Good Manors

by Victoria Blisse

  “If these fellas think I have two thrupenny bits to rub together they’re mistaken,” she used to say. “I’m poorer than a church mouse and the roof over my head’s got a great big hole in it.”

  She had never really complained, just got on with it. She had raised funds and livestock, she had built up visits and walls and had even had a go at the electrics a time or two. She had been fearless and happy to get on overalls and get dirty. I got my hands-on approach from her—nothing was too lowly for me to do.

  I missed her every day. Her wit, her smile, her warmth. She’d been able to wrap anyone around her little finger and get what she wanted. I hadn’t inherited that trait from her at all. I wasn’t a people person, I definitely preferred sheep. Every day was a struggle. I had to motivate the staff, balance the books and keep everything running smoothly. And so many things had clogged up the works of late that India’s words had come as a balm out of the blue.

  And I cried. I’d barely spoken to her and she’d seen me cry. I knew she’d noticed. She was sharp-eyed. Those eyes, they were a wonderful shade of green too. Big and bright and I could read a world of intelligence in them. She’d seen my tears and I didn’t know what to do about that. So I just focused in on Harriet.

  And therein lay another worry. If she was breech or there was some other complication with the birth I wasn’t sure I could afford the vet bill, but if I lost the lamb, or God forbid, Harriet too, we’d be right in the shit. It seems ridiculous to say the fate of the hall was in the fleece of one sheep but it was true.

  Everything else seemed to be losing money. The shop, which had been a fabulous earner, had taken a fall in profits, and the tours never made enough money to cover their staffing and the upkeep of the public areas of the hall.

  So the only hope was Harriet and the start of my rare breed farm, my dream. The dream that would not only save Mallard’s but make it stand out from the others. In a country packed with historic buildings, I knew I had to do something special with mine.

  Harriet wasn’t looking any closer to being a mother than she had been when I’d last checked her. I patted her side and left the pen.

  “I’ll be back later, girl.” I talked easily to Harriet—she was the only woman in my life who understood me and she wasn’t even the same species as me.

  Summed up my luck, really. Of course I’d had a few girlfriends over the years, sort of loved a few of them, but not one had stuck with me for more than a few months. Some had been gold-diggers, others simply hadn’t been able to handle how much time I spent with Mum, and since she had passed away I’d not even had a promise of a date.

  The sun was setting when I headed back toward the main house. I planned to grab a sandwich or something to eat while I worked some more on the finances. Mary always invited me into the kitchen to eat with the staff who stayed in, but I never felt very comfortable eating with them.

  Not that Mary, Gerald, Harry and Jenny had ever been anything less than welcoming, but I always felt like I was imposing. That they’d be able to relax a lot easier if I wasn’t there. I isolated myself I suppose, but I’d never been afraid of my own company. Although I wouldn’t mind keeping India company for a while.

  She was cute, no denying that, and she seemed quite pleasant, for a journalist.

  ‘Never trust them, son, never trust that they’ll tell your story or that they’ll not twist your words out of all proportion. Journalists thrive on bringing people like us down.’

  Mum’s words echoed in my head. Clearly anyone connected to newspapers had been scum in her books. Dad wasn’t perfect, and Mum had been the first to say their relationship hadn’t been brilliant, but his death had hurt her and she’d been convinced he’d never have killed himself if those horrible exposé photos of him hadn’t made it into the press.

  But surely she hadn’t meant people like India. She wrote for a respectable magazine. I didn’t have much time for pleasurable reading but I had caught a couple of India’s articles. We always had a copy or two of Good Manors available for guests to flick through. A good word from India could double footfall, I’d heard. I’d never read anything but a pleasant review from her. She was very careful in her use of language and any problems would be there if you read between the lines but on the face of it she was always polite.

  We could really do with the India factor, it was just bad timing. A year or so down the line when the flock was established and I’d worked out where the hole in my finances was and plugged it, then India’s visit would be a godsend. As it was, she’d come at a pivotal moment where everything was held in the balance and even her presence could tip the scales in the wrong direction.

  If everything went terribly wrong, how could even India Grace put a positive spin on it? Mallard Hall would be ruined. If India had turned up at a different time maybe I’d have been tempted to try out my rusty seduction technique on her. I couldn’t allow her to distract me at such a crucial point, though. I really wanted to hold her close to me and taste her lips and do other darker, baser things to her, but I couldn’t. I had to keep things purely professional or my business would end up down the pan.

  I wasn’t paying much attention to where I was walking. I never really did, it was like my shoes knew their way around the place without my brain having to give directions. So when I came body to body with a blockage I was quite easily tipped back onto my arse. And as an instinctual reaction I grabbed onto the item that had destabilized me and pulled it down on top of me.

  “Oh my God, Xander, I mean, Mr. Patrick, oh shit, are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine, are you okay?”

  India’s warm curves pressed me down into the soft grass. I tried not to think too much about her body so I wouldn’t embarrass myself.

  “Oh, yeah, yeah, nothing broken.” Her gaze kept me pinned down. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair draped forward and into my face, the pink tips tickling my nose.

  I wiped it away and hooked it around the back of her ear without thinking.

  “Jeez, I should get up off you, shouldn’t I?” She shook her head and scrambled backward.

  I watched her breasts swaying in the bright turquoise top and coughed. I hoped she hadn’t caught me leering at her. I couldn’t help it, she fascinated me.

  “Sorry, again.” She scrambled to her feet and smoothed down her long, white skirt. “Do you need a hand up?” Thrusting her hand forward, she smiled down at me.

  I reached up and took the proffered fingers in mine. I attempted not to put too much of my weight on her as I scrambled up. Her fingers were smooth and delicate, her hand cool in my own. I didn’t want to let go.

  “Thanks.” I grinned. “I think I should be the one apologizing. I wasn’t paying any attention to where I was going, I was walking on autopilot.”

  “Oh, no, no. I didn’t see you coming either. I was wrapped up in thinking about stuff to add into my article.”

  “All good, I hope.” I was still holding her hand and was sure she was as aware of it as I was. I didn’t know how to let it go. I mean, clearly I knew physically what to do, but I was caught in the awkwardness of the situation. I didn’t want to be the one to let go first, I didn’t want her to think I was eager to get away. An awkward schoolboy had nothing on me. Hot cheeks, tapping foot, dried mouth. I might not be the heart and soul of a party but usually I was cool, calm, collected and able to hold a whole conversation with someone without dithering. Not with India, though.

  “It’s a secret.” She winked. Squeezed my hand and let it drop. “I don’t tell anyone before it comes out in the magazine.”

  Oh God, she thinks I’m an idiot.

  I cringed internally. Clearly all the weird chemistry stuff was on my side only. I’d have to restrain myself.

  “Sure, of course, well, I better go. I’ve got so much to do.”

  I didn’t wait to hear what else she had to say. I walked off, but I might as well have run away crying. It was so obvious I was making a tactical retreat. I didn’t hav
e time or energy to waste on being infatuated with a woman. Especially a journalist. Mum had often tried to match-make me with suitable women. She’d not even have put India down on a reserves list. I resigned myself to a life of singledom, dead on track to becoming a crazy sheep man.

  Chapter Five

  India Grace

  I felt like I’d offended Xander with my lie. I mean, it was partly true, I never told a soul what would go into my article, not even the boss, before I’d got it down on paper.

  Maybe he’d thought I’d been rude or that I was a bit weird. Ridiculously, it disturbed me that maybe he didn’t like me. I hardly knew him. But maybe he’d change his mind in the future. Turning things to the positive had never been my strong suit but after some particularly effective therapy I’d started to do it more often, or at least attempted to.

  On a whim I decided to head up to see Harriet. She’d liked me and she was behind bars, so I wouldn’t be able to fall on her. Dusk had fallen, the grounds’ bright foliage was muted with the heated glow of the setting sun giving the ambience of an old-fashioned photo, blurred around the edges and a little faded.

  I was surprised by how much I enjoyed being around livestock again. Harriet reminded me of my days in veterinary school, but more importantly she reminded me of my work experience and the man who’d overseen it.

  When I’d first gone to university I had started out studying to be a vet. Mum had wanted me to be a doctor but I didn’t want that, so vet had been the compromise. I had gotten a couple of years in before I’d grown a pair and put my foot down. I hadn’t wanted to struggle in a job for the rest of my life. I’d wanted to have a career that linked in with my passions—English and art.

  Mum hadn’t been impressed but I had been much happier. Some of the vet stuff had stuck, though. Especially as I’d had a couple of work-experience places where I’d got to be a bit hands-on. One of the placements had been with a rural vet in the spring. I’d seen a lot of livestock born that year, I’d even assisted in a few of the births myself.

  Actually, the vet I had been with was a very good-looking older man called Tom. I’d struggled at times to keep my mind on the job. He had such long, nimble fingers, I would get distracted thinking about how they’d feel on different parts of my body. Even knowing where he sometimes stuck said hands hadn’t put me off.

  It had been the last day of my placement when I had acted on my lusts. We’d been in the local for a bevy after my last shift with him. He’d had the rest of the day off and I had been waiting for a train home. The trains came along once every blue moon, but I hadn’t minded spending a bit more time with him.

  It had been somewhere partway through my third glass of wine—on an all but empty stomach—that I’d told him how fascinated I was by his hands.

  “Really?” he’d said, putting down his pint, then turning them left and right. “These old things?”

  I had nodded eagerly and he’d stretched out to take my hand in his.

  “I think your fingers are far more attractive, though. Soft and supple and so pretty.”

  I had virtually come in my jeans right then and there. For the duration of my visit, I’d been imaging how his hands would feel and I was about to find out.

  “Thank you.” I had giggled as he’d turned and stroked my hands with his.

  “Well, I think all of you is very attractive, to be truthful. I’ve wanted to tell you that since the day you arrived but it didn’t seem professional to do so.”

  “Well, I’m no longer training with you,” I had whispered and looked up into his big, brown eyes. They had usually been so mild, so calming, but at that moment they had been streaked with lightning bolts of gold and my stomach had clenched at the thought of what that might have meant.

  “Not to be a vet, no,” he had said with a wink. “But if you’d like to come back to my place with me, I think I have the perfect position for you.”

  I wasn’t very good at directions at the best of times, and as I was distracted by a trip down memory lane I soon ended up a bit lost. Of course the farm contained many buildings, not just the one housing the mother-to-be I wanted to visit, and to me they all looked alike. I heard giggling in one, a high and a low voice joined in harmony. I was relieved—someone was there to help direct me. I dipped around the side of the building, looking for the entrance. It was worn and cracked, straw-yellow peeking through the rough brown of years-old creosote.

  I should have realized it was a bit quiet and wondered what the people were doing in the barn so late on in the evening but I simply strolled in without thinking. It became apparent on entering that once upon a time the place had been stables capable of housing at least a half dozen horses.

  Taking in my dim surroundings, I didn’t call out. I wasn’t convinced I’d really heard anyone in there after all and didn’t want to shout out to people who probably weren’t even there. I felt stupid enough already. A soft bump followed by a guttural moan startled me. That moan rose to a sigh over the shuffling of feet.

  Fuck, that’s not a working sound.

  I froze, not sure what to do next. Had they heard me come in? The stable in front of me had a fallen slat. I couldn’t quite see what was going on as it was dim within the wooden walls but I was sure I saw movement. My natural, journalistic instinct kicked in and I slowly moved forward, paying great attention to where I was stepping whilst still trying to peer through the gap. Anyone who walked in would have thought I was a short-sighted granny who’d lost her walking stick the way I hobbled.

  I bent forward and peeked through. I wasn’t prepared for the vision that greeted me. It wasn’t surprising to see Harry and Jenny fooling around—it had been very obvious that those two were infatuated with each other—but I didn’t expect to see Jenny tied to the bars that divided this stable from the next with what looked like very old and very itchy rope.

  “This is what you get for making goo-goo eyes at that journalist woman,” Harry growled, licking his lips and flexing a leather belt in his hands. He looked good without his shirt on. He had muscles underneath all that dark and broody slouching.

  “But I wasn’t—”

  She was cut off by the crack of leather against her wobbling buttocks. I bit my lip to hold in a gasp.

  “What have I told you about talking back, Jenny?”

  “Sorry, Sir.” She gasped.

  “Well, you will be, my love.”

  I couldn’t process what I was hearing and seeing. Jenny had been quiet, had barely said a word to me, and here was young Harry laying into her because she fancied me. She didn’t, did she? I hadn’t picked up on any lustful vibes, at least not directed at me.

  For a moment I thought about speaking up, stepping in and stopping it all, but then I noticed that Jenny’s responses to the lash of the leather were loud but she was enjoying it. The yelps and curses were interjected with moans and gasps of pure arousal.

  I flashed back quickly to my time with Tom, the same sound, the same moans, but coming from my lips as he’d belted me for something he’d also made up.

  “You would, though.”

  Harry’s voice pulled me back to reality.

  “You’d fuck her if you could.” He was stood directly behind her, running his hand over her buttocks.

  “Yes,” she gasped breathily, “yes I would.”

  She didn’t do anything for me, yet that choked confession pooled right between my thighs. I should have left them in peace but I couldn’t resist continuing to peek. My pulse was beating all through my body, my head, my heart, my pussy.

  Harry dipped his fingers between Jenny’s ample, pinked buttocks and pressed them inside her.

  “Fuck, that’s hot,” he growled against her ear then pulled her ponytail. “But you’re mine, remember that, Jen.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good girl.”

  Harry let his trousers down, revealing a thick erection for a matter of moments before he shuffled forward and filled his girlfriend with it. Reality hi
t as I watched them passionately copulate. When they finished, what would they do if they found me?

  I quietly hurried out of the old stables, heart thumping and mind swimming with erotic images. My blood buzzed as I crept through the darkened farmyard, wondering where the hell I was. My feet on the grass and gravel sounded loud, interspersed with creaks of wood and cheeps and scrambles of nature. The rumble of contented livestock and the distant call of an owl enveloped me. I walked from one dreamlike scene to another. I tried hard not to panic. If all else failed I had my phone and I could ring the house for help. I didn’t want to, but if I had to I could.

  The glow of an exposed bulb round a familiar barn door filled me with joy—by sheer coincidence I’d found Harriet.

  I’d found Xander too. I immediately realized something wasn’t right. Harriet lay in the hay, as you’d expect for a mother nearing birth, but Xander looked pained and anxious seated in the hay beside her.

  “Hey,” I greeted. “How’s it going?”

  “Not good.” He shook his head. “She’s been straining for over an hour and there’s nothing yet.”

  “Has she expelled the water bag?” My old training kicked in and I started to analyze what might be wrong.

  “Yes.” He nodded and ran his fingers through his hair. “I think I need to call the vet.”

  “Have you got gloves, hot water and soap?”

  “Yes. Well, I can easily get them for you.” He looked confused.

  “I’ll need lubricant too. Hurry and bring everything to me.”

  Xander didn’t even question my request, just rushed off. Harriet moaned and shuddered.

  “Hello, girl,” I soothed, climbing into the stall with her. “It’s all right, Harriet, I’m here. I’ll give the little one a hand, don’t worry.” I patted her side, and she shuddered again. Poor thing. It was probably her first lamb, and young mums were more likely to have complications.

  Xander brought me everything I needed and I got on with scrubbing myself clean and preparing to help this poor mother out.