The Makings Of A Lady

‘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.

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