The Makings of a Lady

by Catherine Tinley

  ‘Apart from the blow to the head and the terror, do you mean?’ she had said tartly, without thinking. Miss Manning had raised a cool eyebrow. ‘At the time, I certainly did not see it as an adventure.’

  ‘And now?’ Miss Manning’s gaze had been curiously intent.

  Olivia had considered this. ‘I am not sure,’ she had said with honesty. ‘I remember the fear and the horror, but I also feel proud that I managed to extricate myself.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ Miss Manning had replied knowingly. ‘They told me that you had given Gunn the slip. Such a pity that George never got the chance to rescue you—he was distraught with worry, you know! But the whole thing does sound remarkably Gothic!’

  ‘Indeed! I thought so myself. But the heroines in novels do not find themselves shivering with the cold and drenched to the skin. The novelists fail to include that part.’

  ‘I understood that your captor had covered you with a blanket,’ Miss Manning had said.

  Really, the woman had seemed determined to trivialise her ordeal! Olivia had found her irritation increasing. ‘A blanket is not much use when you are already soaked. It took me the best part of the day to feel warm again.’

  ‘Women in novels are often relieved and grateful when the hero rescues them. I do recall...’ her tone changed, a strange jocularity entering her voice ‘...that you were recently wishing to be rescued by a dashing hero!’

  Olivia had looked blankly at her. What on earth was she talking about?

  ‘Our conversation, while walking at Monkton Park? I distinctly recall you saying that you should enjoy being rescued by someone dashing and heroic.’

  Olivia had frowned, Miss Manning’s words reminding her of her flippant comment. ‘I did say that—how foolish!’

  ‘Is it foolish to see that someone cares for you, or that a man would want to rescue you when you were in danger?’

  Miss Manning was looking closely at her. Conscious that her face might betray her true feelings, she had simply said, ‘No. That is not foolish at all.’

  Miss Manning had patted her hand. ‘Good girl,’ she had said, as if satisfied about something.

  Looking at George’s sister now, Olivia was still at a loss to explain her behaviour.

  * * *

  ‘I do hope,’ said Adam to Amy, ‘that you will now feel able to take your place on the dance floor at the Monkton Park ball?’ They had all spent a couple of hours practising dances together, while Charlotte played the piano and Adam turned pages for her.

  ‘Oh, yes!’ said Amy warmly. ‘I feel much more ready for it! Thank you to all of you for doing this and to you, Charlotte, for playing for us for such a long time.’ She turned to Jem. ‘And thank you to the best partner I could ever have. I am sorry that you have been burdened with me tonight, but I do feel much more confident now.’

  When they had cleared the furniture back in readiness for the first cotillion, George Manning had immediately claimed Olivia’s hand and, as the others had paired up, Jem and Amy had ended up dancing together. Jem was endlessly patient with Amy and her confidence had bloomed as the evening went on.

  ‘Let me assure you, Miss Turner,’ said Jem, with a bow, ‘that you are certainly not a burden and I have thoroughly enjoyed your company this evening.’

  Amy blushed and stammered, while Lizzie caught Olivia’s eye and gave her a meaningful look. Olivia knew exactly what she intended—she had noted, as they all had, Jem and Amy’s enjoyment of each other’s company.

  Olivia’s heart sank. She looked blankly back at Lizzie, unwilling to acknowledge a reality she was not willing to face.

  Amy and Jem.

  Jem and Amy.

  No! It could not—must not—be!

  * * *

  Jem untied his cravat and threw it on to a chair. One shoe, then the other, were flung across the room with great force—the second almost hitting the unfortunate footman who had just entered his chamber to help him undress.

  ‘I shan’t need you,’ Jem told the footman curtly. The man backed out with a bow.

  Manning had known exactly what he was at. He had positioned himself ready to take Olivia’s hand as dancing partner as soon as the opportunity arose, thwarting Jem’s plans in an instant. Of course, Jem had managed to remain outwardly calm—to do otherwise would have been insulting to young Amy—but inwardly, he was seething. Manning had thrown him a self-satisfied smile at one point, making his blood boil. And seeing the man’s playacting with Olivia—the shameless compliments and hand-kissing—was sickening.

  Manning had been blatantly ogling her, too, Jem had noted—particularly during the waltz, when he had made the most of his proximity to Olivia to direct his gaze to her bosom as she whirled around in his arms. No one else seemed to have noticed, including Olivia. Thankfully the Monkton Park party—and Amy—would all leave in the morning. How he would otherwise have endured another day without hitting Manning, he did not know.

  * * *

  ‘Will you walk with me?’ Jem gave her a crooked smile as he asked the question. They had just finished breakfast, and the others were dispersing to their various business. Today was the first day that Olivia had breakfasted downstairs since that disastrous morning when she and Jem had last walked together. Knowing it was cowardly, she had nevertheless decided that breakfasting in her room was preferable to having her heart bruised by his friendly cheerfulness—or, worse, by that abstracted distance she had felt on their last walk together. The fear that he was interested in Amy had made it even worse. She had avoided breakfast with the guests yesterday—no one had thought anything of it.

  Today, though, Jem was to take his leave of them, travelling to London on his mysterious business. Since it would be her last chance to walk and talk privately with him until his return, Olivia had chosen to be brave and come out of hiding. And, to her relief, he wanted to walk with her.

  No one would realise, she hoped, that her decision was entirely based on Jem’s departure. Charlotte had challenged her just yesterday about missing breakfast and advised her to return to normality as soon as she felt able.

  ‘My babe will come soon,’ Charlotte had said, lightly, ‘which means that I myself might miss the family breakfast for a time. That is a shame, for I confess I do enjoy our shared breakfast. It is a Fanton family tradition that I wholeheartedly endorse.’

  Olivia had squirmed uncomfortably, loath to admit that she, too, loved the tradition—especially with Jem’s presence. She loved the thrill of seeing Jem again after a whole night of thinking of him, dreaming of him and, sadly, crying over him.

  ‘When will your baby come, Charlotte?’ she had asked, genuinely interested, but also hoping to divert Charlotte from pressing her on the breakfast issue.

  ‘I have no idea!’ Charlotte had replied frankly. ‘It must be soon, but it cannot come soon enough, for I am so ungainly and uncomfortable that I struggle through each day and night at present.’ She had patted her stomach lovingly. ‘The midwife says all is well and that these painful tightenings I am feeling mean that my time will soon be here.’

  ‘Does the doctor not attend you?’ Olivia had asked curiously. Each time she thought about Charlotte’s upcoming trial, cold fear pierced her belly.

  ‘He does, but he has commended me to Mrs Logan, the midwife, whom he says is a person of superior understanding. She has helped hundreds of babies into the world and, he says, has more knowledge in her hands than he has in all his books.’

  ‘How wonderful!’ Olivia had exclaimed, unwilling to let Charlotte see how terrified she was by the notion of childbirth and her fear that Charlotte or her babe—or both—might not survive. ‘I had heard that doctors and midwives do not always work well together and that midwives usually look after the village women, with doctors or accoucheurs serving ladies.’

  ‘We are lucky hereabouts,’ agreed Charlotte. ‘The doctor says he trusts Mrs Logan to
call him if needed. But when my time comes, it will be Mrs Logan that I shall send for first.’ She had smiled contentedly. ‘Great-Aunt Clara is continually apologising that she will not accompany me in my labour. She says it will distress her too much and that she should be a burden. I have assured her that Juliana has already offered to be my comfort and so she is satisfied.’

  Olivia frowned. Charlotte had not, it seemed, even considered asking her to be there when the baby was coming. She sighed inwardly. Although fearful for Charlotte, she nevertheless wanted to be included. She had hoped that, since her kidnap, the family might have begun to see her differently. Yet Charlotte’s decision suggested that, despite everything, the others still saw her as a girl, to be sheltered and protected from anything...anything real.

  Charlotte had eyed Olivia keenly. ‘Anyway,’ she’d said, ‘I recollect we were discussing your absence from breakfast. I do hope you will consider rejoining us tomorrow.’ Olivia had shrugged uncertainly. ‘And besides,’ Charlotte had added with a twinkle, ‘I am quite certain that Jem is missing your walks together.’

  Olivia had given an unladylike snort in response and refused to be drawn. Hopefully Charlotte had not meant anything particular with that remark! But today she had come down for breakfast.

  She smiled now. ‘I’d love to, Jem,’ she said, feeling as though it was the most honest thing she had said to him in days.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Monkton Park party had, thankfully, only stayed one night. Much as she loved Faith, Olivia had been relieved to wave them all off yesterday morning after the dancing. Normally, she enjoyed having visitors, as it broke the tedium. But these days, she would gladly welcome that tedium. There was, it seemed, a lack of time to think! Jem and Lizzie were still here, of course, and Charlotte’s father, Sir Edward, had arrived to await the birth of his first grandchild, but they were like family. They added to her life: they did not take anything away.

  Then there was Amy. Olivia sighed as she donned stout kid boots for her walk with Jem. Amy was a dear friend, but, after the dancing, Olivia had found it hard to be easy with her. She had been relieved when the Foxleys had offered to take Amy home on their way back to Monkton Park yesterday morning.

  Olivia knew—of course she did—that Amy had done nothing wrong and that her friend would be horrified if she knew how Olivia was feeling. She just couldn’t help it. The thought of losing Jem was tormenting her.

  I have no right to Jem’s regard, Olivia reminded herself. He is free to bestow it wherever he wishes. Amy is free to admire Jem as much as she wants to.

  Tears started in her eyes, but she refused to allow them to flow. Jem would not trifle with any young lady, she reminded herself. Although he had broken her heart four years ago he had not done so knowingly or callously.

  She could not fault his behaviour back then. He had never, by word or deed, suggested that he had wanted to marry her. She had taken too seriously the admiration she had seen in his eyes when she was eighteen. She could not trust her reading of him—she had been disastrously wrong before. So how was she to work out why he had kissed her in the cottage, or whether he had feelings for Amy? She could only be with him, one last time, before his departure. She tied her bonnet firmly under one ear, lifted her chin, and went downstairs.

  * * *

  As always, Jem’s heart leapt as he watched Olivia descend the staircase. He was becoming accustomed to the sensation. Of course she looked stunning—she always did.

  She slipped her little hand into the crook of his arm and they stepped outside, turning immediately, by unspoken agreement, towards the rose garden. They chatted—a little awkwardly—of everyday things. Of Will and how well he had settled into his new role of assisting the grooms. Of little Jack coming out in spots, necessitating the sudden removal of Juliana and Harry to their own home. Of the dancing practice and how Amy had, over the course of the evening, developed great confidence in her ability to master the intricacies of the steps. He fancied that Olivia’s demeanour became a little strained at this point. Was she recalling her evening dancing in the arms of George Manning?

  ‘...in time for the ball?’ Olivia’s voice drew him back to the present. He looked at her blankly, having momentarily lost the thread of the conversation. ‘Or will your business keep you in London beyond next Tuesday?’

  ‘I do hope to return for the ball,’ he said, ‘though I cannot guarantee it.’ In truth, he was not sure how and when he would manage to find out more about Manning. He simply knew that he had to try. He had already sent off letters to a couple of key contacts, asking subtle questions and indicating that he would shortly be in town if they wished to meet with him. If there was scandal, he was more likely to unearth it face to face.

  Inwardly, he had abandoned the pretence that any of this was for Lizzie’s sake. It was now clear that Manning was fixated on Olivia—to the extent that, according to Lizzie, the man’s cold fish of a sister was dropping not-so-subtle hints of approval in Olivia’s direction. Marriage seemed to be on her mind, at least. Whether her brother was of like mind, no one seemed certain.

  Jem, of course, was not related to Olivia and, as such, had no right to investigate Manning on her behalf. But he had spoken to Harry of his concerns and Harry had encouraged him to investigate further. He felt that he was fumbling in the dark, unsure where he was going, knowing only that he was compelled to search and explore, and attempt to discover what was real and what was false.

  So, he would leave Olivia to the tender flirtations of George Manning simply in order to try to establish the truth about his rival. In his absence, Manning would no doubt haunt Chadcombe, doing his best to fix Olivia’s interest.

  His mind was filled with memories of the kisses they had shared outside Gunn’s cottage. Had Olivia enjoyed them? Would she miss him, he wondered, when he left for London?

  No sooner had the thought entered his mind than, shockingly, he spoke it aloud! He had been encouraged, he realised, by the fact that she had reacted with a frown to his hint that he might not be able to return in time for the ball. ‘Why, Olivia, will you miss me?’

  ‘Of course I shall!’ she retorted immediately. ‘I mean...’ She faltered. ‘I expect to see you there and that finally we might dance together.’ She was blushing slightly, as if unsure of herself. Strangely, that was what encouraged him to hope there was more to her words than a friendly offer of a dance.

  Quite before he knew what he was doing and certainly without conscious thought, he stopped right there in the middle of the rose garden, drew her into his arms and kissed her thoroughly and passionately.

  She froze for an instant, then responded with an ardour similar to her feverish response to his previous kisses. Jem was overwhelmed with the strength of his desire for her. Lost to all reason, he kissed and kissed, and kissed her again. When he came round, as if from a dream, he found that they had moved to sit on a curved stone bench and that Olivia was cradled on his lap. Not that there was anything dreamlike about the raw fever between them. Her hands were on his back, pressing him closer, and her mouth sought his as if she were dying from the same hunger that afflicted him. It was quite the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him. Heart pounding, he groaned and returned her latest kiss, losing all reason again as he succumbed to the miracle that was unfolding between them.

  It was unclear to him how long they kissed. All he knew was that, eventually, they paused to look at each other and smile, then kiss again, this time softly, gently, tentatively.

  ‘Olivia,’ he murmured against her mouth, feeling her smile in response.

  ‘Jem,’ she returned softly. ‘You are kissing me.’

  ‘Yes, I am. Is that a difficulty for you?’

  ‘Not at all. In fact, it is an exceedingly pleasant experience.’

  ‘For me, too. Shall we, then, do it again?’

  For answer, she took his face in both hands
, swooping on his mouth with a confidence and enthusiasm that both exhilarated and thrilled him. His hands stroked her back, while his heart soared with the realisation that this was Olivia, in his arms as if she belonged there!

  Swift footsteps sounded on the gravel path, running, and getting closer. Just in time, he and Olivia separated—she jumped up and feigned interest in a nearby statue of Poseidon, while he extracted his watch swiftly from his pocket and pretended to study it. An instant later, the runner was upon them.

  It was Will, his young face creased with anxiety.

  ‘What is amiss, Will?’

  ‘It is the lady!’ the boy gasped. He bowed to Olivia, who had turned to face him. ‘The other lady, I mean. Her baby is coming!’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mrs Logan, the midwife, was plump, short and kindly, with a lined, weathered face and deep blue eyes that twinkled with warm intelligence. By the time she arrived—Joseph, the head groom, having fetched her in the curricle—Charlotte had been escorted to the rooms she had selected and prepared for her confinement. Olivia had taken Charlotte’s arm and tried to help her up the stairs, until Charlotte protested testily that she was not an invalid and was perfectly capable of walking unaided. Olivia had bit her lip and said nothing, but when they reached the inner chamber had asked Charlotte if she should leave or stay.

  ‘Oh, please stay, Olivia!’ Charlotte laid a hand on Olivia’s arm, her expression pleading. ‘You are truly a sister to me, so I would love for you to keep me company—if you are willing? And you know that Juliana is gone home to nurse little Jack through the chickenpox, so I need you, sincerely.’

  How on earth was she to support Charlotte in Juliana’s absence? Juliana was herself a mother—the mysteries of birth were known to her. And what if Olivia’s fear should paralyse her at the wrong moment? Or if something went terribly wrong and she was there?