The Makings Of A Lady. Catherine Tinley
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rubbed one long finger thoughtfully along his jawline. ‘He may not have said it aloud, but—’
‘But nothing!’ She decided to enlist Lizzie’s assistance. ‘You remember my jonquil dress? I wore it to the picnic in London when you visited Jem that summer. Now, did I look sallow in it?’
‘I cannot remember the particular dress, I’m afraid,’ Lizzie admitted, ‘but I am certain of one thing. You could never look sallow, Olivia!’ She glared at her brother, but with a smile lurking in her eyes. ‘Jem, you should show some discretion when talking to ladies about their looks. Why, we are sensitive creatures, easily crushed by criticism!’
Olivia glanced at the other ladies. Both Juliana and Lizzie wore similar expressions of mock outrage—mirroring her own. She decided to test the men.
‘So then, Jem—and you, Harry!’
Harry flung his hands up. ‘This is nothing to do with me and I will not engage with you!’
‘Coward!’ muttered Jem.
Olivia ignored this. ‘What would you say about our appearance tonight?’
The men exchanged glances. ‘You expect, I suppose,’ drawled Jem, ‘a dozen outrageous compliments on your dresses and your hair, and no doubt any further attributes, possessions and qualities.’
‘At least a dozen!’ confirmed Olivia, her eyes brimming with mischief.
‘A dozen and no more!’ He eyed Olivia from head to toe, then quickly scanned Juliana and Lizzie. ‘I can affirm,’ he said theatrically, ‘that you each have beautiful dresses and hair, and—er—’ his eyes scanned them again, a hint of theatrical panic mixed with his amusement ‘—gloves!’ he said triumphantly. ‘That is surely a dozen things!’
‘It is only three and well you know it!’ challenged Juliana.
He shook his head. ‘There are three of you and I named four items, so that is twelve!’ He nudged Harry in the ribs. ‘Wouldn’t you say so, Captain?’
His former commanding officer smiled broadly. ‘I heard only three for each lady, so that is nine.’
Jem clutched his heart. ‘Betrayed by my comrade! But none of you can count!’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Lizzie.
‘I know exactly what he means’, said Olivia, dimpling. ‘He is counting the gloves as two separate items!’
Jem nodded, smiling indulgently. ‘You always understood me, Olivia.’
Jem’s tone was entirely familiar to Olivia—it was exactly how he always had spoken to her when she was eighteen. She sighed inwardly. How often had she wished he would see her as a woman, not a girl? She frowned, her thoughts returning full circle to the realisation that no-one, including Jem, saw her as an adult, even now.
Yet, as they travelled on to Monkton Park, Olivia recognised with some surprise that she felt the glimmerings of peace. To her right the sky was colouring up for what promised to be a glorious sunset—glowing purple and gold and orange-red. Although the same frustrations dogged her, at least here, in this very carriage, were people with whom she felt at ease.
Jem sat back, enjoying the sensation of simply looking at her. She’d blossomed into quite a beauty. While she had been striking at eighteen, at twenty-two she was simply exquisite. As to her character, it was too early to tell, but he suspected her nature was basically unchanged.
Yet some changes were apparent. Gone was the naive girl who had glowed in his company. In her place was someone more reserved, less easy to read. It surprised him just how much he desperately wanted to get to know her all over again.
Who knew what experiences she’d had in the intervening four years? Had she fallen in love? Four years ago, he had foolishly allowed himself to become lost in her company, knowing it was destined to lead nowhere. The Earl, Olivia’s brother, had barely been aware of his existence.
And why should he? As a family they regularly hosted guests and the Earl had been busy with Parliament, his duties to the estate and his new marriage to Charlotte. He had spent little time with Jem and, although unfailingly polite, had showed no particular interest in him. Any suggestion of a relationship between Ensign Jem Ford and the sister of the formidable Earl of Shalford had been unthinkable.
Knowing he was a guest in their home and that he was trusted by her brothers to behave appropriately towards Olivia, he had acted the gentleman throughout and never so much as kissed her.
I was a damned fool! he thought now, as the realisation of the lost opportunity washed over him anew. I should have kissed her while I had the chance—while she might have wanted me to.
Desire flooded through him at the thought.
Or perhaps not, he thought a few moments later, as his rational mind reasserted itself and he pictured the ramifications. Olivia might have responded with enthusiasm and his heart skipped at the notion of the joy that would have brought to him then, but had the Earl discovered them Jem would undoubtedly have been banished from the Fanton home—and from Olivia’s life.
How might it have changed her feelings for him? Could he have secured her deeper affections, if he had breached the boundaries around them? Eighteen-year-olds were not normally renowned for constancy. Even if he’d tried to fix her interest—which would have been madness—it would not have survived four years apart.
Which brought him right back to the present, sitting opposite her in a carriage, desire and yearning confusing his senses. He glanced at her again. She was looking out of the window at the beautiful sunset, calm and serene. Certainly there was no awkwardness in her dealings with him—she was friendly, warm and gracious. Equally, there was no indication of any warmer feelings.
We had our chance, he thought, and we let it pass us by. The opportunity was lost.
The realisation hit him like a blow to the stomach.
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