A Most Eligible Gentleman

It is an indisputable fact, that heroes and everyday life must never intertwine. However, in every lifetime, unavoidable circumstances conspire to place that fragile world in opposition to the towering ideal of a Venus or Adonis, just as the playwright dashes his doomed cast of players against the rocks of Fate.

‘Straighten your dress, Miss Kelly - and do stop fidgeting with your hair, you’ll put it into disarray,’ said Aunt Rose.

‘I wish you had warned me of your inviting this man sooner,’ she returned. ‘It’s so tiresome you trying to trick me into marriage at every opportunity.’

The two ladies stood in the hall, the sound of muffled voices and shuffling feet carrying through the ceiling from the drawing room above. Aunt Rose, the older and shorter of the two, bounced excitedly on her heels. A great deal of planning had gone into this dinner party, and she now found it almost impossible to maintain her composure. Everything rested upon the successful meeting of her young niece and a most eligible bachelor, who was to arrive imminently.

‘You say this gentleman has been abroad for some time?’ enquired Miss Kelly.

Before her aunt could respond, a thundering din was heard from outside.

‘O, heavens!’ she cried, flinging the door open.

A carriage arrived in great haste. As it skidded to a halt, a man leapt from the running-board and faced the rising squall of dust he had created. He was tall, and wore tan breeches and a white shirt, torn and flapping at the breast. A holster hung from the leather belt around his waist.

‘Come and get me you bastards!’ said he, brandishing a pistol.

At that instant, a second carriage emerged from the dust, bearing a number of dark figures brandishing firearms. A pounding volley of shots was fired from both sides, and a tremendous cloud of gunsmoke drifted across the gravelled drive. Aunt Rose gave a whimper and fainted.

As the smoke cleared, Miss Kelly could see the bodies of those men who had been in pursuit, now lying limply around their bullet-ridden carriage. The tall man holstered his pistol and started up the path towards the house. She could see his face now; he was handsome, with rugged features, and he wore a roguish smile which she could not help but admire.

‘Hope they’ve got insurance,’ he said with a wink as he passed her.

He stepped over Aunt Rose and into the hallway, where his dark eyes took in the tasteful interior and he issued a whistle of appreciation.

‘The name’s Burke. Got an invitation to some kinda party. Upstairs, right?’

Miss Kelly opened her mouth, but found herself quite at a loss for words. She turned to her aunt, who lay groaning on the patterned carpet.

‘Don’t sweat it - I’ll see myself up,’ said Burke, alreading ascending the staircase.

The arrival of this vulgar creature in the drawing room halted all conversation at once, and the air became stifling. Well-dressed gentlemen coughed uncomfortably and the women made no attempt to hide their distaste. A half-smile crept uneasily across Burke’s thin lips, and he made for the decanter - both to soothe his ragged nerves and to occupy his hands with busywork. The sight and sound of whisky pouring into a tumbler soothed him somewhat, and he began to feel at ease again; he had beaten back tribes of natives in darkest Africa, and thwarted the plans of European fascism; he could scarcely see himself bested by the stuffy guests of a dinner party at which he was surely the guest of honour.

‘Ever heard of the Golden Idol of Waag?’ he asked the room in faux-modest confidence. ‘Had to kill a dozen men to get my hands on it!’

He looked to his audience, and beheld a sea of frowning faces. Somewhere at the rear of the room, a lady burst into tears.

‘What’s the matter with you people?’ he said, his rough features reddening. ‘Never heard of adventure before?’

‘I think you had better leave, Sir,’ came the voice of a manservant who had approached his side, bearing a dozen champagne glasses on a platter.

Burke looked pleadingly out into the crowd. His gaze fell upon the fair features of Miss Kelly, but she turned away; he felt his heart pounding and his blood boiling in his veins. He turned, dashing the man and champagne to the floor, and fled the room. The crowd murmured darkly: this Burke was no gentleman at all.

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Awarded third place in the weekly short story competition on the 'Writer's Block' Discord server.