Archive of Our Own

“She’s gone completely off her rocker!”

Susannah shakes her head at her friend’s histrionics, and Jane knows she’s being ridiculous.  They were supposed to be at the pub to unwind and catch up. The loud band playing in the corner isn’t helping much, however. They’re nearly shouting to be heard over the screeching guitar and excessive drumming.

“I would have thought having one daughter getting engaged might soothe the savage beast?” 

Jane practically chugs down the second half of her pint, “Oh no, not Lady Frances Grey - if anything this has only sped up her timetable for having me married off. I need another drink.”

“You’ve had two already. Isn’t alcohol poisoning something you learned about at that fancy medical school o’ yours?” Susannah laughs, pulling her friend back to the small table.

“My fancy medical school is half the reason I drink,” Jane sighs. “The other half is Mum’s new threat to set me up with Lord Dudley's son.”

“Stanley Dudley? That's cruel, even for Frances. Besides, I'm pretty sure he has a thing for your mum.”

And that part is probably true. She thinks she caught Stan attempting the boombox move from Say Anything outside her mother’s window on winter break. Only her window was four stories up, and an mp3 speaker didn’t have quite the same impact. She’s been trying to forget the memory of it ever since. She often tries not to think too hard about her widowed mother’s love life.

“Not Stan, at least. Apparently Lord Dudley has another son we've never even heard of - some Oxford dilettante off gadding about.”

“Oooh collegiate rivalry, could make for some great shagging.” Susannah is little better than her mother at times with the way she fusses over the lack of men in Jane’s life, but at least her best friend isn’t trying to marry her off to some vagabond Lord.

“My mother’s taste in men tends toward the vapid.” So does Susannah’s, but in the name of friendship, Jane won’t mention this.

“He doesn’t need a doctorate to be good in bed,” Susannah shakes her head at her friend. “Though I feel like I should have an honorary one in the subject, at least.”

Jane laughs at her friend’s ego, though secretly she can admit she admires her confidence. “He doesn’t need a doctorate, but he should at least be able to manage his end of the conversation.”

“I forgot that a lively debate was practically foreplay for you.” 

Jane snorts out another laugh. She’s not even getting that much lately.

“So then what else is on ‘Jane’s list for a shaggable man’ - other than his oral skills?”

Jane’s face heats at her friend’s joke. It really has been too long if she’s blushing over some double entendre. Single entendre, really.

“I can’t even think about men with studying for exams this month.”

“Or last month, or the one before it. Find a hot enough bloke and you’ll make the time.”

“Well I’m certainly not going to find Mr. Right in this pub.”

She looks around at the crowd - it’s mostly secondary students and couples at the bar and tables, with a few grungier looking guys gathered around the stage. This isn’t really the sort of venue where she’d hope to find a worthy suitor.

“I’m only talking about Mr. Right Now,” Susannah teases.

“That doesn’t exactly help me with the engagement party situation.”

“It’ll help you to relax a little about the engagement party situation,” she winks.

And ok, maybe Susannah has something of a point - she’s survived her mother’s nagging for twenty four years, it usually takes a little more than a set-up to wind her up like this. But still, the threat of it remains her most pressing concern.

“It won’t help me much unless it gets my mother to back off.”

“Why not just bring some random guy as your date then?”

It’s not as though she hadn’t considered it. She’s not exactly attending a convent, she could have just invited one of her fellow med school classmates. “Because then my mother still wins.”

“And we can’t have that, can we?” Susannah is no fan of her mother either, but she can never resist mocking what she calls Jane’s ‘contrary’ nature. “Well then, make Frances regret it. Bring someone she’ll hate.”

Susannah has her own spiteful streak as well. It’s why they’ve always been friends, even when Susannah stopped working for her mother.

“So any man without a title, then?” Jane suggests. 

Her father had been a Duke and her mother refused to entertain anyone lower in rank than a Viscount. Her sister Katherine was already pushing it, marrying the Earl of Hertford.

“Worse.”

“A man without a trust fund?” 

“Worse,” and then Susannah’s eyes are shifting over towards the makeshift stage, to where the band is still wailing to the world’s smallest mosh pit.

Jane chuckles at the idea - it would certainly make her mother’s head spin. The members of the band - The Affliction, apparently, very fitting - look to be about her own age, but they’re about as far away from her social class as they could get (a characteristic Jane preferred and her mother detested). Definitely not a title or trust fund to be found among the lot of them - not with the sorry state of their clothing and instruments. They’re all decent looking enough, in a tattooed and leather jacketed bad boy kind of way. If you were into that sort of thing, which Jane most assuredly isn’t. Or at least she had never considered herself to be - she didn’t care to be so predictable. But objectively, they’re an attractive bunch. They’re what loosely might be called a rock band, but they’re playing in this shithole of a pub so clearly they’re not very successful. And most importantly, her mother would be livid at the sight of any one of them.

That, plus the two pints in her stomach, has Jane actually considering this mad gambit of Susannah’s. What if she did bring some wannabe rockstar to the engagement party? Katherine wouldn’t mind - at least not much. And she’d certainly forgive Jane when she saw her engagement gift: a minibreak stay at a B&B in Chipping Campden to escape their mother’s wedding planning. Her mother, however, would never forgive her. Jane might even get uninvited to several events she’s been dreading. She smiles at the thought.

However, Jane doesn’t want to be uninvited from the wedding entirely, so she does some quick research before she even begins to truly contemplate this madness. Susannah laughs at the sight of Jane googling, though she hadn’t laughed when Jane used her powers of research to perform recon on her friend’s sketchy tinder dates. She doesn’t want either one of them getting axe-murdered by some random guy - a fact which Susannah usually appreciates. And even though she wants to piss off her mother, she’s not about to bring some registered sex offender to her little sister’s engagement party. 

The Affliction has a facebook page, and a soundcloud, but nothing professional. That’s good news on the unsuccessful front, neutral on the ‘is one of them an axe-murderer’ question. She looks at the band members individually. It turns out the bassist is actually a woman, with a very cute pixie cut and great bone structure - Jane briefly considers the possibility of giving her mum a heart attack by bringing home a woman, but is quick to realise she’s already married to the lead singer anyway. There’s two options out, leaving the guitarist and the drummer. A drummer would maybe get an extra rotation on the head spinning front, but in both the facebook photo and up on stage now Jane can spot a cigarette in the guy’s mouth. Gross. She’s seen too many textbook images of what the tar does to your lungs to think of anything else whenever she sees someone smoking.

Which leaves the guitarist. If she’s honest with herself, he’s the one she would have been drawn to out of all of them. Floppy brown curls, mouth curved into a devilish smirk - but thankfully no more than a spare pick pressed between his lips. A good jawline, with the barest hint of stubble. Warm brown eyes and surprisingly nice hands. She gets a little distracted watching strong fingers wrapped around the guitar's neck and deftly plucking at its strings, stacked rings only drawing more attention to his hands - though none of that really matters since she’s not actually looking for a real date. What does matter is the rips on his jeans, the way the sleeves are cut from his t-shirt to show off his many tattoos, and the glint of an earring she can spot even from back here. He’ll drive her mum batty. 

His name’s not listed on their facebook page - there’s apparently another guitarist who should be here tonight - but this guy’s in a few of the older photos. Including one at some kind of children’s charity fundraiser event, so at least she knows he’s not on any registries. And he’s probably not a criminal or anything if they’re doing philanthropy shows. There’s a newer shot with the entire band, plus him, all cuddling animals at what is apparently a shelter rescue gig. Another point in the not-a-serial-killer column. Still no name but there’s a tabby curled around his neck pawing at a pair of necklaces she realises are the same ones he’s wearing tonight. She’s always thought cats to be good judges of character. They’re certainly good judges of cheekbones, she thinks as she looks back and forth between the photo and the man on stage.

Someone tosses a glass bottle his way in between songs - to give it to him or to critique the music, she can’t be certain - but he catches it easily, tossing it back up again with a little spin before flicking off the cap to take a drink. Jane’s a little caught up in the line of his throat, those ridiculous necklaces. He leans over to the microphone, and she hears his voice for the first time. 

“‘What I like to drink most is wine that belongs to others,’” he unexpectedly quotes Diogenes, and she falls a little in lust.

“Do you think he’d agree to it?” She asks Susannah, who follows her line of sight and grins at her choice.

“Do I think he’ll say yes to a date with a hot girl?” She gives Jane a look that implies she’s an idiot.

Jane waves away the compliment, and the word ‘date’. “It wouldn’t be a real date, just to get my mother off my back for a bit.”

“Then do I think a grown man playing Clash covers in a pub would say no to pissing off someone’s parents?”

“Good point.” 

The idea is left to simmer in her brain for the rest of the band’s set. They switch their conversation over to Susannah’s troubles. Things with the new guy are going well, but her best friend is currently working as an au pair for a family that doesn’t pay her anywhere near well enough to put up with their nightmare son. But she refuses to let Jane use her connections to get her a better job, or at least better pay, though Jane is slowly wearing her down. Or at least the Bradfords’ son is. Jane wishes she had something better to offer her friend for her repeatedly kicked shins than some paracetamol, but it’s all she has on her. She jokingly offers some anaesthesia whenever she finally gets her medical licence. 

“For me or for the wain?”

“Your choice. I think it’s better if I have plausible deniability on that one.”

“Ditto,” Susannah laughs, and directs Jane’s sight back towards the front of the pub, where the band is finally starting to pack it in. Susannah is no fan of Jane’s mum, but she definitely doesn’t want to get on her bad side. It had been hard enough wheedling a good reference out of her when Susannah had left. And this plan will definitely get someone on her mother’s shit list.

Jane has sobered up a little from earlier, but the idea is still the best one they’ve got. If nothing else it’ll irritate her mother, and spare her having to talk to some Tory-supporting wanker she’ll inevitably be set up with. She knows next to nothing about music, but she’d still rather hear about that than some guy’s stock portfolio all evening, or the endless name-dropping she was so often forced to endure. And he’d certainly be easier on the eyes. It only takes a little persuasion, and one good hard shove, from her friend to have her beelining towards the stage. 

She mentally assesses her own look tonight on the way there - heeled boots and a short-ish skirt that made her legs look longer, and a sweater that was more cosy than sexy but not utterly disastrous. She tugs her hair free of its low chignon and hopes her curls were behaving for once. Even though she was only asking for a fake date, she hopes a good first impression might tip the scales a little in her favour.

The pub isn’t overly large, so it only takes a few steps to push through the small gathered crowd to where the guitarist is pounding back the bottle he caught from earlier. She waits for him to set it down before she tries to introduce herself.

And he promptly belches in her face.

“You’re perfect,” she smiles. 

Normally, the rudeness would have her ready to tear into the man, but the entire point of this was to send her mother into a conniption fit. Bad manners was just the icing on top of a very offensive cake.

“I take it you’re a fan of The Affliction, then?” His grin is both lazy and arrogant, another point in his favour - or disfavour, as it was. It’s not even remotely as charming as he seems to think it is. 

“Oh no, your music is atrocious.”

“Then what is it I'm perfect for?” He seems a little taken aback by the dig at their music, but then he’s grinning again. “Or do you just have a thing for devilishly handsome guitarists?” 

Might as well rip off the bandaid. She takes a deep breath. “If I say yes, could I borrow you for a few hours tomorrow? I’m Jane, by the way.”

He takes her outstretched hand automatically. His hands are warm but the rings he wears are cool, and she can feel the calluses along his fingers as he grips her hand firmly.

“For like a gig? I’m not really…” He looks even more confused now considering she’s professed not to be a fan.

“Something like that - my sister’s engagement party is tomorrow and my mother is threatening to set me up if I don’t bring a date.”

“So you’re asking me on a date, then?” The grin is back in full force, and he keeps holding her hand.

“I’m asking you to rescue me from my mother for a few hours,” she answers flatly.

“You know what I find works best with parents?” 

The fact that he’s still smiling at her is troubling, but her curiosity wins over her good sense and so she asks him just what he thinks will work.

“Telling them to fuck off.”

“Yes, well I would love for you to swing by Saturday and tell my mother just that.”

He actually throws his head back and laughs at that. 

“Not that I don’t love telling off busybodies, but is there some reason you can’t just bring a real date to get her off your back? Surely your talents for flattery could win some undiscerning man over.”

Jane finally pulls her hand away to cross her arms in front of her, “If you wanted flattery then you shouldn’t have named your band ‘The Affliction’. And for your information, the reason I don’t have an actual date is because I’m currently too busy with my studies at the School of Clinical Medicine.”

He looks unimpressed. “Oh, is that like a local further education school?”

“It’s at Cambridge University, you halfwit.”

That grin again. “I’m fully aware, it’s called a joke - perhaps you’ve heard of them?” 

“This whole conversation is a joke!” She nearly shouts, half in frustration with the man in front of her but mostly with herself. Why she ever thought this was a good idea is beyond her.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re cute when you’re angry?” 

His nose scrunches a little when he says the word ‘cute’ and Jane can feel the rage rushing white hot through her veins.

But he keeps talking before she has the chance to tell him off. “Alright, I’ll come with you to your little party. If your mother’s half as easy to wind up, it might even be fun.”

And she’s annoyed at both him and herself for falling into his little trap, but she’s stuck on the fact he’s agreeing to come with her. 

“You’ll actually come?”

“Sure, why not?” 

Not giving him a chance to change his mind, Jane quickly lists off the party address and the time they should meet, typing her number into his mobile and texting herself with it. She neglects to tell him the dress code, half hoping he’ll wear this exact outfit again. The t-shirt is practically in tatters, which will infuriate her mother, but the arms they reveal are quite nice to look at - tattoos and all. She’s not usually into that sort of thing, but the designs there curve around the musculature in a way that scratches the part of her brain that’s been poring over anatomy for the past three years. She imagines herself tracing the lines, listing off each muscle group in Latin. 

Jane shakes her head to shut down this line of thinking immediately. This is not a real date because she has no time for dating. She barely had time to come out tonight with Susannah, and she’s only in town at all tonight because her mother insisted on a small family dinner before the big event. She hands back his mobile.

“And what do I get out of this?” The guy asks, tucking his mobile back into his pocket.

Jane narrows her eyes. “What do you want?”

She sees him looking her up and down. And even though it sends a pleasant little zip down her spine, this is so not what tonight is about.

“Not that.” She states clearly and firmly.

“I didn’t even ask for anything,” his nose is scrunching up again, crinkling the skin around his eyes as well which threatens her resolve to keep this clean and simple. 

“Not that,” she repeats.

“How about 100 quid then?” 

“So you’re an escort now?” 

“Student loans, you know,” he shrugs. And she’s a little surprised to hear he is - or was - a student, but considering he’s quoting Greek philosophers in random pubs it makes some sort of strange sense. “Actually, I have a better idea - you said School of Clinical Medicine, right? So you’ve got medical training?” 

This was never a good start to a conversation, in her experience. “You’re not about to ask me to commit medical malpractice are you?”

“Is it really medical malpractice if you’re not even a doctor yet?” 

“Yes. ” 

“Well this isn’t that, I promise. It’s just a run of the mill bad idea.” 

It’s not at all as assuring as he seems to think it is. “And just what exactly is this bad idea?” 

“I have a friend that needs a doctor.” 

“And does this friend know about the National Health Service?” 

“They can’t help her.” 

Jane hopes his friend is just not a full UK resident or something, rather than some shady thing they’re trying to hide from an actual doctor.

“And you think I can?” 

“I think that you are in luck that I’m nearly as desperate as you are,” his eyebrow arches.

It’s a fair point.

“Alright then, where is this friend? And I’m not making any promises.” 

“All I’m asking is that you try. Just take a look and see if there’s anything more you can tell us. I’ll drive us there.” 

This halts her. “You’re not driving me anywhere - I’m not about to step into whatever van with blacked out windows you have back there.” 

“It’s a motorbike, actually.” 

And of course he drives a motorbike too. “That's even worse. Besides, I have my kit in my car.” 

“You have a medical kit in your car?” 

“It’s also a first aid kit, everyone should have one. Especially people stupid enough to drive motorbikes. And I know this may shock you, but sometimes people find out I’m in medical school and start expecting me to treat them.”

The insult has him raising his brows. “So you do this often then? Lure men into dates in exchange for medical advice?”

“No! I don’t lure anyone into anything. I’m certified in CPR and first aid, and I help people for free.”

“So I’m getting massively overcharged then?” He chuckles.

“You’re not risking your future medical licence, so I’d say you’re getting the better end of the bargain here.”

“Touche. But I’m not risking my life when you’ve been here throwing back gods know how many pints, so we’ll fetch your kit and then I’m driving us.”

“You’re telling me you haven’t been drinking?”

He holds up the bottle he’d been drinking out of - it’s just a soda. “Sober as a nun. I don’t drink when I’m playing.”

“I want you to know I’m taking a lot on faith here, pal.”

“It’s Guildford, actually.”

Guildford, of all names. She thought she had left the posh wanker names behind with this plan.

“It suits you,” she tries.

“I can hear the derogatory tone in your voice, but it’s a family name.”

“It would have to be, who would name a child that in the twenty-first century?”

“Perhaps the same sort of people who would name a child after a eighteenth century spinster?”

“And one of England’s most famous authors.”

He glances somewhere behind her.

“Well you certainly live up to your name, my Lady Jane - your chaperone over there appears greatly worried about your virtue,” he nods back to where Susannah is watching the two of them like a hawk. She signals her friend over to make the awkward introductions and explain the exchange.

“I highly doubt she’s worried about my virtue, just my common sense,” she clarifies before Susannah reaches them. “Susannah - Guildford. Guildford has agreed to come with me tomorrow to deal with Mum, but first he needs my help with his friend -”

“Winifred,” he supplies.

“Winifred, really? Your parents never even gave you a chance, did they?” She turns back to face her friend, “I’ll just grab my med kit from the car and you can drive it to your place or I can call you a cab.”

“No need, Archer’s already on his way. I figured when you two were chatting for so long.” Jane’s not loving the insinuation in her friend’s voice right now. “I just need to real quick -” and then she’s lifting her camera to snap a photo of Guildford, “hope you don’t mind.”

But Guildford just smiles for the photo. “I know the drill, I’ll give you my info in case you need to look into me first.”

He takes Susannah’s mobile from her and pops his info into her contacts. 

“This is almost suspiciously easy,” she stage whispers to Jane, but she smiles at whatever she sees on her mobile.

“Need me to verify anything?” He offers, handing back the mobile.

“Nope!” Susannah says, a little too quickly, tucking her mobile back into her purse. “You two have fun. All my love to Winifred!”

And then she’s out the door before Jane can so much as wave goodbye.

“Well that was weird,” Jane remarks to the empty spot her friend was just standing.

“Are you going to let my friends look you up now so I can make sure you’re not a fake doctor or something?”

“I never even said I was a real doctor, and it looks like your friends have already ditched you.” He glances back over his shoulder at the stage which is now empty. “Did they steal your guitar too?”

“That one’s just borrowed, I would never let my girl out of my sight like that.”

Jane resists the urge to roll her eyes at this - she imagines he’s even given his guitar a girl’s name, like “Lucille” or “Theresa”. She won’t give him the satisfaction of asking about it now, she’ll save that for when her mother is there to hear it. 

They manage to grab her kit and lock up her car with only a minimum of teasing from Guildford about her Prius. She expects to give him back the same when finally sees his motorbike, anticipating either some souped up American monstrosity or a barely-held-together dirt bike. 

It’s neither. It’s an older model, British-made by the logo, but it looks to be in good repair. It’s surprisingly tasteful, considering its owner. She still can’t quite believe she’s agreed to ride on it, however. Like some heroine in a novel racing off at the first sign of someone in danger, or a princess jumping on the back of a dragon to rescue an ill villager. She wonders what that makes Guildford. He’s certainly no knight in shining armour. A knight in shining leather jacket?

Only he’s handing that leather jacket to her. “I have two helmets but you should take the jacket.”

She presses it back towards him, “you don’t even have sleeves.”

Guildford pushes into her space and throws the jacket over her shoulders, “and you’re not wearing trousers. I run hot, especially after a gig, I’ll be fine. The drive isn’t that long.”

And then he turns away to pull out the spare helmet for her, tucking her kit into the boot, and she’s forced to accept the jacket. She slides it over her arms and realises that even though he’s not that much taller than her, she’s practically swimming in the leather sleeves. She shoves them up over her wrists and ignores his grin at the sight. 

Jane does fight to adjust her own helmet, drawing the line at letting him put it on her like she’s his girlfriend or something. She’s only doing this because some woman out there is in need of medical attention, and is apparently unable to find it anywhere else. Jane had considered the possibility that this was all some cheap ploy to get her back to his place, but there were much easier schemes, and even easier women. Had he had better manners, she might have been one of them. 

No, between his rude behaviour and his refusal to elaborate on the situation, she assumed it was probably just something embarrassing - for Winifred or for Guildford, it didn’t matter. Either  was fine by her, she would just build up her portfolio of funny medical stories a little earlier than most. And if things got too weird she could simply call a cab. 

She wasn’t chickening out yet, though. Even when Guildford straddles the bike and gestures for her to take the spot behind him. Jane had forgotten the fact she was wearing a short skirt.

“Eyes forward, mister.”

“Whatever you say, princess,” he laughs, but turns to face the other direction so she can primly lift one leg over the bike, keeping a few inches of space between their bodies.

But Guilford has other ideas. Warm, gloved hands reach back behind her knees to tug her forward, pressing her flush with his back. Her skirt rides up a little in the process, but none of it matters because there’s not so much as a centimetre between them for anyone to see anything. He draws her arms forward to wrap around his middle. 

And he really hadn’t been lying about running hot. She can feel the heat of him radiating everywhere they’re pressed together. Her face is right at the nape of his neck, the curls there damp from exertion and peeking out from underneath his helmet. He smells faintly of sweat and soap and leather, but mostly he just smells really nice. She resists the urge to lean in further, and her helmet thankfully stops her from doing something as embarrassing as pressing her face into his shoulder.

“Alright then, feet on the pegs,” he explains, and she scrambles to get her heeled boots locked on the second set of pegs, “arms tight around me, and lean with me around any curves. I’ll try and be gentle since this is your first time.”

She can hear the smirk in his voice and she wants to hit him, but he’s revving the engine and they’re rolling forward and Jane can’t do anything but hold on. 

He doesn’t peel out, however, and she’s forced to realise he actually does seem to be taking it easy on her - keeping just under the speed limit and avoiding any sharp turns. The wind whips a little at the bare skin of her legs, but otherwise it’s surprisingly…pleasant. Not that she’ll ever admit it. And with Guildford unable to open his mouth and say anything obnoxious, she’s allowed to simply enjoy the feel of her arms wrapped around a firm waist, her legs pressed against warm, solid thighs. 

He takes her further out into the country, to where the manor homes of her former life were surrounded by the less familiar farms and cottages. She starts to envision Winifred as some elderly relative or neighbour who doesn’t trust the NHS, but might allow someone of Guildford’s acquaintance to take a look at her. He turns off at one of the wide green pastures and the picture becomes even clearer. She’ll probably be offered tea and biscuits the moment she arrives.

“Winifred is a horse .”

“Yes, that's why you'll notice I brought you out to the stables to help her,” he says as if this is a completely normal thing to spring on a person.

“She’s a fucking horse.”

“You catch on quick, you know that?”

“She’s a horse, and I'm not a vet.”

“Oh I'm well aware of that - her owner keeps neglecting to pay his bills on time and so no vet in the Tri-County area will come and take a look at her.”

Jane wonders at why Guildford cares so much about a horse that isn’t even his, but perhaps he’s a part time groom or something. Part-time musician, part-time student - she hated that she was actually starting to find him interesting. Most of the people in her social class did so little of anything - including not paying their vet bills. She wasn’t sure exactly whose estate she was on right now but she wasn’t far from her own ancestral home, so she probably knew its owner. She decided against asking, however, not exactly wanting to give away her own position. Jane didn’t want to be lumped in with Winifred’s owner, even though she couldn’t pinpoint why she cared so much about Guildford’s opinion of her.

But he’s not looking at her right now, his full attention is on Winifred. His hands are stroking at her face and sides, quieting her where she’s startled a little bit at the lights and the presence of a stranger in her stall. 

“She’s been fairly agitated these last couple weeks - restless even, doesn’t want anyone near her except Rupert and me. And she’s been picky about what she eats. We thought she might have hay belly but Rupert’s been buying her the good stuff himself.” Jane has no idea what hay belly is but at least it’s already been ruled out. “There’s a broken fence post out there though and it’s possible she might have gotten a nasty splinter or scratched herself on a nail or something. Could she have tetanus?” 

“If she had untreated tetanus for a few weeks she’d be dead by now.” Jane might not know horses but she knew tetanus, and horses and sheep were even more susceptible than humans.

“Great bedside manner you have there,” Guildford finally looks back at her with a withering look. 

“They don’t teach bedside manner until year four, and besides, I’m telling you it’s probably not tetanus. One would think that would be good news.” 

He goes back to whispering sweet things to the horse, apologising for Jane’s words as if she’s the rude one here. She ignores the way her heart softens a little at his concern for the creature. 

Just in case, they work in tandem to check Winifred for any sign of splinters or scrapes. Jane shines her small torch along her limbs while Guildford carefully lifts Winifred’s hooves for her inspection. For as tough as he looks, he’s exceedingly gentle with her. It’s annoyingly attractive.

The buzzing of his mobile startles both girl and horse, and Guildford is quick to end the call and turn off the phone, looking annoyed at the caller ID. 

“Who’s calling you so late?” Jane has never been one to let her curiosity go unsatisfied.

“My father has somehow figured out I was going to be in town this weekend.”

“What happened to telling your parents to ‘fuck off ’?” Jane attempts to mimic the smugness of his earlier words.

“I think the nine declined calls sends the same message.” 

“The fact that he just called you again tells me it doesn’t.” Jane can commiserate, but she also can’t resist the urge to tease him a little after all his bullshit about not standing up to her own mother. 

“Once he gets something into his head, he’ll never let it go. He’s been nagging me to settle down for years.” And doesn’t that sound familiar.

“A commitment-phobe, how original. Well, I’d offer to show up as your fake date and return the favour, but I’m only in town this one weekend.” 

He snorts at the thought of it. “It’s probably not a good idea anyway - if I told my father I was bringing home a date he’d be booking the chapel and priest the second I hung up.” 

“He wants you to get married that badly?” 

“He wants me to live his life.” 

It’s like looking into a mirror of her own parental relationship. She can’t tease him about that one. “My mother doesn’t understand why I’m spending my youth getting ‘distracted’ by medical school, or my need for independence.” 

Frances Grey couldn’t understand why Jane needed a regular job at all, with no real power or influence, but she was still determined to do it on her own terms and with the full freedom of being unpartnered. It’s weird that this perfect stranger gets it better than her own mother does.

Guildford frowns a little at this. “Does that mean I need to convince her I can take care of you or something, because I…” 

A laugh forces itself out of Jane at the very idea. “Oh no, you just need to be yourself. Don’t change a single thing.” 

“...Alright?” 

Jane doesn’t want a knight in shining armour - especially not tomorrow. She wants the crass, barely employable tattooed guitarist to shake things up with her mother. She just hopes there’s no cute animals around tomorrow to soften his image.

She gives Winifred one last look over and pulls out her own mobile. “I can’t find any cuts or signs of swelling around her joints, maybe we should do a more general look at her vital signs?”

“Are you googling ‘normal horse temperature’?”

Jane looks up from the webpage. “I told you I’m not a vet. It’s not like I know off-hand what temperature a horse is supposed to be.”

“37.5 to 38.6 degrees,” he states, as if it’s common knowledge.

But he’s not the one with the infrared thermometer in his medkit. 

“37.8, as healthy as…”

“A horse?” He groans.

“I was trying not to say it. I can listen to her heart and then I can check her nose and ears,” she tells him as she pulls her stethoscope from her bag.

“Don’t you need to look up a normal heart rate for a horse?” She can’t tell if he’s mocking her or offering an honest suggestion. Jane already saw the rate range when she looked up the temperature question. She’s got the normal respiration rate range too, if needed. She may not be a vet, or even a full doctor yet, but she can memorise text with the best of them.

“Don’t you know it off hand?” She volleys back, half mocking herself. But also a little curious if he’ll know it.

“It doesn’t feel off.”

Guildford has his broad hand on Winifred’s chest, just behind her foreleg. Jane presses in beside him, sliding her hand and the stethoscope beneath his palm. He doesn’t move his hand immediately, but Jane tries her best to focus on counting the beats in time with her watch. 

32 bpm, another normal reading. She moves down to Winifred’s lungs, checking her respiration rate, and listening for any signs of obstruction. Normal again. Guildford is running his hands soothingly over her mane. Gods but his hands are nice. She checks her belly next, listening for the normal gurgles and peristalsis. She hears something else instead.

“Guildford?” She looks up to see the instant worry on his face. 

“How bad is it?”

Jane smiles.

“Winifred isn’t sick - she’s pregnant.”

He looks a little surprised by the news so she hands him the headset and guides the diaphragm back into place so he can listen to the second heartbeat himself - still faint but clearly distinct from its mother’s.

Guildford’s bright smile at the sound makes him look a bit like a kid at Christmas, and it melts Jane’s heart a little to see it. He still seems a little perplexed at the news, however. 

“But how? It’s all mares and geldings in here?”

“You said something about a broken fence?” She reminds him, and sees the exact moment when the thoughts connect.

And then he’s hugging her, lifting her in the air and spinning her to celebrate. Jane feels a little lighter too, oddly glad that she could deliver some good news after all. Guildford sets her back down slowly, keeping her still within the circle of his arms. Jane doesn’t try and break free immediately either. His eyes flick down to her mouth and she wonders if he’s about to try and kiss her. 

Jane realises she wants him to. His bare arms are warm around her sides and his lips look incredibly nice when they’re lifted by a real smile instead of his usual smirk. She tilts her face up towards his, and lets her eyelids go a little heavy. She watches as his tongue peeks out to wet his lips and she’s this close to just sliding her hands into those dark curls and dragging him down to kiss her. But then Winifred is butting her head against Guildford’s side, and the moment swiftly passes them by. Jane reluctantly pulls away.

“She’ll still need a real vet to come in now, if you can maybe find one that doesn’t know her owner’s a deadbeat. I could…” Jane catches herself before she starts offering to find a vet or pay for Winifred’s care herself. She knows that if Guildford actually shows up tomorrow, she’ll probably cave and offer anyway. 

“No chance you’d be willing to pop by for regular checkups?” He half teases.

“I’ll be back in Cambridge after the engagement party tomorrow,” she reminds him.

“...Right,” he accepts, clearly disappointed by the answer. He knows she isn’t a real vet though, and it’s not like she carries around equine ultrasound equipment in her kit. Unless he just wanted an excuse to see her again? But he’s already shifting away, “I guess I should get you back to town then.”

Before she even has a chance to work out if he wants her to stay - if she wants herself to stay - he’s walking out of the stables and expecting her to follow.

It’s a different kind of awkward, this time, climbing in behind him on the bike. He doesn’t make any allusions to her motorcycle virginity - or lack thereof, at this point - but he drives even more slowly than before. Jane gives into the urge to rest her chin on his shoulder, and allows her hands to splay a little across his stomach. Guildford relaxes a little at the gesture and she knows she made the right choice. The rest of the ride is pleasant, and she’s thankful she asked him to drop her off at her sister and William’s slightly more modest flat in town - all the easier to pick up her car tomorrow, and fewer questions about coming home so late - rather than her family estate, which would have been a far shorter ride and led to a great deal more questions.  

Even still, they arrive at her door far too soon, before she’s managed to figure out if there’s a way to recreate the moment from earlier. She takes off her helmet, and is pleased to see him do the same - this makes it much easier, if she can work up the nerve to get closer. She starts to unzip his leather jacket where she’s still wearing it, but he halts her.

“You can give it back to me tomorrow,” he tells her, taking the pull from her hands and zipping the coat back up.

Jane's eyes flick between the ringed hand at her chest - so dangerously near, but not taking any ungentlemanly liberties - and his grinning face above. Apparently she didn’t need to put in any work at all to revive the tension between them, it’s been simmering there the whole time. But since Guildford made his move with the zipper, she figures it's her turn to be bold. 

She reaches up to grasp at those tempting curls and finally pulls his face down to hers, kissing him with a certainty she doesn’t one hundred percent feel right now. Guildford is quick to catch on at least, and returns her kiss with equal fervour, lips sliding warm and plush against her own. 

The kiss quickly turns heated. Guildford’s clever tongue slips between her parted lips and he groans into her mouth when her fingers tug at his hair. His own hands have slid down to where her sweater and his jacket have ridden up a little, and she shivers at the rasp of callused fingers and leather half gloves at the bare skin of her back. 

Jane breaks their kiss only to run her lips over his lightly stubbled jawline, making her way towards the little silver hoop in his ear that’s been driving her crazy since she first noticed it. She delights in the choked off little gasp that tugging it with her teeth draws out, and the full body shudder when she catches the lobe between her lips. She can’t hide the squeak she lets out when he reaches down to palm at her ass, and pulls her in even closer to his overheated body. 

Jane realises this kiss is getting a little out of control for standing out in a fully public street, but his lips have made it to her throat and this is exactly how kissing boys who drive motorbikes is supposed to be. But in a strange way it’s also so very sweet. One of his hands goes to protect the back of her head when he pushes her up against the doorway, and he keeps peppering in these softer kisses under her chin even as his teeth scrape against tendons of her throat. 

He steps in closer and she can feel the solid heat of his thigh as it parts her own, and she wants so much to wrap her legs around his waist and tear off that stupid cut off t-shirt. But this is all a bit much for standing outside on Park Lane, and there’s not much privacy to be gained upstairs either. She reluctantly presses him back, smiling a little at the slightly dazed look on his face, lips flushed and kiss-bitten and his hair sticking up in wild tufts from where she’s been tugging at it. She imagines she looks equally a mess, panting into the space between them. Guildford reaches up to brush back her hair into some semblance of order, apparently also realising things have gotten a little out of hand, but grinning at whatever state she seems to be in right now. She’s already considering whether she’ll need to hide the evidence on her neck from her mother and sister’s eagle eyes tomorrow.

“My sister and her fiance are upstairs,” Jane tries to come up with a nice way to say ‘I’d love for you to come up but I’m apparently a teenager again who can’t escape my nosy family being in my business’.

Guildford seems to catch on to her meaning though, stepping back and taking her hand to press one last kiss to the back of her wrist.

“Until tomorrow, then.”

And then he’s driving off again, leaving her with her med kit in hand and lips still tingling.

Guildford isn’t outside when she arrives the next afternoon, as she had expected him to be from his earlier text. His jacket is still tucked into the crook of her arm. She looks down at her mobile, hoping to find some answer there. She had realised earlier she never actually learned his last name, so she had filled in his contact as first name: Guildford last name:Shit band from the pub, but thought better of it and went with the slightly kinder moniker of Guildford/Horse guy. And Guildford Horse guy has apparently just messaged her that he's already inside.

She hurries in, not wanting to miss the look on her mother’s face when she sees him there. Her hopes are dashed when she spots him already talking to her. Only she doesn’t look the least bit upset, which probably has to do with the fact that he’s traded the ripped jeans and leather jacket for a cashmere sweater and pressed trousers, stubbled cheeks and wild hair for a clean shave and cherubic curls, and he’s handing a bottle of Poggio Antico with a bow around its neck to Katherine and William. Just who the hell was this stranger? He somehow transformed into a mother’s wet dream! Only the sight of his ever present necklaces in the v of the sweater and the earring nearly hidden behind his artfully tousled curls give any indication this was the same man from last night. 

Lady Grey signals her over with a pleased look, and Jane walks over as if to the guillotine. Her mother barely pauses the conversation as Jane nears them.

“I was just telling Guildford here how you work much too hard at that school of yours and it’s so difficult to find anyone of quality there. And it seems your date for the party never showed -”

Her mother’s eyes go to the empty space at her side and Jane tries to interrupt her, “but…”

“ - though I thought, isn't it just perfect that Lord Dudley’s son also happens to be here, and also happens to be single.”

Lady Grey is smiling back over Guildford and Jane finally understands just how spectacularly her plan has backfired on her. 

“There you are, my boy!” Lord Dudley wanders over to join the farce, patting Guildford on the shoulder. “I see you’ve finally met Jane Grey - and here I thought you weren’t listening to any of your voice mails.”

​​The look on Guildford’s face when he too realises they’ve done exactly what his parents wanted almost makes up for it. 

Jane can only hope he was kidding about his father already planning their wedding.