The Makings of a Lady

by Catherine Tinley

  ‘Of course I do!’ Her voice trembled.

  ‘Olivia! Are you unwell?’ He was immediately concerned.

  ‘No—Yes. Yes, I think perhaps we have walked enough for today. Do you mind if we return to the house?’

  ‘Not at all!’ Oh, he was a selfish swine! He had ignored her the whole way through the garden and not even noticed that he was tiring her out. He looked at her again. She was pale and her jaw was set. Filled with remorse, he kept up a stream of small talk all the way back to the house. Olivia answered in monosyllables and was clearly struggling to maintain her end of the conversation. Eventually, as they reached the gravel path outside the front door, he subsided into silence.

  Entering the hall, he waited while the housemaid removed her boots and replaced them with satin slippers. ‘Excuse me,’ she said calmly. ‘I think I shall rest for a while.’ As she turned away towards the staircase, he could tell by the stiffness in her posture that she was using every ounce of courage to behave normally.

  Damn it! This was not the Olivia he knew. His Olivia was confident, sunny, compassionate, outgoing and self-contained. The emotional wounds from her capture were clearly still raw and he had added to her distress with his unthinking abstraction. He could have hit himself.

  He remained in the hall for a few moments, absent-mindedly co-operating with the footman who was removing his muddy boots. Once shod appropriately, he paused for a moment, deep in thought, before coming to a sudden decision and swiftly mounting the stairs.

  Lizzie was not impressed with his persistent knocking on her door, claiming that it was the middle of the night and that her brother of all people should know better than to wake her before noon. He finally impressed upon her that the situation was urgent and so she admitted him.

  Normally, he would have teased her for her sleepy grumpiness, but he was in no mood to do so. That awoke her more effectively than anything. She listened carefully, then chased him away, stating that she would go to poor Olivia immediately.

  * * *

  For the next hour and more, he was unable to settle. Knowing that Olivia was in distress, he himself was plagued by restlessness and agitation. He stalked from room to room, irritating numerous servants who were attempting to do their work, until finally, he settled himself in the parlour nearest the stairs, put a book in his hand for cover and waited.

  * * *

  Olivia reached the sanctuary of her room and immediately engaged in a healthy bout of tears. Her bonnet and redingote were flung to one side, without any care or thought. She grabbed some clean handkerchiefs from a drawer and threw herself on the bed, sobbing as she reacted to the most distressing encounter she had ever experienced with Jem.

  Throughout their walk, he had been distracted and distant. He was leaving to go to London. He had called her ‘my dear friend’. He had done or said nothing to suggest that he had ever kissed her, or ever would again. Indeed, he had barely looked at her, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. In another gentleman, this behaviour would have been considered rude.

  This was exactly how she had felt four years ago, when he had disappeared with such coldness, such suddenness. And she had actually hoped for more kisses! It had clearly been the last thing on his mind.

  Once again, she had foolishly allowed her stupid heart to read too much into his actions. And once again, he was disappearing.

  His behaviour could mean only one thing. He regretted kissing her. He was trying to get their friendship back to its previous rhythm. He did not want her. Just like before.

  Though he had certainly seemed to enjoy those kisses at the time! As she had. Once again, she allowed herself to relive those blissful moments. Once again, she felt a wave of desire and excitement. This time, though, it hurt to remember.

  And that he would break his stay, halfway through his visit, to go to London! She was not convinced there was any business to attend to. He had received no letters recently and if it had been a necessary trip, planned from the beginning, surely he would have mentioned it before now?

  It did not make sense that he could have some matter of business that was so urgent that he must leave now. No, it must be to do with what had happened between them. He wanted to put distance between them, enabling them to start fresh as friends, and his going away and coming back would allow him to do that.

  But how could she turn back the hands of time? Only a few days ago, she had been feeling reasonably relaxed and outwardly calm in Jem’s company. Now, the thought of seeing him again terrified her. How was she to behave normally and talk with him as usual, when inside she would know that she was falling for him and that he did not want her?

  Although she valued his friendship, it was no longer enough.

  How am I to be friends with you, Jem, she thought, when I want more? How am I to deny the fact that I want you to kiss me and hold me in your arms, and look at me with adoration in your eyes? How am I to act as I ought, and pretend that I am well, when inside I am crying?

  In truth, she was not sure their friendship could now survive. She tried to imagine being in his company as she had this morning. She had even confided in him—told him of her worries for Charlotte and of her own, hidden fears.

  But everything had changed. Now she felt the pain of loss—the loss of something she had never owned, would never own. Once again, she was that eighteen-year-old girl, heartbroken at losing him. But she felt the loss more keenly now, as the four years without him had made it clear that no one else could compare. This was why no other man could affect her deeply. It was clear as day. Jem was why.

  The tears flowed again. Friendship? Friendship? She could not do it! She did not know how she would even manage to speak to him without crying—and she did not normally cry.

  Part of her was aware that she was being self-pitying and weak, so she admonished herself, wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

  Suddenly she stilled. Had that been a knock on her chamber door? Lord! Whoever it was would have heard her distress!

  The knock came again. Embarrassed, she leapt up, dashing away her tears with the back of her hand and straightening her crumpled dress.

  ‘Olivia! Please may I come in?’ It was Lizzie.

  Olivia opened the door. There was a brief pause while they just looked at each other. Olivia noted the signs that her friend had not long risen from her bed—Lizzie’s hair was not yet up and none of the sleeve buttons on her dress were fastened. It looked as though she had dressed herself—and in some haste.

  ‘Oh, Olivia!’ Lizzie was all sympathy and Olivia’s fragile defences crumpled again. Clearly her current state was perfectly visible to her dear friend. Lizzie hugged her and Olivia cried anew. It was only when a housemaid passed the open door—the girl’s eyes carefully averted—that Olivia had the presence of mind to step out of Lizzie’s comforting embrace and close the chamber door.

  ‘What is it?’ Lizzie’s face reflected concern—she almost looked as though she might cry herself. ‘Has something occurred?’

  Then, a strange thing happened. For the first time in their friendship, Olivia knew that she could not be truthful with Lizzie. Jem was Lizzie’s brother. And Lizzie had no idea of Olivia’s true feelings for Jem—thank goodness! In an attempt to make things right, Lizzie might betray Olivia’s secret to her brother. Olivia shuddered at the very thought.

  ‘Olivia! What ails you? Please tell me!’

  Olivia shook her head. ‘There is nothing to tell.’

  Nothing that I am free to tell you, she added silently.

  ‘Today has been a perfectly normal day. Nothing unusual has happened.’

  Except that I have feelings for your brother, and he does not want me. The tears welled up again and Lizzie hugged her once more.

  ‘Oh, you poor thing! It must be the wound to your spirit caused by that monster, Gunn!’

  Olivia could not speak—she was too busy
crying into the fine cotton of Lizzie’s morning dress. Lizzie simply held her and maintained a flow of comfort, interspersed with criticisms of Gunn’s actions, intelligence and parentage.

  After a little while, Olivia became calmer. The tears subsided and she was left with a numb emptiness. Nothing mattered. It was a blessed relief from her earlier pain.

  She and Lizzie were now seated together on the edge of Olivia’s bed.

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

  ‘It is of no matter,’ said Lizzie tremulously. ‘Though I hate to see you like this. Why, where is my strong Olivia, who laughs her way through adversity?’

  ‘She went away,’ said Olivia, with a half-laugh, half-sob. ‘Lord, I do sound positively Gothic!’

  Lizzie squeezed her hand. ‘I do hope she will return, for there is a ball to prepare for and a certain handsome gentleman to dance with!’ Lizzie’s tone was gently teasing and Olivia was confused.

  Did she mean Jem?

  ‘I am sure he will visit from Monkton Park again in the next few days.’

  Suddenly, her meaning was clear. And Olivia had not even remembered the man’s existence! All her thoughts now were for Jem.

  ‘I do believe I ought to step back and allow you the full right to flirt with Mr Manning,’ said Lizzie, considering. ‘After all, you have been through such a difficult time—you deserve all the joys that can be given you.’

  ‘Oh, no, Lizzie!’ Her friend looked surprised at Olivia’s vehement tone. ‘I mean—you must continue to flirt with him if you wish.’

  ‘But why? He is handsome, for sure, but my heart is untouched. I do not mind giving him up—you know we have never fought over a man. Why don’t we talk about the Monkton Park ball and think about who we shall dance with?’

  Jem! Olivia resisted, forcing her mind back to the topic of George Manning. It was disappointing that Lizzie was not even a little bit in love with him—but understandable, since she felt exactly the same way herself.

  Lizzie was looking at her curiously. Olivia needed to be careful. Lizzie must not guess the identity of the man that Olivia longed to dance with! An idea came to her—something guaranteed to divert Lizzie’s attention.

  She forced a smile. ‘In that case, Lizzie, since your heart is untouched, I shall tell you something. George Manning kissed me!’

  Lizzie shrieked in delight. ‘No! When?’

  This was more like it. As she told Lizzie the tale of the kiss on the stepping stones—which felt as if it had happened to another Olivia, in another life—she felt her more normal self begin to return. And, she thought, it would do no harm to let Lizzie think that George meant something to her. The secret of her true feelings must never be known.

  Lizzie was every bit as intrigued as Olivia hoped. By the time they had discussed George and his unexpected kiss, the upcoming ball and the dancing lessons they had promised to Amy, an hour had passed. Olivia felt much better and said so, and Lizzie gave her a brief hug. ‘Good! For I have not yet breakfasted.’

  ‘Oh, no, Lizzie! You should have told me!’ She glanced at the small clock on the mantel. ‘You must be famished! It is nearly time for nuncheon. Shall I help you with your buttons and your hair, then we can go down?’

  Lizzie assented and, as they descended the stairs twenty minutes later, Olivia told her of the plan to return to Farnham for the final dress fitting. ‘But—will you be well enough?’ Lizzie’s brow creased. ‘I mean, just now...’ Her voice tailed away.

  ‘I shall be just fine,’ said Olivia confidently. Inwardly, she knew that Gunn and his cellar held no terror for her. Not compared to the devastation she was feeling at losing Jem all over again.

  Losing him?

  But, she reminded herself, he was not mine to begin with. He never was.

  * * *

  Jem watched Olivia surreptitiously, as he sat across from her in the carriage. He spent half his life, it seemed, watching her surreptitiously. Since her abduction, at least he had the comfort of knowing that if anyone spied him, they would assume it was simply well-meaning, friendly concern for her welfare. And he was genuinely concerned for her welfare. Despite her confident statements, she had to have been affected by Gunn’s violent attack on her and coming round to find herself imprisoned in the dark. He was deeply concerned that returning to the tavern was an unwise idea.

  Outwardly, she looked perfectly composed. The six of them were in Adam’s (admittedly spacious) new carriage—Olivia, Amy and Lizzie in the facing seats, and he, Adam and Harry in the backwards seats opposite. Both Adam and Harry had insisted on coming, despite Olivia’s protestations that lightning would never strike twice in the same place, and that the chances of Gunn or anyone else attacking her today were infinitesimal.

  She was wearing a pale green dress, now covered by a fashionable spencer. He had greeted her at breakfast and complimented her. She had brushed away his words gaily, seeming to barely register them. He suppressed a sigh. Her outfit was now completed by delicate kid gloves and a pretty bonnet. She looked stunning and every inch the self-contained, confident younger sister of an Earl.

  Lizzie and Amy wore similar, fashionable clothing, but he had eyes only for Olivia. At least today he could enjoy her company without the attentions of George Manning. He had noted that, thankfully, neither Lizzie nor Olivia had mentioned their planned trip to Farnham when Manning had called yesterday, bringing flowers for Olivia from Monkton Park. Olivia had exclaimed over the flowers and passed them to a housemaid, asking that they be displayed in a vase in her chamber. Jem had felt decidedly resentful—after all, Manning did not own Monkton Park and had not the right to take any credit for the beauties of its flora.

  He searched Olivia’s face. There was no sign now of the vulnerability he had seen as they hurried back from their walk last week.

  After she had disappeared upstairs that morning, he had remained restless and ill at ease until finally, he had heard Lizzie and Olivia’s voices on the stairs. They had been discussing the plan to return to Farnham to see the dressmaker and he had been relieved to discover that Olivia had looked and sounded perfectly well.

  As she does today, he thought, glancing again at her tranquil, beautiful face. They were now on the outskirts of Farnham and the ladies were chattering excitedly about seeing their dresses. Was Olivia’s gaiety a little forced? Attuned as he was to her, he could not help but feel that something was not quite right. She seemed fine, on the surface, but he had the persistent feeling that there was something big, and important going on inside her. Was he imagining it? Knowing what she had been through, he almost expected it.

  Of course, it might not be the ordeal with Gunn that was preoccupying her. Lizzie had provided him with information that hinted in quite another direction, information that should not have shocked him, yet he had felt the impact of it like a blow to the stomach.

  Manning had kissed her.

  Anger and jealousy had flooded him at Lizzie’s words—though his sister, ironically, had shared Olivia’s secret in an attempt to reassure Jem that Olivia was recovering.

  ‘She was most excited at his kissing her, Jem.’ Lizzie had spoken earnestly to him. ‘No, don’t frown. I am perfectly serious! Yes, her tribulations from her abduction are real, but I do see her recovering.’ She had paused and a furrow had appeared on her brow. ‘I hope that Mr Manning is not trifling with her, though. The last thing she needs now is a wounded heart.’

  ‘And is she—do you think that her heart is engaged?’ Jem had had to force himself to say the words in a normal tone.

  ‘I cannot say.’ Lizzie had tilted her head to one side. ‘I did think so, when she was telling me of his kiss. And I have never known her affections to be seriously engaged before. Yet—and I did find this confusing—she did not seem particularly disturbed by his company yesterday. Do you think she is particularly drawn to him?’

  ‘I confess I have seen
signs of partiality at times.’ It had galled him to admit it, but he had been unable to deny the memories that assailed him. The way she had placed her hand so warmly on Manning’s arm the first day he had called after her abduction. And further back—during that dinner at Monkton Park, when it had bothered him to see their two heads close together. A hard knot had developed in his chest that night—a knot that had remained in him, night and day, ever since.

  And now, sitting in the carriage looking at her, he was unable to prevent himself from again remembering that Manning had kissed her and that Olivia—according to Lizzie—had been excited about the kiss, or possibly excited by the kiss. The thought of Manning’s mouth covering Olivia’s made him feel sick. He did not dare to imagine further intimacies.

  In what way had Olivia been excited? he wondered. Was it simply a girlish thrill at having a well-travelled man of fashion show interest in her? He had noted the way the young ladies giggled and flirted with Manning, how they gave each other speaking looks when he was announced as a visitor. They had clearly decided to find him interesting. That did not mean, however, that there was any depth or serious intent on Olivia’s part.

  He forced himself to consider another possibility. It might have been the sort of excitement associated with the bedchamber. The sort of excitement that had flooded through him when he had held Olivia in his arms and explored her mouth with his. An intense, carnal, sensuous excitement.

  He was no stranger to lust and had enjoyed liaisons with various barques of frailty since reaching manhood, but had been surprised how lust had combined with warmer feelings during his kiss with Olivia to create a maelstrom of sensuous wonder.

  When one has waited four years for a kiss, he told himself wryly, it must of necessity be a more intense experience.

  It need not mean anything more than that.

  But in that moment, feeling her enthusiastic, passionate response, he could have sworn that she had felt it, too. She had responded to him measure for measure as they kissed in that doorway, oblivious to all else. Had her kiss with Manning been equally sensuous, equally passionate? Was she simply exploring her sensuality with both of them, enjoying a sense of awakening to new experiences?