A Gentleman Never Tells Read Free

do not. On a few, very rare occasions, we were humorous, but most of the time, we made ­people laugh by saying cruel things.”
    His niece chewed her lip. Oliver was surprised how much it hurt to see disappointment in her eyes. Hattie was right to be disillusioned.
    â€œThe hostess of this house party, Lady Windingham, was a victim of mine—­or rather of the group I belonged to.”
    â€œ ‘A victim,’ ” Hattie repeated. “For goodness’ sake, Uncle, how horrid were you?”
    â€œWhen Lady Windingham debuted, we coined the term the ‘Wooly Breeder.’ Her father had made a great deal of money sheep-­farming and she has a quantity of curly hair.”
    Hattie’s brows drew together. “That is horrid. Why on earth would you do something like that? Did she insult you?”
    â€œActually, I have never met her. I did not come up with the phrase, but I was partly responsible for its spread through society.” His friend Charles Darlington had come up with most of the clever little verbal daggers they had used in an effort to sound sophisticated.
    But Oliver knew he was as culpable as Darlington. He hadn’t just stood by silently; he’d dined out on the strength of their joint cleverness.
    â€œShe wasn’t the only one,” he said, making a clean breast of it. “We called another young lady the ‘Scottish Sausage’ and that label also became widely known.”
    â€œYou should not have done that,” Hattie stated.
    â€œYou are absolutely correct. It was idiotic and cruel. Unfortunately, that sort of casual brutality was fashionable back then. We didn’t come up with the term ‘Silly Billy’ for James Bellingworth, but we might as well have. He’s known by it to this day, poor chap.”
    â€œHas the ‘Scottish Sausage’ left that nickname behind?” Hattie asked hopefully.
    â€œYes. Our foolish name-­calling didn’t affect her marital prospects; she married the Earl of Mayne in her first season. But Lady Windingham’s father had to take her to the country to escape being called a ‘Wooly Breeder.’ I heard a rumor that a suitor had backed away from his proposal.”
    â€œI know what Mother would say.” Hattie eyed him.
    â€œI am not a church-­going man,” Oliver stated, nipping that idea in the bud.
    His niece shook her finger at him, for all the world like a disapproving nanny. “No, no, Mama would say that you need to atone for your sins.”
    â€œI can hardly marry the lady to make up for the insult,” he pointed out. “The next year she married Lord Windingham, who is of far higher rank than I. I’m not sure how you atone for being a pestilent fool, other than sparing the lady the sight of your face.”
    Over the years, Oliver had gone to absurd lengths to ensure that he didn’t come face-­to-­face with the two women he’d insulted. They had the right to spit in his face, if they met him.
    It might make him feel better if they did.
    â€œYou are no longer a pestilent fool, Uncle.” Mattie leaned forward, patted his knee, and said kindly, “You’re rather old, which means you ought to get married, so you have someone to be with you after I leave home, but you’re not pestilent .”
    Rather old? Well, he was in his thirties. Thirty-­three. That was old to a fifteen-­year-­old. “I’ll take your advice under consideration,” he said, dismissing the idea immediately.
    â€œWhat changed you, Uncle Oliver?” she asked, cocking her head. “You’re no longer cantankerous, as far as I know. My mama imposed on you terribly by leaving me here. But you’ve never said a cross word about her.”
    â€œI like you,” Oliver said. “When you’re not sniping at me, you’re good company.”
    â€œWhen did you stop being clever and become the very nice fellow you