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.
Chapter Six
Doves and wood pigeons were all very well, thought Olivia, in paintings. She quite liked them when they were in pies, or roasted in onion sauce. But when at least ten of them had taken up residence in a tree directly outside one’s bedroom window, cooing and calling relentlessly, it was the outside of enough!
She could tell it was very early. There were no sounds of activity in Monkton Park, as the family, guests and servants were all still abed. She turned over again. A restless night in a strange bed—though the guest rooms at Monkton Park were comfortable and beautifully furnished—had left her feeling as though she had not slept at all. Fragmented dreams of running from danger, Amy laughing at her and dead horses had troubled her night, and the birds outside her window had now woken her far too early. Sighing, she sat up. There was no point in just lying there.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, having washed, tied her hair up as best she could and donned her riding habit, she left the bedchamber. She had already arranged with Faith to take Faith’s mare out for a gallop before breakfast—though neither of them had anticipated that she would be out this early! She would have to saddle the horse her
self, as the stable boy was likely still asleep. Thinking of this, she was pleased she’d managed to dress without needing to ring for a maid. She’d been raised to be as independent as possible and to consider the needs of the servants—they needed their sleep just as much as anyone else. The only bits she’d missed were the silver buttons at her wrists, but she had turned the sleeves up slightly and thought they looked fine.
Tiptoeing along the landing, so as not to awaken the other guests, she got a fright when a door on her left suddenly opened!
‘Oh!’ the exclamation left her, sounding rather loud in the early-morning hush. She froze, watching helplessly as someone emerged.
It was George Manning. He was wearing a rather extravagant dressing gown and his feet were bare. He was closing the door softly when he heard her exclamation and whirled around to face her, looking just as startled as she felt.
‘Oh! Lady Olivia! I—’
He broke off and just looked at her. She also could not think of what to say. Absently, she noticed with interest the dark hair visible through the open V of his dressing gown. Her heart was pounding rather loudly in her ears and her palms were moist with sudden sweat.
Downstairs, a clock struck the hour, its chimes faintly sounding up the elaborate staircase ahead. Four—five—six... Nothing more. Six o’clock. Lord, how early it was!
‘Are you going riding at this hour?’ His expression was shocked.
She lifted her chin. ‘I often go riding before breakfast—Mr and Mrs Foxley know me well, so they would not be surprised. Although...er...six o’clock is early, even for me.’ As she spoke, all the time she was wondering what on earth he was also doing awake and where he was going in his dressing gown!
His eyes darted away, then back again. ‘Most unusual. I...er... I am going to the terrace to smoke a cigar. Disgusting habit, I know, but sometimes when I cannot sleep...’ His voice tailed away. ‘You may wonder,’ he resumed, ‘why I do not simply blow a cloud in my chamber. Well, I confess...’ he smiled broadly at her ‘...I have run out of cigars, and was intending to purloin one of Foxley’s from the dining room.’
The Makings of a Lady Page 6