The Rake's Handbook by Sally Orr

notice cravats? I thought they might glance elsewhere first.”
    She widened her eyes and refused to reply to his outrageous comment.
    â€œJust a thought,” Mr. Thornbury said, noticing her blush, “from recent personal experience down by the lake.”
    â€œOh.” The nerve of the man. Her previous glances had been spontaneous and quite normal. Should she laugh or crawl under the bed in mortification?
    Berdy slapped the counterpane. “Yes, ladies notice. A man’s neckcloth is everything. When I go to London, I’m sure the ladies will be impressed by m’ new knot. There’s no better way to achieve recognition than sartorial excellence.”
    â€œI see—a new Beau Brummell,” Mr. Thornbury said. “Well, I emulate the German students I encountered on the Grand Tour and often enjoy an open shirt in private.”
    â€œAn open shirt,” Dr. Potts exclaimed. “What a shocking lack of propriety. I feel for your poor mother.”
    â€œI’m sure a mother who loves her son would never censure an innocent pleasure,” Elinor said.
    Mr. Thornbury inhaled deeply, held her gaze, then grinned.
    Berdy continued without pause. “Why don’t you take satisfaction in a stunning neckcloth? Have you read Neckclothalotta ?” Berdy’s features brightened. “ Neckclothalotta illustrates many fine examples of the more challenging knots. For my current favorite, you need a high collar up to the ears and at least seven folds. It’s called The Liberator .”
    â€œSounds restrictive,” Mr. Thornbury said.
    Elinor hiccuped and furtively glanced at Dr. Potts. Unfortunately, that gentleman failed to appreciate Mr. Thornbury’s humor and seemed to be formulating his next confrontation with their host.
    Mr. Thornbury chuckled. “I cannot believe someone wrote a book on neckcloths. It’s satire, I hope?”
    â€œSatire?” Berdy furrowed his brow.
    Dr. Potts pounded his fist on the arm of his chair. “Honestly, Deane. Mr. Thornbury and I have serious matters to discuss. Now, since you intend to proceed with your foundry, I must inform you every gentleman”—he glanced at Elinor—“womankind too, has a right to the flow of water without alteration.” Dr. Potts’s expectant expression appeared to seek her approval for his badly timed speech. “Here in England, my fellow physicians brought about these laws to stop the construction of privies over streams.”
    â€œDr. Potts.” She nodded in Berdy’s direction, a clear hint to end this offensive discussion once and for all.
    The doctor ignored her. “Let me finish. I—”
    â€œDo you realize,” Mr. Thornbury said, “the foundry will also be for the public good? At least sixty to a hundred men will be given employment. Many of our poor will find work and no longer have to depend upon the charity of our parish.”
    â€œThat is of no consequence,” Dr. Potts stated. “Our poor can find work if they put their minds to it.” He picked up her hand. “Now don’t be worried about the cost of prosecution. Mr. Mabbs, I’m sure, will help you share the costs of—”
    â€œI insist you stop this discussion now.” She yanked her hand out of his. “We will speak of the matter at a more appropriate date.” The good doctor, in her opinion, had become too presumptuous.
    A tense silence followed.
    She and Mr. Thornbury held each other’s gaze, like old friends who could communicate their feelings with a mere glance. The empathy expressed in his eyes convinced her that he understood her exasperation created by the doctor’s attacks.
    â€œ L’Americaine ,” Berdy said, reclaiming everyone’s attention. “It’s a favorite knot of mine. A difficult tie to get just right. First, you hold your head up and then scrunch the linen down fold by fold, like this.” Berdy