

His gaze turned troubled. “I’ve been wondering that very same thing with regards to you.”

She had to press her lips together to keep from asking if he’d come up with a solution. Reaching down, he picked up the package he’d set on the floor and handed it to her.

“After much thought, I decided this was the best farewell I could give you.”

Placing her rose on the mahogany end table, she laid the package on her lap and carefully unwrapped the layers of tissue paper. When she looked down at the book nestled in the wrappings, her breath caught. Reverently, she brushed her fingertip over the title.

“ Histoires ou contes du temps passé, avec des moralités: Contes de ma mère l’Oye ,” she whispered. “ Tales of Mother Goose ?” She turned to the first page and saw the publication year: 1697. “It’s a first edition,” she said, awed. “Wherever did you find one?”

“I didn’t have to look very far, as it was in my traveling trunk. That is my copy.”

Victoria’s head snapped up from admiring the book and she stared at him. “The copy you said you wouldn’t consider selling for any sum? The copy that was the last gift you received from your mother before she died?”

“Yes.”

Her heart began a slow, hard beat. “Why would you give me something so valuable to you?”

“I wanted you to have something to remember me by.”

The tiny flame of impossible, ridiculous hope inside her that had been struggling to stay lit was suddenly extinguished. He indeed intended to say good-bye.

She should be glad. Relieved. It was for the best. And surely as soon as she didn’t feel so enervated, so numb, she would feel all those things.

I wanted you to have something to remember me by . Dear God, as if she would ever, could ever, forget him. “I… don’t know what to say.”

“Do you like it?”

She looked into his eyes, so serious, so beautiful, and a sob rose in her throat. She attempted to cover it up with a laugh, but the effort failed miserably, and to her mortification, hot tears pushed at her eyes. “I love it.” And I love you. And I desperately wish I didn’t because nothing ever has hurt this badly .

Should she tell him? Tell him he owned her heart, and that it was breaking at the thought of leaving him? No ! her inner voice screamed, and she realized she’d be a fool to tell a man who was clearly determined to say good-bye that she loved him.

Blinking back her tears, she straightened her spine and offered him a smile. “Thank you, Nathan. I’ll treasure it always.”

“I’m glad. Since I cannot give you the fairy-tale ending you’ve always planned, I at least wanted to give you the fairy tale.”

“Will I ever see you again?” she asked, her voice shaking and barely above a whisper.

Framing her face between his hands, he studied her through serious eyes. Finally he said, “I don’t know. That is up to… Fate. All I do know is that we have this one last night together. And I want to make it unforgettable.” He leaned forward and softly touched his lips to hers. When he started to lean back, a sense of desperation unlike anything she’d ever known flooded her. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him back toward her.