Page 1 of Measure of a Man

CHAPTER 1

“Only a man with a tiny cock would drive a high-perch phaeton.”

Lord Virtue, who was at that moment driving his newly purchased high-perch phaeton, turned slowly in his seat to face his ill-mannered passenger and long-time friend, Lord Exeter. The little shit had the temerity to grin at him, but that was typical Exeter. Face like a saint and a mouth that delighted in talking tripe.

“If you’d like, I can set you down right here, friend. It seems you’re asking to walk your way back through the park.” Virtue mimed punting Exeter from the carriage with a sharp kick of his smart, black hessian boots.

“And give up my remarkably high vantage point of you driving this hideosity down the South Carriage Drive? You’re embarrassing your own horses. And just so you know, if you topple us in this death trap, I plan on wearing my arm in a sling for the rest of the season and milking you for all the sympathy that I can. Picture it thus: you at my beck and call every night at the club. Sorry, my dear fellow, but my arm.” He winced with imagined pain, holding his tender arm to his chest. “Could you turn the page of my newspaper and lift my cigar to my lips?”

Infuriatingly to Virtue’s traitorous little heart, that didn’t sound too great a misfortune to endure, but the insinuation that he, a proficient at the reins, could actually topple a phaeton could not escape unchecked.

“Now, look here, Ex, just because this takes the shine off your curricle, don’t let your jealousy eat you so publicly. What’s that saying again? Beware the green-eyed monster?”

“Can’t avoid that monster. Sad to say, I’m sitting right next to him.”

Virtue widened his own green eyes, till he supposed he looked quite wild, and gnashed his teeth like a hellhound and growled, “Yes, but a green-eyed monster with a massive cock.” He’d been too loud, and a dignified-looking couple gave him a rather hard stare as they passed by.

Exeter snorted and turned his face to hide his smile.

“And don’t pretend you’re not enjoying yourself,” Virtue continued, as he deftly navigated his prized horses, Original and Established, around the convoy of curricles and gigs meandering on the famed track. His thigh knocked against the solid muscle of Exeter’s as they rounded a stationary carriage. His little two-seat phaeton was on the small side for taking such a tall, broad-shouldered fellow as a passenger. It had been designed to carry a modest, dainty lady by his side rather than a strapping great big gentleman like his friend. “Look around you at how golden everything is in this light! Pretty as a picture. And what’s more, it’s a mast year. Have you ever seen an oak loaded with that many acorns? There’s something to it, isn’t there, that for one short season, they throw all their effort into producing thousands of acorns in the hope something new will grow one day; with no guarantee that it will. And looking quite beautiful while doing it, I should say. No, I do believe you must be enjoying yourself, for what’s not to admire about an evening carriage ride in London’s finest park, gawking at all the newcomers and scouting out what new, pretty, society Misses have arrived in town. I’d call this an excellent way to spend my time. We’re in the prime of our lives, Exeter, and… if that means I buy a slightly silly sports carriage, then so be it.”

He executed another deft manoeuvre under the weight of Exeter’s assessing gaze. “Stop staring at me, you’ll put me off,” he groused with good humour. Virtue was well aware he could talk the hind legs off a horse, but Exeter never minded.

“Er. Not staring at you, staring past you. Look at the landau over there.” He followed his friend’s gaze to a four-seater landau making its way slowly down the track. A vaguely familiar fair-haired man, only a year or two younger than himself, sat up front, badgering the coachman for a chance to take the reins.

“What of him?” It wasn’t an unusual sight; many young pups would beg the use of the reins from their coachmen. He’d done similar himself before he reached his majority and came into his independence.

“Not him, the ladies.”

His eyes flicked from the perch to the two pretty women of about the same age sitting in the open-top carriage. One dark-haired and handsome, and the other fair and hearty—his eyes slid back to what he now assumed was their brother.

“Come on then, didn’t you just say you wanted to scout out some new eligible, pretty thing?” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “You can show off your new phaeton.”

Virtue frowned. He had, but that had been more in a ‘wouldn’t it be nice’ abstract sense rather than a ‘let’s drop our plans and go do it right now’ manner. They were coming to a section of the track where he could have picked up more speed. Enough to enjoy a thrill and put a flush on both their cheeks. He felt strangely undone at having his plans curtailed, but he steered the phaeton closer to the landau.

Exeter touched two fingers to the brim of his hat in greeting as they drew near.

“How do you like my friend, Lord Virtue’s new carriage?” he called out. The women while flustered, at being so impertinently addressed, albeit by a lord, scrambled for answers that sounded suitably admiring as Virtue pulled his horses alongside theirs and made his formal introductions much to the astonishment of their new acquaintances, who were found to be the two Misses Douglas and their brother Mr Douglas newly down from Norwich.

“Does the yellow make it go faster, my lord?” said the sweetest-looking one of the two with the most charming Norfolk lilt to her voice, her blonde ringlets so perfect he half wanted to pull on them.

“Like a shooting star, madam,” Virtue said with a smile before Exeter could answer with something far more charming as was his wont to do.

“Very fine indeed, Lord Virtue.” The brother, charged with chaperoning his elder sisters, addressed him directly, his thick-lashed eyes wide with the sincerity of youth. “I saw you arrive at the Suffolk prize fight in it. Excellent, wasn’t it? The Pillion knocking out that blood-thirsty Shropshire chap with a one-two — not that I watched much as I was only there in passing last week on my way back into town to join my sisters.” He added the last bit with some haste, as his sisters had turned to look at their brother with amazed incredulity. Ah. The chaperone still needed to be chaperoned, it seemed. But Virtue was all for young men spreading their wings and indulging in masculine pursuits and so ensued a lengthy and highly enjoyable discussion of the fight and the merits of The Pillion’s physique and how much one might have made if they had placed a bet on the man. Mr Douglas, it turned out, was a man after his own heart. A capital fellow, indeed.

He noticed after a while that Exeter had stepped down from the perch and now stood by the Douglases’ carriage talking directly to the young women, both of whom seemed highly admiring of his efforts.

Exeter, fond of spinning a yarn, mimed to his captive audience that a stirrup had caught around his boot. It was an old favourite from his repertoire of anecdotes, trundled out to a new audience who knew no better. The story of how the two lords met. Two gunshots had rung out in Green Park, sounding like the devil’s own firecrackers. Exeter, as he told it, had been thrown from his mount and dragged like a rag doll for what must have been fifty yards before a mysterious, handsome stranger vaulted over a hedge on horseback, grabbed the reins of Exeter’s frightened steed, and cut the prone lord free. He’d sprained his ankle and couldn’t walk, ride, nor dance for a fortnight, which always brought forth a flood of sympathy from his audience. It was near enough the truth. The mysterious handsome stranger had, of course, been Virtue, and Exeter had been dragged only a few feet. Although the tale gave all the laurels to Virtue, it somehow claimed the heart of every woman for Exeter.

It was one of life’s great irks, that women gravitated to Exeter, and somehow Virtue ended up playing the distraction to their fathers and brothers.

His looks were not the problem. Even if one were to eschew vanity, Virtue didn’t think he was ugly by any means. Rowing, riding, boxing, and lots of dancing had given him an admirably trim figure, even if the fit of his buckskins did annoy his tailor. After one complaint too many to his sister, she’d reasoned with him thus: “You’re very handsome, Jules, everyone says so, but George just has something more glorious about him.”

And, rather annoyingly, he knew exactly what she meant.

Ah, well. Mr Douglas seemed the sort to admire a gentleman who could stay in his seat. And the young man was very interested in hearing all about the best livery stables in town and his thoughts on gentlemen’s exercise.

His attention was piqued when the young women circled back to the topic of his phaeton. The golden-haired sister, Miss Maria Douglas, stared at him with marked interest as she spoke, “Just the thing that Helios would ride round the sun if he were a modern gentleman.”