The Makings Of A Lady. Catherine Tinley

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СКАЧАТЬ sit down, Olivia,’ said Charlotte, ‘for they might see you looking through the window!’ Olivia complied, sitting beside Jem on a satin-covered couch. She hoped Jem and Lizzie did not think Charlotte was telling her off, as though she were a child. That had not been Charlotte’s intention—dear Charlotte would not do such a thing—but, still...

      They all rose when the footman announced their guests. ‘Mr and Mrs Foxley, Mrs Buxted, Mr Manning, Miss Manning,’ he intoned, his final introduction slightly muffled by the scrape of Lizzie’s chair as she stood.

      Mr Manning! Olivia’s heart began to race. She stood, maintaining what she hoped was a neutral look on her face. The ladies dipped into a curtsy, the men bowing politely, then Charlotte stepped forward to greet her guests.

      ‘My dear Faith!’ she said warmly, embracing her cousin Mrs Foxley. ‘Aunt Buxted!’ She embraced Faith’s mama next, though with rather less enthusiasm. However, her words were warm and genuine. ‘It is so good to see you! And where is little Frederick?’

      ‘We have not brought him, I’m afraid.’ Faith spoke in her usual gentle tones. ‘We have left him with his nurse.’

      Her husband explained. ‘We recall the last time he was here, he managed to break not one, but two tea cups and we decided that, on this occasion, we should sacrifice his company in the interests of our sanity—and your china!’

      They all smiled at this. Master Frederick Foxley was just past his second birthday and had recently become, as his doting father suggested affectionately, a tyrant.

      Olivia could barely follow the conversation. Her attention was fixed on Mr George Manning and her foolish heart was still pounding wildly, and in complete defiance of her wishes. She was wondering if it was obvious to everyone in the room that she and Mr Manning had met before. Oh, how she wished she had mentioned it!

      He stood a little to the side, awaiting formal introduction, and Olivia’s eyes were compulsively drawn to him. How elegant he looked! His tall figure equalled Jem’s—both were handsome, imposing men. Mr Manning had a peculiar stillness that spoke of assurance and composure. His handsome face looked relaxed, though his eyes were busy, observing everyone with keenness and intent.

      By his side stood a beautiful woman, with fair hair smoothed into an elegant chignon, pale blue eyes, and the most stylish silk morning dress Olivia had seen outside London. She wore a delicate lace cap, proclaiming her status as a married lady, and, unaccountably, Olivia’s heart sank. Had the footman said Mrs Manning? Was George Manning, then, married?

      She was conscious of a strong feeling of disappointment. She and Lizzie had often moaned in private about the fact that so many young men’s lives had been lost in the war and that there were usually three young ladies to every eligible gentleman at the balls and routs they attended. And even then, like as not, the most handsome ones were invariably already married. With Jem here, she needed the distraction of an eligible man.

      She caught Lizzie’s eye. Her friend sent her an impertinent look, arching her eyebrows to signal the presence of an interesting new acquaintance. Olivia suppressed a smile and stood still, awaiting the introductions.

      Mrs Buxted obliged. ‘My dear, dear Charlotte! Lord Shalford! Permit me to introduce to you my treasured friend Miss Manning, who is lodging in Albemarle Street, and her brother, Mr George Manning.’

      Her brother! Olivia’s eyes flew to Mr Manning’s face. He was watching her intently and was clearly amused by her reaction. She flushed and looked away. Jem was looking at her, a crease in his brow. Everyone else, she noted, was surreptitiously studying Miss Manning.

      Olivia had erred. Seeing Miss Manning’s cap, she had assumed the woman was married. Instead, she was clearly wearing it to indicate she was no longer of marriageable age. Now aware that Miss Manning had to be older than she first appeared, Olivia looked for the signs. And there they were—subtle lines at the corners of the eyes, between her delicate brows and at the corners of her mouth. Still, Miss Manning was a remarkably beautiful woman. It was difficult to estimate her age—perhaps she was in her early forties, thought Olivia. At least ten years older than her brother.

      ‘...and this is my sister-in-law, Lady Olivia Fanton.’ Charlotte’s voice intruded into Olivia’s musings, but, thankfully, years of social schooling meant she had reached out automatically to touch Miss Manning’s pale, white hand.

      The woman’s grasp was weak, but she murmured something appropriate with cool politeness. ‘I am happy to meet you,’ Olivia replied cordially, though, in truth, she scarcely knew what to make of Miss Manning. Briefly, an intent look flashed in those pale blue eyes and Olivia was put in mind of a swan on a lake, sailing serenely by, but with webbed feet pumping furiously beneath the waterline.

      ‘My brother, George,’ said Miss Manning, gesturing to him, then pausing to watch as George bent over Olivia’s hand to kiss it.

      Olivia flushed and pulled her hand away, wishing she could wipe away the feeling of his warm lips on her skin. Her skin tingled pleasantly where he had kissed her hand, but it angered her that she should feel pleasure when she did not choose it.

      They all sat, Jem returning to his place by her side. He was still frowning. He turned as if to speak to her, but Olivia’s attention was taken up by the new arrivals. By the time she realised he wished to say something, he had already subsided and indicated with a slight shake of his head that whatever he had intended to say was of no matter.

      Relieved, Olivia returned her full gaze to George Manning and his sister. Looking at Jem was altogether too confusing. It was easier to avoid it. It was difficult enough being seated beside him and being so conscious of his nearness.

      Once again, she reached for that old sense of betrayal. Jem was nothing to her now. An acquaintance. Possibly a friend. No more than that. Having George’s admiring gaze on her helped soothe the Jem-related anxiety.

      Mrs Buxted was explaining the friendship between them was of recent date, as the Mannings had lived in London for only the past few months. ‘We met, would you believe, in Rotten Row, during the evening perambulation,’ declared Mrs Buxted. ‘We struck up a conversation and Miss Manning was most obliging. She was quite willing to listen to me nattering on about my daughters and my dear niece Charlotte, who is now, of course, a countess!’

      Olivia squirmed a little at Mrs Buxted’s vulgar words. Charlotte, always ready to say exactly the right thing, diverted her by asking about her other daughter.

      ‘Oh, my dear Henrietta is well, though suffering from great tiredness. She has just written to tell me her fifth petit paquet will be delivered in the winter!’ Since Henrietta’s fourth child had been born last November, and her firstborn had just turned five, this news, naturally, caused some exclamations. ‘Oh, never worry about Henrietta,’ said Mrs Buxted, in a confiding manner, ‘she always wanted a large family.’

      Faith, Henrietta’s sister, looked dubious at this assertion.

      ‘You will be wondering, I am sure,’ continued Mrs Buxted serenely, ‘why Miss Manning and her brother look so little alike!’ Olivia almost gasped. She had met Mrs Buxted many times, yet never failed to be astonished by her impropriety. ‘And why should you not, for I wondered exactly the same thing myself!’ She patted Miss Manning’s arm affectionately. ‘You are so fair, my friend, and your brother is so dark in his colouring, so everyone who sees you must wonder at it!’

      Miss Manning’s expression did not change, apart from a slight hardening СКАЧАТЬ