‘I see.’ She didn’t, not really, but she supposed it made sense to him. ‘Shall we go downstairs, then?’
He assented and fell in beside her.
This whole situation is peculiar, she was thinking. Here I am, at six in the morning, descending a staircase in Monkton Park, accompanied by a gentleman wearing a dressing gown and, she speculated, very little else.
Beside her, he retied the belt of his gown more tightly and Olivia stifled a nervous giggle. His height and breadth was imposing and she could occasionally catch the scent of him as they moved down the stairs in unison.
In the hallway, she wished him a polite adieu, finding she could not quite look him in the eye. He bowed gallantly, though the effect was made somewhat strange by the bare feet and by his attire. She had never seen any man apart from her papa and her brothers dressed for bed before.
There was something exquisitely dangerous about the whole situation that had Olivia’s heart pounding. Once again this handsome stranger was disconcerting her. Expressing a wish to see him at breakfast, she made for the front door. Thankfully, the bolts slid back easily, and she emerged, relieved, into the early morning sunlight.
* * *
‘May I offer you some beef, Lady Olivia?’ George Manning was all attention and had solicitously been offering her a range of breakfast foods since she had taken a seat at the table. Jem and Amy were there, too, as well as Faith and a sleepy-looking Lizzie. The others were presumably still in their chambers.
George Manning was too much, Olivia felt, for breakfast time. Too dashing, too debonair and far too confusing. Attired now in the palest pantaloons, a snowy white shirt, and well-fitting coat, he looked just as attractive—and dangerous to her senses—as he had at six o’clock.
Jem, too, looked handsome in elegant morning dress. With a single glance, Olivia noted the way his fine buckskins clung to his thighs and how his morning coat was moulded to him like a second skin. She could not bear to look at him, yet wanted nothing more than to look at him. To cover her confusion, she sent him a sunny grin.
He responded with a slow smile, then turned to answer a question from Amy. Olivia’s own smile faded. She made a careful study of her breakfast.
‘Good morning, Emma!’ George rose to greet Miss Manning, who had just entered, wearing a handsome and expensive-looking morning gown of blue merino, trimmed with a deep flounce at the hemline.
‘Morning, George! Good morning, all!’ They all murmured their greetings, then Miss Manning took her place. Olivia watched curiously as George ensured his sister had all she required. It gave her a feeling of reassurance to see George being so solicitous towards his sister. She often felt that observing family relationships provided an insight into character.
Reassurance? She suddenly caught the direction of her own thoughts. Why should she need reassurance? She knew, after what he had told her last night, that George Manning was a hero. She could not imagine how he had managed to be so brave, saving another while putting his own life at risk. That was all the reassurance she needed as to his character.
‘What do you think, Olivia?’ Jem was speaking to her. Wrenching her gaze away from Mr Manning, and hoping her feelings hadn’t been showing on her face, she looked at Jem.
‘I’m sorry, Jem, what did you say?’
His expression did not change; he merely looked at her levelly. ‘I was wondering if we should all take a turn about the gardens after breakfast.’
Disappointment stabbed at her. Was she not, then, to enjoy a tête-à-tête with Jem alone?
She shook herself. She had no right to any particular attention from Jem. She swallowed her regret without looking at it too carefully. ‘Yes! Let us all go! That is, everyone who wishes to.’
‘Capital idea!’ said George. ‘Emma, how about it?’
Miss Manning looked at him and some unspoken message seemed to pass between them. ‘Very well.’
Olivia sighed inwardly. She had not yet warmed to Miss Manning. Conversation with her last night after dinner had been stilted and Olivia had been relieved when the men had rejoined them. Miss Manning was a woman of few words, yet she was not, Olivia surmised, lacking in confidence. She seemed serene, self-contained and unconcerned—as if all of them were children at play around her feet, to be ignored. She was perfectly polite and responded to questions when asked, but seemed uninterested in her fellow guests.
George was his sister’s opposite, Olivia mused. Not just in looks, but in character. While she was quiet, he was jovial. If Miss Manning was uninterested, George was extremely interested. In everyone. Lizzie had confided to Olivia that George had been flirting with her, too, drawing her out, asking her about her likes and opinions in the same way he had talked to Olivia.
The man’s a flirt! Olivia thought now, not without a hint of disappointment. When he talked to her, he had given her the impression that he was particularly interested in her. Yet Lizzie had felt the same.
‘Let us both enjoy his attentions, then!’ Lizzie had suggested last night. ‘He is prodigiously good-looking, after all!’
Lizzie and Olivia had developed the habit of chatting in animated tones after each ball, picnic and rout, speculating about the young men and enjoying the thrill of the attention they received as young ladies. If she and Lizzie could flirt, then why should she feel uncomfortable with the men who dallied with them in turn? Especially when she now knew that Mr Manning was a man of integrity, beneath the flirtation.
Yet something about last night had rocked her. She felt unsure, as if her peace was threatened. Anxious knots had formed in her belly. Logically, though, she could not identify the threat.
Perhaps it was just that George Manning seemed so much more dangerous than the young men that she was accustomed to. He was like a romantic hero from a Gothic novel. She easily could picture him fighting heroically in battle, rescuing damsels in distress and defeating one’s enemies.
Ooh, she liked that idea! Were she ever to be in distress, she could think of worse fates than to be rescued by the dashing Mr Manning. She resisted the idea of placing Jem in that role in her imagination. It was altogether too disturbing.
‘Olivia?’ Everyone was looking at her.
‘Sorry, Amy, I was wool-gathering and daydreaming! I did not sleep very well last night. What did you say?’
‘Just that we should probably bring shawls for our walk. There is apparently a blustery wind this morning.’
In truth, the day was rather breezy. Olivia nodded. ‘I know—I was out riding before breakfast.’
She could feel George’s eyes on her. Avoiding his gaze, she nevertheless felt a slow blush flood her cheeks. Oh, why had she mentioned that?
Faith was frowning. ‘I am so sorry that you did not sleep well, Olivia. I do hope your bed was comfortable. Or was it, perhaps, something you had at dinner? I did wonder about those prawns...’
Olivia was mortified. ‘Oh, no, Faith, you mustn’t think that! The food was delightful and the room so comfortable. But you know me of old—I often struggle to sleep when away from home—especially on the first night.’
She continued to reassure Faith as the ladies all climbed the stairs in search of shawls. She would hate for her thoughtless words to upset her hostess, who had been so kind. As they continued along the landing, Olivia absent-mindedly noticed Miss Manning enter one of the bedrooms. It was only when she got to her own chamber that she thought about what she had seen. Miss Manning had gone into George’s room!
She shook herself. That should not surprise her. Miss Manning’s shawl might be in George’s bedchamber—she might have left it there at some point. The woman was perfectly free to enter her brother’s bedroom if she wished. Olivia shrugged.
She picked up her own shawl—a beautiful, soft Indian wrap in subtle shades of blue—checked her appearance in the mirror, then hurried back downstairs. As she descended, she beca
me aware of male voices below. Jem and George were conversing.
‘Delightful! Mr and Mrs Foxley have been most kind.’ George’s voice.
‘They are generous and trusting people, that is for sure.’ That was Jem, but there was a puzzling edge to his voice. ‘Some might say they are too trusting.’
‘And do you say so, Mr Ford?’ Now it was George who sounded strange. His tone was silkily polite, but there was a barb in it. Olivia’s pace slowed. What on earth was happening?
‘Time will tell, no doubt, Mr Manning. We all of us must navigate our way through life as best we can, balancing generosity with self-interest.’
‘Indeed.’ George’s tone was curt. Olivia was now at the bottom of the staircase and George’s eyes flicked briefly towards her. ‘I am one of those who will always put others first.’ His voice was a little louder. ‘Self-interest is unknown to me.’ Now he turned towards her ‘Ah, Lady Olivia!’ He swept forward, making an elegant bow. ‘So happy to see you again—and what a fetching shawl!’
Olivia could feel herself blushing. His gallantry was pleasant—but she must not let him see that. She kept her tone even. ‘I have only left you for five minutes.’
‘When you are gone, Lady Olivia, five minutes is like five hours!’ He smouldered at her, humour glinting in his eyes, and she could not prevent a giggle. Really, the man was outrageous!
She turned towards Jem. ‘What do you think of my shawl, Jem?’ She lifted the ends up to show him the beautiful fabric.
‘Very nice,’ he retorted bluntly.
One side of the shawl slipped from her grasp briefly and Jem grabbed it, his hand brushing her arm as he replaced it. A familiar thrill went through her, making her quiver. She was relieved when her thanks came out in a normal-sounding voice.
The others arrived then, in a bustle of muslin, walking boots, and conversation. Lizzie, speaking in Olivia’s ear, confessed that she was looking forward to the walk, even though it was at such an ungodly early hour. Faith, all smiles, had brought little Frederick and the women were invited to exclaim over him. Overwhelmed, he sought comfort in his mama’s skirts, until she picked him up. He then promptly tucked his face into her neck and pretended not to hear the ladies call his name.
‘He will not be so bashful after a few minutes—just wait and see!’ said his doting mother.
And so it proved. Frederick’s shyness lasted only until they had reached the end of the first path, barely a hundred yards from the front door. Soon he was running and yelling, and fighting imaginary enemies with a stick he found under an elm tree.
‘He is determined to be a hero, for his papa has filled his head full of stories,’ said Faith indulgently. ‘He has told me that if a “Bad Man” comes, he will fight him.’
‘Well, good for you, Frederick!’ said Lizzie, ‘for we have need of heroes in this world.’ She linked her arm with Olivia’s. ‘Is that not true, Olivia?’
Olivia laughed, glad that Lizzie had distracted her from another rather stilted conversation with Miss Manning, who was on her left. ‘Strangely, I was just thinking earlier how exciting it must be for the heroines in those Gothic novels who are rescued from danger by a dashing hero!’
Miss Manning, looking thoughtful, said, ‘I have never wished to be rescued. I would much prefer to rely on my own resources.’ She indicated George, who was walking ahead, engaging in animated conversation with Amy and Charles. ‘My brother is a strong, talented person, but even he would know better than to suggest that I might ever be in need of rescue.’
Olivia and Lizzie exchanged glances. ‘Such a pity, Miss Manning—for I am sure that George would love the opportunity to rescue someone.’ Lizzie’s tone was playful.
Miss Manning snorted. ‘Undoubtedly. It is in his nature to be dashing, and flamboyant. I have known him too long to see it clearly now.’ She pursed her lips. ‘But he is a man of many talents. His wife will be a lucky woman.’
Olivia’s eyes widened. Lizzie’s grip tightened on her arm. ‘Is Mr Manning, then, considering entering the married state?’
‘I believe he is now of an age where he is beginning to consider settling,’ said Miss Manning. ‘It would take a special woman to win him, I believe.’
Well! George Manning, handsome, debonair, heroic—and in want of a wife! Olivia squeezed Lizzie’s arm and got an answering nod from her friend. They had much to talk about.
Within a very few moments, they managed to separate themselves from the rest of the party, by the simple expedient of Lizzie pausing to study a random hedgerow, speculating whether it was hawthorn or a blackthorn.
‘Blackthorn,’ said Olivia. ‘See the shape of the leaves?’
Lizzie pretended to inspect them, waiting until the others were out of earshot. Then she straightened, saying excitedly, ‘Well! Miss Manning could not have said it more plainly!’
‘I know! He is in search for a wife!’
They clasped their hands together excitedly. ‘Imagine walking into a ballroom in London as Mrs George Manning!’ said Lizzie dreamily.
‘And he is a war hero!’ announced Olivia.
‘What!’ shrieked Lizzie. ‘Tell me what you know!’
Olivia told her, swearing her to secrecy. Lizzie’s eyes opened wide. ‘Poor Mr Manning! What a terrible situation to be in!’ She reflected. ‘I had not thought much about the fact that there are all those horses on the battlefield. But I know that Jem’s injury happened when a horse fell on him.’
‘Really? I had not remembered that—but then, he has never spoken of it to me directly. And I never heard anything about Jem’s life being in danger at the time.’ Olivia frowned.
‘Anyway—Mr Manning! What a catch he would be!’
‘I wonder if either of us will receive a proposal from him?’ mused Olivia.
‘If he proposes to you, I shall sacrifice myself and stand aside!’ said Lizzie, the back of her hand on her brow, in a fair imitation of an actress in a tragedy.
‘As will I!’ confirmed Olivia. ‘Though it won’t come to that. Why would someone like him offer marriage to a provincial miss like you or I?’
‘We are attractive, well dowried and of good family. Why, you are daughter and sister to an earl!’ Lizzie retorted.
‘I suppose,’ said Olivia doubtfully. ‘But he is so well travelled and so sophisticated. We must seem like bumpkins to him.’ She was thinking of his dressing gown. If Adam or Harry dared wear something so unusual, they would be secretly laughed at by every servant who saw it—never mind having to survive the reactions of their wives and siblings. It had looked strange to Olivia’s country eye—but then, she and her family did not mingle with the fashionable set.
‘Bumpkins or not, I know when a man finds me attractive. As do you. We shall flirt and encourage him, and see what happens. It will be amusing!’ Lizzie’s glee was infectious. Olivia could not help smiling.
‘Very well.’
‘Ladies!’ It was George, approaching with a dazzling smile. ‘I feared the others would leave you behind, so I came back to accompany you. We are to walk in the direction of the river.’ He gave Olivia a speaking look. ‘I have been there already—a delightful spot. There are even stepping stones.’
Now Olivia’s blush was intense. He was remembering that kiss! Thankful that Lizzie was looking at George, rather than her, she took his arm, Lizzie took the other and they dawdled towards the river in companionable conversation.
Despite the breeze, the day was warm when the sun came out and so the ladies spread their shawls on the grass and sat on them. Master Frederick and Jem were amusing themselves by throwing stones into the river, the child completely relaxed in Jem’s company. The other gentlemen stood around chatting, apart from George Manning, who produced a book of poetry, and shared his favourite verses with them. It was exactly like a scene that Olivia and Lizzie had read in their latest novel—so romanti
c! Olivia could not help but stare at George—he had sat near her and Lizzie on the grass and his warm voice knew just how to give expression to the poetry. She had never met anyone before who looked and behaved just like one of the Gothic heroes.
She glanced briefly at Jem, who was clearly enjoying little Frederick’s company and completely ignoring the ladies. Well! At least Mr Manning knew how to behave as he ought!
George’s romantic poetry reading reminded her of Mr Nightingale, a young poet she had known who had, he said, adored her. That had been during her come-out—only a short time before she had met Jem. The poet, then Jem, now George—in truth, these were the only men she had felt more than a passing interest for. And two of them were here at once!
Faith, after an exchange of nods with her husband, called their attention.
‘Dear friends,’ she said, ‘we are so enjoying everyone’s company. This is the largest party we have ever hosted at Monkton Park and it has made us greatly daring. We have decided—’ she took a breath ‘—to host a ball!’
Their reaction was all that Faith must have wished. Everyone exclaimed and wondered, and expressed their joy at the news. Amy checked with Charles that she would be permitted to attend and, when he said he expected the Squire would agree to it, she clapped her hands in delight.
Jem returned from the riverbank to join in the clamour and Olivia was struck by the realisation that she might now, after four years, finally dance with him. His injury had prevented him from even attending balls and routs four years ago.
Is he a good dancer? she wondered, then was suddenly assailed by the thought of dancing with him.
Quickly she turned her thoughts to George Manning. She expected he was an excellent dancer. Oh! She might dance with both of them at Faith’s ball!
The Makings of a Lady Page 7