The Makings of a Lady

by Catherine Tinley

  She squeezed her eyes tightly closed and turned over. This was all her own fault. She had wished for something different, something out of the ordinary, and Fate had sent her George Manning and Jem Ford. At the same time. She was not sure she approved.

  * * *

  Olivia’s two brothers had settled perfectly well into married life. Olivia enjoyed the fact that, with the acquisition of two sisters-in-law, there were many more females in her life than before. Great-Aunt Clara was a darling, of course, but Olivia felt she could not talk to her in the way she could talk to Charlotte and Juliana.

  So why, when she returned from her ride yesterday, had she not mentioned her encounter with Mr Manning? She could not account for it, since she had always been open with Charlotte and Juliana about her admirers.

  She pondered. Perhaps that was it. She was not sure if Mr Manning admired her, or not. Mr Manning—despite his flirtatious words—had not, she felt, revealed his true self. Instead he had unbalanced her with cryptic words and inscrutable expressions. She looked forward to meeting him again, if only to better understand her reaction to him.

  Today Juliana and Harry, with their young son, had travelled the short distance from their home at Glenbrook to await the arrival of Lizzie Ford and her brother Jem to Chadcombe. Juliana and Charlotte had both offered to take Lizzie under their wing during Jem’s long posting to Australia and had been true to their word. Lizzie, though under the care of her mother’s elderly cousin, had been a frequent visitor and she and Olivia had become firm friends in the four years they had known each other.

  Lizzie, of course, had no notion that Olivia and Jem had enjoyed a particular friendship during his convalescence and Olivia had become accustomed to commenting politely on those occasions when Lizzie would talk of her brother and his trials and achievements in Australia. He had made Captain a year ago and Olivia had found it in her heart to be pleased for him. It was a sign, she thought, that her heart had healed from the blow he had dealt it.

  ‘I cannot wait to see Lizzie again,’ Juliana said with enthusiasm, as the ladies sipped tea in the morning room. ‘I confess I have missed her. We have not seen her since last autumn, remember?’ She did not mention Jem, which was something of a relief. Olivia did not wish to even think about Jem—especially that last day she had seen him, four years ago. Yet his arrival was imminent. Olivia’s palms were suddenly damp with fear, anticipation and anxiety.

  ‘Would you not have preferred for Jem and Lizzie to stay with you at Glenbrook, Juliana?’ asked Charlotte.

  ‘Oh, no, for I would not subject you to the journey to Glenbrook every time you wished to see them,’ countered Juliana. ‘Not while you are in the family way. Besides, you have more space here at Chadcombe.’

  They all laughed at the old witticism. Everyone regularly teased Adam and Charlotte for having the largest house in three counties. Harry and Juliana’s home was perfectly adequate, but Chadcombe was easily four times larger. Despite her laughter, Charlotte clearly remained unconvinced. ‘I confess it troubles me a little, Juliana, that they are not staying with you. While Lizzie and Olivia are firm friends, we all know Jem and Harry fought together at Waterloo—there is a special bond between them. I know they have seen each other in London recently, but this is the first time Jem has come to Surrey to visit the family. I am sure they will wish to spend plenty of time together.’

  ‘That is true,’ agreed Juliana, ‘but we all wish to rekindle our friendship with Jem. Besides, Harry and Jem will see plenty of each other here at Chadcombe. Harry and I shall stay here at least this week and very likely longer. You will be wishing us gone before long—especially if Jack becomes tiresome!’

  ‘Of course I shall not!’ retorted Charlotte, smiling. ‘You are always welcome. Why, this is Harry’s family home!’

  Juliana tilted her head to one side, considering. ‘There is, I think, a special bond between all of us. I will never forget how Jem arrived from Brussels with his crutches, just a couple of weeks after Harry and I were married. He looked fragile, but was so brave. Do you remember how much pain he was in and the courage and determination he showed in trying to walk again?’

  Charlotte nodded. ‘Yes, and how you tormented him and wheedled him, Olivia, so that the poor man did not know whether to thank you or berate you!’

  ‘As I recall,’ added Juliana, ‘he did both!’

  Charlotte agreed. ‘You were an excellent nursemaid, Olivia. You seemed to know exactly when to be patient and supportive, and when to be challenging. I confess I could not have done it.’

  ‘Fiddlesticks!’ said Olivia, blushing a little. ‘Anyone could have done it.’

  ‘No,’ Juliana insisted, ‘they really couldn’t.’

  Olivia lowered her head. She had indeed cajoled and challenged Jem, who had been entirely frustrated at his lack of mobility, and frequently short-tempered with pain. Somehow, they had sparked off each other in ways that had motivated him to keep practising his walking—if only to prove to Olivia that he could. She had helped him heal and then he had left.

  No one had suspected at the time how deeply attached to Jem she had become and she had explained away her lowered spirits afterwards with excuses about head colds and stomach upsets. Concerned, they had brought a doctor to investigate. He had concluded that she was suffering no serious ailment, but had prescribed a disgusting tonic, and cupped her.

  No serious ailment. Not of the body, anyway. It was her heart, her mind, and her spirit which had been suffering. It had been so hard at first. She had cried herself to sleep for many months and everything in her life had somehow reminded her of Jem and the loss of him. Never again would she allow someone that sort of power over her.

  Gradually, over the course of four long years, she had learned to push thoughts of him away, to build a wall of numbness around that part of herself. Until now. Finally, today, she was to face him. She prayed the wall would hold.

  And what of Mr George Manning? Was he also destined to cut up her peace? She squared her shoulders. At least, if she felt those same early flutterings for another handsome stranger, she would know better than to listen to them. She did not wish to risk her heart being broken again—by Jem or by George Manning. A light flirtation with Mr Manning was acceptable, but she was determined to protect her heart from both men. It would be best to be wary.

  * * *

  ‘And here is the Chadcombe gatehouse!’ Lizzie’s voice almost squeaked in excitement as the carriage entered the gates of the Chadcombe estate.

  Jem steeled himself to remain impassive. He was not now a wounded young ensign, grateful for the patronage of a noble family. As a man of substance in his own right, he could no longer be prey to the worries of his youth. He was genuinely grateful for everything the Fantons had done for him, and for Lizzie, and counted himself fortunate to be aligned to such a generous family. But he was visiting them now not as a casualty of war, to be protected and supported during his recovery, but as an independent gentleman of means and status.

  Making Captain had been a proud moment, but the discovery that he had inherited a neat estate and a respectable fortune from a third cousin had been shocking. He had been, just a few years ago, fourth in line, with no thought of such good fortune ever coming his way. But a combination of circumstances—two younger sons killed at Waterloo and the eldest then losing his life in a carriage accident—meant the lawyers had confirmed Jem as the new heir.

  It had seemed not quite real, reading the letter in Australia. Having risen through the ranks on his own merits he was now forced to abandon the army career that he had assumed would be his fate for life.

  On his return from Australia, he had been pleased to meet Harry again and they had picked up the threads of their old relationship without much difficulty. Jem genuinely liked his former Captain and was pleased to find the old friendly warmth still present in their recent encounters.

  He cou
ld not, he knew, expect the same warmth from everyone in the family.

  He both dreaded and anticipated seeing Olivia again. During his years overseas, hers had been the face in his mind when he’d reminisced of home. She had been but eighteen when he had known her before and she had likely forgotten their former friendship, long ago. This visit—and particularly seeing her again—would help his transition from the romantic foolishness that had comforted him through the long loneliness of his posting. He was old enough now to be past such things. He was certain of it.

  * * *

  ‘They have arrived!’ Juliana jumped up and moved to the window, her sharp ears detecting the approaching carriage.

  They all rose and went outside to greet their guests, Olivia’s brothers joining them. Adam and Charlotte stood forward, as protocol demanded, with Great-Aunt Clara, Harry, Juliana and Olivia behind them. The footman let down the step and opened the carriage door for the passengers to alight.

  Olivia had only a moment to notice Lizzie’s stylish pelisse and her bonnet (topped with three dashing feathers) when her attention was taken up by Jem. His eyes sought hers immediately, it seemed, then moved on to the others.

  He was smiling—that familiar lopsided grin—and her heart turned over. Jem. How wonderfully terrifying it was to see him again. She schooled her features into warm politeness. You are no longer a lovesick eighteen-year-old, she reminded herself. Be calm. Be gracious. Be twenty-two.

  Lizzie enveloped Olivia in a warm hug. ‘Olivia!’ It is such a joy to see you again!’

  ‘I am so happy to see you, too! And you, Jem,’ said Olivia, as Jem finally reached her.

  He took her hand and held on to it, saying warmly, ‘We were urging the horses on these past five miles, for the nearer we got to Chadcombe, the more impatient we became!’

  Olivia’s heart was beating rapidly. Seeing him again was odd—his features so familiar and yet so strange. Thank goodness she was now a confident young lady, and one who had learned to hide her feelings.

  Charlotte spoke to Lizzie again and Jem let go of Olivia’s hand. She was conscious of a feeling of loss. No! she told herself. It is but a memory—it is not real. Remember how he hurt you.

  She looked closely at him. He looked older—more assured, somehow. It was strange, she thought, how he could look so familiar, yet at the same time so different. Her eyes swept over him. The same wiry frame, but his shoulders were much broader than before. He looked bigger, more self-possessed. Gone was the thinness of the convalescent. He was all man now.

  Her eyes moved again to his face. Still handsome, but his features were somehow stronger now. She could find in his face very little of the young man she had known. There was a slight crease in his brow and he looked tired, she noticed. Had the journey been too much for him? Lizzie had told her the doctors had no major concerns about his old injury, but that it did still trouble Jem occasionally.

  Olivia had heard this with mixed feelings. She was determined to keep him at a distance and had not forgotten or forgiven him for hurting her. At the same time, her instinctive compassion meant she did not wish to see him—or anyone—in pain.

  In the old days, he would never admit it when his leg ached—his pride would never allow it—but Olivia had always known. There would be a tightness along his jaw or in his shoulders, a slight pallor, or occasionally beads of sweat on his forehead.

  Today, she had taken the precaution of arranging for a bathtub to be brought to his room and now she nodded significantly at the second footman, who bowed and disappeared towards the kitchens to procure the pails of hot water needed for Mr Ford’s bath. Olivia hoped the footman would remember to add the oil of lavender and marjoram she had pressed this morning—Jem had hated taking laudanum for the pain, so she had found other ways of helping him through the days when he had overreached in his attempt to recover.

  Perhaps he would not need the bath, but she had thought it best to be cautious. She had agonised over how it might seem to him—she wanted to give him no opportunity to assume she still felt a tendre for him, but in the end, had decided that to arrange a bath for an honoured guest was not too particular.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, the second footman entered the parlour where they were all enjoying tea and conversation, and reported that Mr and Miss Ford’s belongings had now been unpacked and their rooms were ready. The footman smelt strongly of lavender and Jem, sensing it, threw Olivia a quizzical look. She raised her eyebrows in innocent enquiry, determined not to understand him. He then glanced at Charlotte who, as hostess, would be the obvious source of such a luxury. Charlotte, however, was busy with Great-Aunt Clara, who had requested more tea.

  Olivia was conscious of a strong feeling of danger. She should not have ordered the bath. He must not assume she was still lovesick for him! It was vital that he understood she was not the person she had been. Ignoring the knot of anxiety resting just below her ribcage, she continued to chat with Lizzie, though she struggled to take in what her friend was actually saying. She must get through this with a calm demeanour. It was imperative.

  Chapter Three

  Jem relaxed in the now-cooling bath, the scent of lavender and marjoram filling his senses and easing the throbbing in his old wound. He had dismissed the footman, needing solitude to relax and think. His leg rarely pained him now, but being stuck in a jolting, leather-slung carriage for most of the day had brought back the old ache.

  Other old aches had been reawakened this day, and with unexpected force. Olivia—Lady Olivia—had blossomed into a stunning woman. He closed his eyes. There she was, in his mind’s eye, serene and elegant. Her beautiful face, glossy dark curls and intelligent grey eyes were just as he’d remembered, but there was a new quality about her that he assumed could only be self-assurance gained in the years since he had last seen her.

  He had not expected to react so strongly to her but, he reasoned, it was perfectly logical, given the way he had made her the focus of his dreams these past four years. Those dreams were not and had never been real—they were fantastical only, designed to help him cope with the loneliness of his overseas posting.

  He had spent most of his time in Australia with soldiers and outlaws and, surprisingly, he had not taken long to adapt to the basic—and hard—life in one of the remotest parts of the world. Their fort, which included a prison for outlaws along with the village that had sprung up nearby, was surrounded by fifty miles of emptiness in all directions. Living conditions were basic, diversions were few, and they had all been relieved when occasionally called to one of the settlements further down the coast to take their turn at ensuring public order and supporting the local government officials.

  Jem had gradually been offered more and more responsibility, as his commanders had come to appreciate his qualities as a leader. They had genuinely been regretful at his decision to sell out of the army, following the news of his inheritance. They had, of course, understood and wished him well, but he had been pleased to discover that, had he stayed, they had seen in him the potential for high office in the future.

  He stood, allowing the cool, herb-scented water to run off him for a moment, before stepping out of the bath and reaching for the soft towels provided by Chadcombe’s staff.

  Did Olivia arrange this bath for me? he wondered, as he towelled himself dry. Or was it Lady Shalford?

  He was still getting used to the blessings of civilian life, but being able to bathe in warm water, and with privacy, was a profound luxury.

  Or perhaps they do this for all their guests?

  Chadcombe was a huge mansion—more like a ducal seat or a royal palace than an earl’s establishment—and Jem was struck anew by the gap in station between him and Lizzie, and the Fanton family. Yes, he himself was a gentleman, like Harry, and, yes, he had come into a sizeable inheritance. But there the comparisons ended. He was not sure any gentleman’s residence could compare to
Chadcombe, and his lack of title was also a crucial point of difference.

  Although Harry and the Earl had both married heiresses, their fortunes had apparently not been known about at the time. He was sure the Earl would encourage Lady Olivia to make an advantageous marriage—that she was twenty-two and yet still unwed was telling. During those long four years, each time a letter had arrived from Lizzie, he had unconsciously expected it to detail Lady Olivia’s betrothal, or her marriage. Most young ladies were betrothed by the end of their second Season, so when Olivia remained unwed after four years, he had gradually hit on the most likely explanation. Quite simply, he reasoned, no one was good enough for her.

  The young girl he had known had not been prideful or self-important but, equally, she had been blithely unaware of the privileges she enjoyed. No door was closed to her. She made friends everywhere she went. At eighteen, she had enjoyed all the advantages of wealth, position and connections.

  For her to accept a betrothal, no doubt her suitor would have to pass a number of tests set by the Earl and unconsciously endorsed by Olivia herself. For how could she be expected to consider someone who had neither title nor fortune? Such was, he knew, the way of the world. He understood this without rancour or bitterness. Although his situation had improved a hundredfold in four years, yet still he was beneath her touch. He must not forget it.

  Not that he had any particular designs on the lady. He had enjoyed her company during his convalescence and had—not unnaturally—developed some warm feelings towards her. They had, after all, been thrown into each other’s company on a daily basis. He laughed a little as he recalled actually believing he had been in love with her. He had been so young back then!