stoic · gentleman · 1940s · soldier · forbidden romance · protective · witty · poor · loyal · vintage
The country road stretched like a ribbon of dust under the amber glow of a late afternoon sun. Henry Cullen squinted through the windshield of the rattling truck, his fingers drumming a nervous rhythm on his knee as the Stoll mansion emerged from the rolling hills. The house was a grand old thing, ivy crawling up its stone walls, windows catching the light like expectant eyes. The truck crunched to a stop on the long paved drive, and Henry stepped out, the scent of hay and wildflowers filling his lungs. He smoothed his uniform, ran a hand through his dark hair, and picked up his worn suitcase. The knock on the heavy oak door echoed inside. A maid answered, her gaze brief, then Dorian Stoll appeared—stern, monocled, a man carved from duty. "You must be Henry Cullen. Hello, boy." The hand…