Kitabı oku: «The Makings Of A Lady», sayfa 4
Miss Manning shrugged slightly. ‘It was a long time ago.’
Another silence ensued. This time, even Mrs Buxted seemed aware of the tension. She looked from face to face uncertainly.
George Manning spoke. ‘We are delighted to have been included in the invitation to stay at Monkton Park. Mr and Ms Foxley are generous hosts, indeed, to have included people they had never met. We are exceedingly grateful.’
Olivia could almost feel the tension ease. George’s speech struck a perfect note, diverting attention from Mrs Buxted and the topic of the Manning parents’ unfortunate demise. Mr and Mrs Foxley both responded enthusiastically, declaring that, of course, they were happy to welcome Mrs Buxted’s friends and that visitors enlivened their common routine.
Olivia could not resist sending a thankful glance in the direction of Mr Manning. The look he returned her was half-amusement, half...something darker.
He is interested in you.
He was still looking at her and she, as if turned to stone, was returning his gaze. Becoming aware, she blushed and, breaking her gaze, wriggled slightly in her seat. Beside her, she noticed, Jem’s back was ramrod straight. She stole a glance at him. His face was rigid, impassive. Despite George’s intervention, Jem was probably still uncomfortable with Mrs Buxted’s rudeness. She hoped he would feel at ease soon.
Tea was served and they all supped politely. Charlotte, Faith, George and Clara carried the conversation, while the others remained largely silent—even Mrs Buxted. Charlotte promised to call at Monkton Park tomorrow, which made Olivia sit up straighter. She must go, too!
She was still unsure what her opinion was of Mr George Manning, but one thing was certain—she very much wished to see him again so that she could find out.
Monkton Park was a pretty estate bordering Chadcombe to the east. Since the Foxleys had wed and taken up residence, the friendships between them all had deepened. Olivia had visited many times and had enjoyed seeing how Faith had adapted to her new roles as wife and mistress of Monkton Park. The birth of little Frederick had added to the happiness of the young couple and Olivia always looked forward to seeing how he had changed since she saw him last.
Today though, Olivia’s thoughts were not on Frederick, or Faith, or indeed any of Monkton Park’s permanent residents. Foolishly, her preoccupation was solely with only two people: Jem and the enigmatic George Manning.
The carriage lumbered on and Olivia let the lull of voices wash over her. Lizzie and Juliana were engaged in some frivolous talk about Juliana’s new fan, while Jem and Harry remained silent in the facing seats. The others were travelling in the new carriage, which gave more comfort and safety for Great-Aunt Clara’s old bones and Charlotte’s delicate condition. This could well be Charlotte’s last excursion away from home, as her confinement was only weeks away.
They had completed their courtesy call earlier in the week, staying for less than an hour. Olivia had enjoyed no further conversation with Mr Manning, as he had been seated with Lizzie during their call. However, Faith had invited them all to a dinner party tonight, in honour of her guests. They would all stay the night, as there was to be no moon, which would make it too dangerous to travel the road home.
‘Lord, I am hungry!’ announced Lizzie. ‘I deliberately took no nuncheon, as I knew we were to dine out tonight, but now I wish I had indulged myself. Even some thin gruel would be welcome for my present distress, for I declare I shall faint if no one feeds me soon!’ They all chuckled at Lizzie’s pronouncement—even Jem, who seemed generally more taciturn than he used to be.
Encouraged by this sign of animation, and under cover of Juliana and Lizzie’s speculation about what food might be offered by the Foxleys tonight, Olivia leaned forward and spoke to him.
‘It will be good to spend time with the Foxleys together, as we did that summer when you stayed with us in London. Do you remember? We went for a picnic.’
‘Of course I remember!’ he retorted. ‘You wore a yellow dress and I gave you a yellow flower that matched the colour exactly.’
She smiled, surprised he had remembered. She still had that flower, had treasured it. She could still recall the thrill that had gone through her when he had handed her the flower.
Finally, she had thought, here is a sign he is interested in me!
How wrong she had been. She had read too much into the situation, had been wilfully blind. He was looking at her expectantly, so, in a rush, she responded.
‘As I recall, I told you my dress was a perfect shade of jonquil, not yellow. A high-class dressmaker would never make anything in a colour as common as yellow!’
‘Yellow,’ he repeated and there was a definite twinkle in his eye. ‘It did not suit your complexion. You were decidedly sallow that day.’
She took this in good spirit. ‘Sallow? Sallow? I did not look sallow! Why, did not Charles Turner tell me I looked beautiful that day?’ Her eyes danced with merriment.
‘“Angelic”, I believe, was his epithet.’
‘Angelic, then. He certainly did not call me sallow!’
Jem rubbed one long finger thoughtfully along his jawline. ‘He may not have said it aloud, but—’
‘But nothing!’ She decided to enlist Lizzie’s assistance. ‘You remember my jonquil dress? I wore it to the picnic in London when you visited Jem that summer. Now, did I look sallow in it?’
‘I cannot remember the particular dress, I’m afraid,’ Lizzie admitted, ‘but I am certain of one thing. You could never look sallow, Olivia!’ She glared at her brother, but with a smile lurking in her eyes. ‘Jem, you should show some discretion when talking to ladies about their looks. Why, we are sensitive creatures, easily crushed by criticism!’
Olivia glanced at the other ladies. Both Juliana and Lizzie wore similar expressions of mock outrage—mirroring her own. She decided to test the men.
‘So then, Jem—and you, Harry!’
Harry flung his hands up. ‘This is nothing to do with me and I will not engage with you!’
‘Coward!’ muttered Jem.
Olivia ignored this. ‘What would you say about our appearance tonight?’
The men exchanged glances. ‘You expect, I suppose,’ drawled Jem, ‘a dozen outrageous compliments on your dresses and your hair, and no doubt any further attributes, possessions and qualities.’
‘At least a dozen!’ confirmed Olivia, her eyes brimming with mischief.
‘A dozen and no more!’ He eyed Olivia from head to toe, then quickly scanned Juliana and Lizzie. ‘I can affirm,’ he said theatrically, ‘that you each have beautiful dresses and hair, and—er—’ his eyes scanned them again, a hint of theatrical panic mixed with his amusement ‘—gloves!’ he said triumphantly. ‘That is surely a dozen things!’
‘It is only three and well you know it!’ challenged Juliana.
He shook his head. ‘There are three of you and I named four items, so that is twelve!’ He nudged Harry in the ribs. ‘Wouldn’t you say so, Captain?’
His former commanding officer smiled broadly. ‘I heard only three for each lady, so that is nine.’
Jem clutched his heart. ‘Betrayed by my comrade! But none of you can count!’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Lizzie.
‘I know exactly what he means’, said Olivia, dimpling. ‘He is counting the gloves as two separate items!’
Jem nodded, smiling indulgently. ‘You always understood me, Olivia.’
Jem’s tone was entirely familiar to Olivia—it was exactly how he always had spoken to her when she was eighteen. She sighed inwardly. How often had she wished he would see her as a woman, not a girl? She frowned, her thoughts returning full circle to the realisation that no-one, including Jem, saw her as an adult, even now.
Yet, as they travelled on to Monkton Park, Olivia recognised with some surprise that she felt the glimmerings of peace. To her right the sky was colouring up for what promised to be a glorious sunset—glowing purple and gold and orange-red. Although the same frustrations dogged her, at least here, in this very carriage, were people with whom she felt at ease.
Jem sat back, enjoying the sensation of simply looking at her. She’d blossomed into quite a beauty. While she had been striking at eighteen, at twenty-two she was simply exquisite. As to her character, it was too early to tell, but he suspected her nature was basically unchanged.
Yet some changes were apparent. Gone was the naive girl who had glowed in his company. In her place was someone more reserved, less easy to read. It surprised him just how much he desperately wanted to get to know her all over again.
Who knew what experiences she’d had in the intervening four years? Had she fallen in love? Four years ago, he had foolishly allowed himself to become lost in her company, knowing it was destined to lead nowhere. The Earl, Olivia’s brother, had barely been aware of his existence.
And why should he? As a family they regularly hosted guests and the Earl had been busy with Parliament, his duties to the estate and his new marriage to Charlotte. He had spent little time with Jem and, although unfailingly polite, had showed no particular interest in him. Any suggestion of a relationship between Ensign Jem Ford and the sister of the formidable Earl of Shalford had been unthinkable.
Knowing he was a guest in their home and that he was trusted by her brothers to behave appropriately towards Olivia, he had acted the gentleman throughout and never so much as kissed her.
I was a damned fool! he thought now, as the realisation of the lost opportunity washed over him anew. I should have kissed her while I had the chance—while she might have wanted me to.
Desire flooded through him at the thought.
Or perhaps not, he thought a few moments later, as his rational mind reasserted itself and he pictured the ramifications. Olivia might have responded with enthusiasm and his heart skipped at the notion of the joy that would have brought to him then, but had the Earl discovered them Jem would undoubtedly have been banished from the Fanton home—and from Olivia’s life.
How might it have changed her feelings for him? Could he have secured her deeper affections, if he had breached the boundaries around them? Eighteen-year-olds were not normally renowned for constancy. Even if he’d tried to fix her interest—which would have been madness—it would not have survived four years apart.
Which brought him right back to the present, sitting opposite her in a carriage, desire and yearning confusing his senses. He glanced at her again. She was looking out of the window at the beautiful sunset, calm and serene. Certainly there was no awkwardness in her dealings with him—she was friendly, warm and gracious. Equally, there was no indication of any warmer feelings.
We had our chance, he thought, and we let it pass us by. The opportunity was lost.
The realisation hit him like a blow to the stomach.
Chapter Five
‘Lady Olivia, your seat is here.’ Olivia thanked Faith and moved to the table. The footmen were already bringing dishes into the dining room and the smells were wonderfully appetising. Faith continued to seat the ladies according to her plan and soon the men, too, were moved into position. Olivia had Charles Turner on her right and George Manning was placed on her left. Jem was opposite, between Amy Turner and Mrs Buxted.
During the first course, Olivia chatted easily with Charles, whom she had known all her life. His sister Amy, she noted, was being gently entertained by Jem. As she watched, Jem spoke softly to the girl, who was just seventeen and not long out. Poor Amy tended to still be tongue-tied at formal events.
Knowing how anxious Amy was likely to be tonight, Olivia could not help but be glad she was seated next to Jem. He had sensed—without anyone having to prompt him—that Amy would need kindness and reassurance tonight.
And, she reflected, perhaps it is best for me to have a break from the confusion Jem causes in my heart.
Was it inappropriate to feel interested in Jem’s actions? After all, she and Jem had not seen each other for years. Why, then, did she feel it was natural and right for her to think of them having some sort of special connection? Looked at from that perspective, she could not justify it. She was making assumptions based on something that existed only in her own imagination. It had not even been real in the past. She looked across the table again, this time focusing on Amy. ‘Your sister looks beautiful tonight, Charles!’
Charles snorted in response, glancing across the table. Amy’s fair hair was drawn up into a high topknot and her pretty face was framed by elegant side curls, emphasising her delicate features. Her cheeks were slightly flushed and her eyes sparkled.
Her elegant gown, as she had confided to Olivia while they had been assembled in the parlour, awaiting the call to dinner, was new and specially made for tonight. Formal dinners did not come along very often and Squire Turner must have been persuaded by his wife that on this occasion Amy required new finery. The dressmaker had outdone herself. Amy’s gown was of rose silk, trimmed with lace, and was perfectly suited to her age and her complexion.
‘Hard to believe she is now out,’ said Charles. ‘I still think of her as no more than twelve and suited to the schoolroom.’
‘Oh, Charles, you sound like your papa!’ Squire Turner had long bemoaned the fact that his little Amy was making her debut this year and that she scarcely seemed old enough to be out. Olivia was not the only one to suffer from an over-protective family. ‘Amy is perfectly ready for company. Why, just look at her, conversing so easily with Mr Ford.’
Her brow creased. When she was eighteen, Jem had been kind to her in just the same way. And she had blossomed under the warmth of his attention, misinterpreting his kindness for something deeper. She swallowed as the realisation sank in. She had spent four years feeling angry with him, alongside her heartbreak. Yet now, she suddenly wondered if perhaps it was she who had been at fault, for assuming feelings on his part that had never existed.
Charles grimaced. ‘I see them,’ he muttered.
‘What? Don’t you like Jem?’ Olivia was puzzled. Years ago, Charles and Jem had met in London and always seemed at ease with each other.
‘Jem is the best of fellows, I am sure,’ said Charles. ‘But one does not like to see any man flirt with one’s sister.’
Olivia laughed. ‘He is not flirting! He is simply conversing with her to make her feel at ease. Why, you sound like my brothers when I first came out! Every man who spoke to me was watched and criticised!’
‘It is a brother’s fate, I suppose,’ he said morosely. He glanced back at Jem and Amy, who were talking quietly, their heads close together. ‘I know what I see,’ he growled. ‘Perhaps I shall become accustomed to it in time.’
The footmen moved in to clear away the soup and the fish course was served. At the head of the table, this was the signal for Faith, as hostess, to turn the conversations. With relief—for the conversation with Charles was creating unexpected anxiety—Olivia saw Faith turn away from Adam, who was seated on her right as guest of honour, and strike up a conversation with Harry, to her left. With the table now turned, everyone else now ended their conversations and turned to the person on the other side. For Olivia, that meant speaking directly to George Manning for the first time this evening—apart from the formulaic greeting on their arrival. Even then, she had noted how his gaze had swept over her face and her form, before his dark brown eyes had pinned hers in an intense gaze that had made her reach for her fan.
Now, she was conscious of bracing herself for the encounter, but also that she felt alive having him beside her. She was grateful to have the distraction of his company. He had Lizzie on his other side—Faith had seated him between them deliberately, Olivia was sure.
‘Good evening, once again, Lady Olivia,’ he growled. ‘May I offer you some salmon? You look stunning by the way.’ He tagged on the compliment as if it were an afterthought, leaving Olivia unsure of his sincerity. Such a contrast with Jem and Harry’s laughing repartee earlier!
‘Er...yes, thank you.’ Olivia had not felt so uncertain for a long time. Why, she was as tongue-tied as Amy! She forced herself to speak. ‘And some of the potato pudding, please.’
Soon her plate was laden with all her favourite dishes and she and George tucked in. ‘Tell me, Lady Olivia,’ said George, eyeing her intently, ‘do you visit Monkton Park frequently?’
His innocuous question was clearly designed to put her at ease. Although she was half-aware he was using all his social charm on her, Olivia could not resist gradually relaxing as they made small talk. They chatted of Surrey, the families who lived hereabouts and his impressions of the countryside. It reminded him, he said, of parts of northern Spain. He had also previously lived in Salzburg, Venice, Brussels, and, most recently, Paris.
‘Have you travelled in Europe, Lady Olivia?’
‘Er...no. I have been to London, many times. And I have visited friends in Lincolnshire.’
Lord, had she really just said Lincolnshire? It was a perfectly good part of England and she had had an enjoyable time visiting her friends there, but it did not begin to compare with the exotic places he had seen.
He was nodding politely. ‘Alas, I have not yet visited Lincolnshire. In fact, there are many places in this, my homeland, that I have not yet had the pleasure of seeing. But, for now, I am content to gaze on the beauty of Surrey.’ His eyes blazed into hers and her colour rose. He leaned forward and spoke into her ear. ‘I noticed at Chadcombe you did not mention the fact that we had met before.’
Now she was totally flustered. He smiled at her confusion. ‘Never fear! It will be a secret between us.’
She frowned. She did not keep secrets from her family! Thankfully, the servants moved in to replace empty dishes with full ones and she was given a brief respite from his focus as she turned back to Charles.
When it was time to turn once more, she felt more ready for him.
‘You mentioned you lived in Brussels, Mr Manning.’ Her tone was polite, not too interested. Good. ‘Was this before or after the great battle?’
‘Waterloo.’ He frowned, then grimaced slightly, as if struggling with his own thoughts. ‘I will never forget it as long as I live.’
She caught her breath. ‘You were there?’
He nodded grimly. ‘I was. I fought that day. Longest day I’ve ever spent.’ His eyes grew distant. ‘We lost some good men.’
She swallowed. ‘I apologise. I did not wish to distress you.’
He caught her gaze. Helpless, she could not break free. ‘I am glad you mentioned it. I feel I could tell you things—things I could not normally say.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Oh.’
Do not act so scatter-witted, she told herself. Say something meaningful!
‘What things?’
He seemed not to notice her tongue-tied stupidity. ‘We men are changed by war. The things we saw, the experiences we went through...’ He shook his head.
Much moved, she was tempted to reach out and touch his strong hand. She resisted. Instead, she said softly, ‘There were good tales told about that day, too. Tales of heroism and bravery.’ The conversation was making her feel decidedly uncomfortable. Oh, why had she mentioned the battle?
He looked at her keenly. ‘You are right.’ He hesitated, then spoke in a lower, quieter voice. ‘There is something—a thing I have not told many people. But it makes me feel better about that day.’
‘Yes?’ She could not resist encouraging him, for now she really wanted to hear his tale. He leaned forward, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek.
‘It was during the battle. We were under attack from all sides. We had already lost dozens of men from our section. Beside me, a horse was killed—its throat cut by one of those French monsters.’
Olivia, thoughts of her beloved Dahlia in her mind, immediately recoiled in horror. Raising her hand to her mouth, she gasped.
‘Oh, dear! Pardon me, Lady Olivia, for I did not mean to distress you. It is just—that day will stay with me...’ He shook his head sorrowfully.
Olivia immediately felt guilty. Here she was, upset at even hearing his tale, when he had been forced to experience these awful events first hand. Though Harry and Jem had both been soldiers, they had never spoken to her in depth about the horrors of their soldiering days. Frankly, she preferred not to think of the details. Now, here was a man who had chosen to confide something to her. It was, no doubt, a privilege that he should do so. She must be brave and grown-up about it.
She rested her hand on his arm. ‘Please, continue.’ Dinner was forgotten. She would focus only on him.
He smiled gratefully. ‘Thank you.’ His eyes became distant again. ‘One of my colleagues became trapped underneath the horse. Despite the fact that we were fighting hand to hand at that point, I knew I had to do something.’ He was sitting straighter and his hand gestures had become quite animated. Still, his voice remained low. ‘Ignoring the danger to myself, I pulled him out from underneath.’
Olivia was fascinated. He told the tale so simply, but it was compelling. ‘Why, Mr Manning, you are a hero!’
He brushed away her words with a gesture. ‘Never say so! I only did what anyone could have done.’
This she could not accept. ‘I think not! Others did not do it. You did. That means something.’ Her eyes were shining. Suddenly she saw him in a whole new light.
Of course, she knew there had been acts of heroism at Waterloo. She had read about some of them in the newspapers. But to actually meet a real hero—here in Surrey! Once again, her heart was beating rather fast.
‘I hope you got a medal!’ She had seen Harry’s and Jem’s Waterloo medals. Made of silver and with their names etched on the back. Both Jem and Harry had treasured them.
‘Alas—my medal was stolen!’
‘Oh, my goodness, how shocking! Where did this happen?’
His eyes flicked, briefly, to the side. ‘Oh, somewhere between Brussels and Paris.’ He thought for a second. ‘I had packed it away for safekeeping at the bottom of my valise. Someone must have found it and taken it—perhaps at one of the inns.’
‘But that is terrible! Why, everyone knows how precious those medals are!’
‘Indeed, and I have no doubt it was sold on for a great sum. I shall never see it again.’ He sighed quietly, then shook himself. ‘But we must not speak of such sad events. Not tonight, when there is a fine feast before us, and good wine, and—’ he sent her a sidelong look ‘—excellent company.’
She blushed again—really, one would think she was but a schoolgirl! There was one final thing she wished to say to him. ‘Mr Manning.’
‘Yes, Lady Olivia?’ His eyes were smiling.
‘It may be helpful to know that my brother Harry and Jem—Mr Ford—both fought at Waterloo. I believe men often like to talk together about such things.’
The smile faded. He glanced at both men, his gaze sharp, interested. Then he turned back to her. ‘Thank you for telling me. I generally prefer not to speak of it. Just now was different—your powers of persuasion got me talking about things I would not normally discuss.’ He lifted her hand. ‘I do hope you will keep what I told you to yourself?’
‘Of—of course.’ Olivia felt so sorry for him. He had been through a harrowing experience at Waterloo, but did not wish his heroism to be widely known. Her heart melted as she considered how difficult it must be. At that, Jem happened to turn his head to look at them. His eyes flicked briefly to where her hand still rested on Mr Manning’s arm, then he looked away again.
Once again, George turned to talk to Lizzie, but Charles, on Olivia’s right, would only sigh morosely into his blancmange. Eventually, after some gentle questioning, he mumbled something about Jem leading his sister astray. Olivia looked across the table—and what she saw surprised her. Jem and Amy, who were speaking again, seemed to be getting along famously. Amy looked relaxed and comfortable, and was involved in telling Jem a long story, by the looks of things. And Jem! He looked as if he was fascinated by Amy’s tale. In fact, he looked as if he was fascinated by Amy. His eyes never left her. He seemed completely absorbed in her. It was most disconcerting.
‘I see what you mean, Charles!’ Olivia swallowed hard.
‘I did tell you so, Olivia. He’s hanging on her every word! And years ago I used to think Jem a sensible fellow!’ He took a long sup from his wineglass. ‘Depend upon it, she will have every fortune hunter in the country following her—and how am I to steer her through it?’
‘Well, you surely cannot accuse Jem of being a fortune hunter! Of that you must acquit him!’
He eyed her balefully. ‘Oh, I know he is well circumstanced—came into quite an inheritance, did he not? But one can never have too much money, y’know!’
This she would not accept. ‘No—you do them both a disservice! Jem would never pursue a young lady just because of her dowry and she is—why, she is beautiful and kind, and clever...’ Her voice tailed off.
‘Is she? I’ll take your word for it. Yes, I see your fierce look! Very well, I accept that Amy is pretty. And she is a good sort—’ He took another swig. ‘Perhaps I don’t want her to grow up and leave us!’
‘Oh, Charles! All will be well, you’ll see!’ Even to her own ears, she did not sound convincing. Olivia sighed. She only wished she could believe her own words.
Jem tried to concentrate on what Amy was saying, but to no avail. Rage had taken him over and he wanted nothing more than to plant a facer squarely on Manning’s nose! Olivia had looked as though she were entranced by him. What on earth had Manning been saying to trigger the rapt look on Olivia’s face as she listened? Oh, he knew that expression well—she had used to look at him in just such a way.
No longer. Manning was the new flavour in her world. He was sniffing round her—and making headway, if Jem was not mistaken. Not that it was any of his business, he reminded himself. Olivia was her own woman and had probably encountered many such handsome tryers over the past four years. His own reaction was simply because he had made her the focus of his foolish dreams for so long. Perfectly logical that his mind would struggle to separate reality from fantasy. Olivia was not his, had never been his.
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