The Taming of Victoria Colton

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

A gentleman will never attempt to monopolize the sport, and however superior in skill to his companions, will not parade his superiority, still less boast of it, but rather, that the others may not feel their inferiority, he will keep considerably within his powers.

~ The Habits of Good Society: A Handbook for Ladies and Gentlemen (The Last London Editor; 1860)

 

Day 1 of the Hawthorne Race to the Altar (as it was affectionately dubbed)

Twelve o’clock: Boating

Dinner

In attendance: Lord Gabriel Sinclair, Miss Victoria Colton, Lord Christopher Beverly, Miss Danielle Carmichael, Mr Harold Blake, Miss Imogen Brightmore, Mr Oliver Townsend and Miss Oriana Brightmore

It looked like rain.

Gabriel stared moodily at the foreboding clouds above his head while the boat bobbed gently against the lapping waves of the lake. He would not take kindly to being stranded on a raft if the heavens chose to open.

Although threatening, the day had progressed rather pleasantly. Occasionally the looming clouds would part to permit a golden beam of sunlight to illuminate a patch of green land enticingly. It had held off for most of the day, but Gabriel doubted it would be so inclined for much longer.

He was jerked out of his thoughts when another vessel crashed into his. “For God’s sake, Beverly,” he growled at the pretentious man who had a whole bloody lake to traverse through yet had somehow managed to careen his craft against Gabriel’s, “watch where you are going.”

Beverly stuck his nose in the air pompously. “I was under the impression that we were in a race,” he drawled nasally. “It is not my fault you are unable to manoeuvre your canoe with the required dexterity to excel in such matters.”

Gabriel looked longingly at the oar resting on his knees, pondering the merits of whacking the thickened end of it into Beverly’s face.

“I say, Sinclair,” Harold Blake called out from a way in front of him, “does it look like rain to you?”

At his words, all four gentlemen glanced up at the sky and pondered the greyish clouds for a quiet moment, the lapping of the water against the sides of the canoes loud as the wind began to pick up. “I think,” Oliver Townsend declared to no one in particular, “that it is going to rain.”

“Ten pounds says it isn’t,” Blake challenged with a mocking grin.

“You still owe me twenty pounds from last night!” Townsend protested.

Blake snorted. “It was a good a guess as any that Miss Colton would decline an offer to dance from Beverly,” he remarked dryly.

“Everybody knows the chit can’t stand the man,” Townsend returned.

“I beg your pardon!” Beverly chimed in, offended. “How dare you, sir, impugn my-”

“Shut up, Beverly,” Gabriel growled, finding his dislike for the man intensifying by the second. “You’re giving me a migraine.”

“Well,” Beverly huffed, “I can see that you are all envious of my obvious success with Miss Colton. Look, she waves to me even now.”

Gabriel turned to where Beverly was pointing and, sure as day, Victoria was teetering precariously on the edge of the lake, waving an arm in the arm and bellowing something at the top of her lungs. Only the faintest murmurings of her voice reached his ears, but Gabriel was quite positive that she was not waving at Beverly. In fact, due to her confession about the man having made untoward advances on her, Gabriel knew now more than ever that Beverly deserved a good beating. Where this urge to pummel the man came from, Gabriel couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that he would like to be the one who gave it to him.