Читать книгу The Makings Of A Lady - Catherine Tinley, Catherine Tinley - Страница 14

‘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.