If it weren’t for Manning, Jem’s path would be clear. He would propose to Olivia as soon as the opportunity arose—having kissed her thoroughly in the process. He shook his head ruefully. Manning or no Manning, that was still the plan—must be the plan. This time, he would not be deterred. He must speak his heart as soon as an opportunity presented itself.
The carriage came to a halt outside Chadcombe’s portico and the groom jumped down to open the door and lower the steps. ‘Call Will and have him walk the horses,’ Jem instructed. ‘I shall return just as soon as I have dressed in something more appropriate for a ball.’
* * *
The ballroom was full, the music sweet and the atmosphere filled with gaiety. It was clear to all present that the first ball in Monkton Park for many a year would be declared a success. Mr and Mrs Foxley were everywhere, seeing to their guests’ comfort and amusement effortlessly and cordially. Olivia watched Faith finding partners for ladies who had not danced yet and stopping to chat to various guests as she worked her way around the room.
There were no dance cards, as the ball was a little less formal than the most extravagant of London affairs. Olivia was glad of it, as she had managed to avoid an invitation to dance from a rather inebriated middle-aged gentleman, who had eyed her figure most inappropriately. She had just managed to escape and was standing quietly with Charles and Amy, when she saw him.
Jem in his everyday clothing was striking and handsome. Jem in full evening wear in a candlelit ballroom, and with the added spice of not having seen him in a week, was simply gorgeous. Her eyes took in every inch of him—that wonderful, springy dark hair that she had caressed during their kisses, his handsome face, lithe body... She studied him hungrily, as her heart pounded and both anxiety and excitement danced in her gut.
Amy was talking—something about the music—but Olivia no longer heard her. Jem was here! He must have come straight from Chadcombe, even though he had been travelling all day. Such a wonderful sense of duty and commitment! He would be exhausted, she knew, so to even think about going straight to a ball said something about the man.
He was scanning around the room, looking for people he knew. She could tell the exact moment he spotted them. His eyes met hers and he immediately began moving through the crowd towards them. She reminded herself to breathe.
‘Jem, old chap!’ Charles pumped Jem’s hand furiously. ‘Didn’t think you’d make it. There now, Amy, you can rest easy.’ Amy blushed and stammered something. ‘She’s worrying over this damned waltz, Jem. I’ve told her I’ve no intention of dancing with my own sister, so you have rescued me in the nick of time!’
The musicians had indeed, Olivia realised with dismay, struck up the opening bars of the waltz—the only one to be played tonight. All around the room there was a flurry of activity as the gentlemen moved in pursuit of their preferred partners.
‘Of course!’ said Jem, smiling. ‘I shall be delighted to partner you, Miss Turner—but you have nothing to worry about, you know.’
Amy gave him a friendly smile. ‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘Not now.’
Jem, finally, turned to Olivia. ‘How do you, Lady Olivia?’ His gaze was warm and intent, and it made something melt inside her.
‘I am well, thank you.’ Her voice was a little breathless. ‘I am so glad that you returned in time for the ball!’
He laughed a little. ‘My poor horses are not glad of it! I have sent them to Foxley’s stable, with John Coachman and Will to rub them down and feed them. I do hope that Foxley has not changed his mind about having me as an overnight guest, for it would be cruel to put them out again.’
‘I’m sure Will is happy to see you again. He missed you when you were gone.’
As did I, she added silently.
He grinned. ‘Will is like a puppy, constantly at my heels. Can you believe he thinks me a hero? He insisted on accompanying me here tonight, quite against my wishes. I am not entirely sure how he managed it’
Amy perked up at this. ‘But you are a hero! You rescued him from that awful man.’
‘Not at all! I only did what anyone might have done.’ He offered Amy his arm, bowed to Olivia and Charles, and led her to the dance floor. They looked good together, thought Olivia, in an attempt to be unprejudiced. Amy’s blonde hair and beautiful pink and white dress was the perfect foil to Jem’s dark hair and black evening coat.
She swallowed. The lump in her throat hurt and she was frightened that she might cry—right here, in the crowded ballroom. She loved Jem so much and could not bear the exquisite agony of being with him, yet not being his.
‘Lady Olivia!’ It was George—elegant, polished and smiling.
‘Oh, Lord!’ muttered Charles. Olivia threw him a cross look.
‘Please say that you will dance the waltz with me, Lady Olivia! Mr Turner, I do hope that you have not cut me out, for there is nothing I would like more than to waltz with this beautiful lady.’
‘No, no,’ said Charles quickly. ‘Not one for waltzing.’
Disappointed, for in that moment Olivia would have much preferred the comforting company of her friend, Olivia nevertheless assented and allowed George to lead her to the dance floor.
Dancing the waltz with George was something of an ordeal. The waltz holds were more intimate and allowed for closer contact, and more touch, than any of the other dances. As a result of her conversation with Faith earlier, Olivia was feeling uncomfortable with George and worried that others might see her as having encouraged his attentions. She hoped that he himself understood that, if she had flirted with him at first, she had not meant anything by it.
‘Are you well, Lady Olivia?’ he asked her solicitously. He was so close that she could feel his breath, warm against her cheek. As they turned she glanced at him—and saw that he was studying the neckline of her dress with rather more interest than was appropriate. Her stomach turned in revulsion.
‘Yes, quite well,’ she lied, praying that the waltz would end soon. ‘It is just that I am unaccustomed to the waltz and must concentrate. I do apologise if I am not good company.’
‘Not at all. So that is it! I had thought that you would enjoy dancing.’
‘I do, sometimes,’ said Olivia, privately adding, If I could dance with Jem, I would enjoy that.
But Jem was paired with Amy. She had avoided looking directly at them, but caught a flash of Amy’s dress from time to time out of the corner of her eye.
Finally, the trial ended. She curtsied to George and they walked off the floor together to where Harry and Juliana sat conversing with Foxley and Adam. Charlotte, of course, was at home with the baby. Jem and Amy soon joined them, as did Lizzie, who had also been dancing.
Jem was welcomed with genuine warmth and affection, Olivia noted. She was conscious of the compulsion to keep looking at him and distracted herself by focusing instead on whoever was speaking at any particular moment. Somehow, she got to supper time without having to speak directly to Jem. It was shocking how shy and unsure she felt around him tonight. In her head, she gave herself a stern telling-off.
Supper was rather a crush, but George, who was constantly at her elbow, procured her some food. She was too anxious to eat anything, but did not wish to draw any comment, so after some time she set the plate down, made her excuses and escaped to the ladies’ retiring room with a young lady of her acquaintance.
Thankfully, the room was fairly quiet. Olivia sank with relief into a soft chair in the corner behind the door.
Her moment of peace was short-lived. A group of three chattering matrons invaded the sanctuary, the plumes on their feathered turbans nodding as they exclaimed and gossiped, and discussed the guests. Mrs Buxted’s penetrating tone pierced Olivia’s ears and she made a quiet but immediate escape before Faith’s mama spotted her.
Emerging into the hallway, she saw that George Manning was hovering near the door to the ballro
om—possibly in an attempt to intercept her. For goodness sake, why could everyone not leave her alone! Just now, George was turned away from her, but he might see her at any instant. Dashing across the hall, she opened the first door she could find and dived in.
She was in luck. The room—a small parlour—was empty. Sighing with relief, she wandered across to the window and stepped behind the heavy curtains. As the curtains fell back into place, the candlelit room disappeared and she gazed out at the night sky. A full moon sailed serenely across the heavens and Olivia bathed in the peace and the profound silence for a moment.
She sighed. In a minute she would return to the ballroom. Supper must be nearly completed and the dancing would soon begin again. Although she had missed out on the waltz, she hoped that she would have the opportunity to dance with Jem tonight. It would be exquisitely painful, she knew, but it would be worth it.
She stepped back into the room, taken aback to see the door suddenly opening. It was George. She sighed inwardly.
‘Ah, there you are, Lady Olivia! I thought I caught a glimpse of you coming into this room!’
Dash it! thought Olivia. I was not quite quick enough.
‘I was hoping for an opportunity to speak with you.’ He turned and closed the door, which immediately awoke Olivia’s inner warnings. Why had he done that?
‘Yes? Is something wrong?’ Olivia’s heart began to race. She felt deeply uncomfortable.
‘No—at least, I hope not.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘Not having been in this situation before, I have no idea what to expect.’
They were standing face to face and the door was on her left. Instinctively, Olivia took a step to the side and he moved to face her again. There! That was better. Now the door was at her back, with no obstacles in the way.
‘What situation? I have no notion of your meaning, Mr Manning. Now, I believe I must return to the ballroom—’
He grabbed her hand, preventing her from leaving. ‘Lady Olivia—wait! I must speak with you!’
She spoke coldly to him. ‘Please release my hand, Mr Manning.’
He did so, looking shamefaced. ‘I apologise—I was overcome. I forget that you are so gently reared and deserve every consideration. I shall endeavour to contain myself.’
Olivia gazed at him in bemusement. What on earth was he talking about?
Her eyes widened as he dropped to one knee in front of her.
Chapter Twenty-One
He spoke earnestly. ‘Lady Olivia, you are too kind-hearted to play games with me. You must know that my heart is yours, that I could love no other. Please tell me that you will be my wife!’
His wife? Oh, no! He must have thought that she was seriously interested in him. Lord, how foolish she had been! She had had no idea that he was in love with her. Despite her discomfort, she felt a twinge of sympathy for him. Now, how could she best reject him without hurting his pride?
He was looking up at her, his expression a mix of hope and confidence. ‘I know I should have asked permission from Lord Shalford before speaking to you, but I confess I am overtaken with emotion!’
‘Do stand up, Mr Manning,’ she began prosaically. He did so, joy dawning on his face.
‘Then—you will have me? My dear Lady Olivia!’ Seemingly overcome, he drew her into his arms, his mouth swooping to claim hers.
‘No—please!’ she mumbled against his lips. How on earth had he interpreted her command as an agreement to wed him? Using her elbows, she tried to break free of his embrace, but he held firm. She twisted her face from side to side as he pursued her, trying to cover her mouth with his. He would not stop and she was becoming increasingly panicked. ‘Stop! No!’
Then, wonderfully, she heard the sound of the door opening again—thank goodness. Whoever it was, they could hopefully rescue her from this distressing situation. As George’s attention was also diverted by the door opening, she was able to turn her head. He tightened his grip on her—it was clear that he was not going to let her go, even if they were seen! Why would he do such a thing?
‘Well! I had suspected this, but I am delighted to see it confirmed!’ It was Miss Manning, smiling broadly, satisfaction in her tone.
Beside her, Mrs Buxted clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘Well, this is shocking, and would never have been permitted in my day!’ Seeing her friend frown, she made haste to add, ‘Although one must of course make allowances for the natural feelings of two young people in love! Allow me to be the first to wish you happy.’
In horror, Olivia realised; Mrs Buxted thought that they were to be married! She glanced at George’s face, which was alight with joy. ‘Thank you, Mrs Buxted. I have only this moment secured her hand. As you might imagine, I am all happiness!’ George released her, but only to snake his arm around her waist.
She stiffened, her mind still frozen in shock. What was this nightmare?
‘Well, this is interesting...’ Jem was in the doorway, leaning against the door jamb with his arms folded. ‘Wouldn’t you say so, my lord?’
Adam joined him, his face set. ‘Extremely interesting, Jem.’
Olivia was confused. Everything was happening too quickly.
Now Harry appeared. ‘What on earth is going on?’ he asked sharply. ‘And why is everyone standing in the corridor?’ He ushered them briskly into the room and closed the door.
‘Are we to understand,’ said Jem, ‘that you and Lady Olivia wish to marry?’ His eyes bored into Olivia’s. Beside him, Harry gasped.
Jem’s gaze brought Olivia back to life. ‘No!’ she declared. George’s arm gripped her more tightly. Taking her right hand, she knocked his away and turned to face him. Any sympathy she had had was now gone, dissipated by his manhandling of her. ‘You did not wait for my reply. My answer is no.’
‘But—’ Miss Manning’s voice was insistent. ‘We have just seen you, embracing.’
‘Most unseemly!’ agreed Mrs Buxted. ‘Kissing men that she is not even engaged to!’ Mrs Buxted wagged a finger at her. ‘You’ll have to marry him now, Lady Olivia, or your reputation may never recover!’
Miss Manning and her brother exchanged a quick, satisfied glance. Olivia caught her breath. Had they planned this?
‘Nonsense!’ Jem stepped forward and laid a gentle hand on Olivia’s arm. ‘Are you well, Olivia?’
‘I shall be,’ she said, knowing he could feel her trembling. ‘Mrs Buxted, I was not kissing anyone. I was trying to escape from a kiss that I did not want!’
Adam’s jaw hardened. ‘Manning!’ he snapped. ‘Is it your habit to kiss young women against their will?’
‘Of course not! She wanted that kiss as much as I! And,’ he added, with a sly look at Jem, ‘it is not the first time we have kissed!’
Lord, she thought, he is making it sound as though there was something going on between us!
‘Not true!’ she retorted. ‘I did not ask you to kiss me that time either! And just now you knew full well that I was trying to escape you!’ She looked desperately to Jem and her brothers.
Adam nodded. ‘I believe you.’
Jem concurred. ‘I saw with my own eyes how you were struggling to be free, as we entered the room. I am surprised that these ladies—’ he bowed to Miss Manning and Mrs Buxted ‘—did not also notice it.’
‘It is very simple,’ said Miss Manning, ‘Lady Olivia heard the door opening and was embarrassed at being discovered as a wanton. Perfectly understandable’
There was a gasp of shock as everyone reacted to her description of Olivia as a ‘wanton’. Olivia felt her face burn in embarrassment. She had allowed George to kiss her, on the stepping stones. And she certainly had behaved like a wanton with Jem. Twice.
‘As Mrs Buxted says,’ Miss Manning finished primly, ‘we must make allowances for a couple in love getting carried away.’
Olivia felt as though the walls were closing around
her. Must she marry George, to save her reputation? Adam’s face looked as though it were carved from stone. Harry just looked confused.
She glanced up at Jem. Their eyes met and she tried to throw him a message of desperate appeal. He nodded and she felt marginally better.
With renewed vigour, Jem turned towards George. ‘Tell me, what did you say to your sister, just before you entered this room?’
‘Well, I...’ George seemed confused. ‘I simply...er...that is to say—’
‘He told me,’ said his sister firmly, ‘that he was going to ask Lady Olivia for her hand in marriage.’
‘Yes! That’s it! That’s what I told her.’
Jem’s eyes narrowed. ‘And did you also ask her to enter the room after a short interval had passed, bringing Mrs Buxted in an attempt to compromise Lady Olivia’s reputation?’
‘Of course not!’ George blustered, but a wave of ruddy colour was spreading across his face. ‘How dare you suggest I would do something so dishonourable!’
‘I dare,’ said Jem casually, ‘because you have already lied—to all of us!’
‘Outrageous!’ said George, but his eyes locked with his sister’s in mute appeal.
‘How dare you accuse my brother of lying!’ said Miss Manning, her tone venomous.
Jem, without leaving Olivia’s side, bowed politely to Miss Manning. ‘Unfortunately it is true. I have spent the last week in London, discovering the truth about your brother!’
Miss Manning grew visibly pale. ‘What do you mean?’
Jem stepped forward. Olivia put her other hand over the place where his had been, to protect the delightful tingle that was left there.
Reaching inside his pocket, Jem withdrew a note. ‘I found it interesting that no one I know is acquainted with Mr Manning, despite the fact that he says he fought at Waterloo. So I went to the War Office to find out.’
The Makings of a Lady Page 20
