Catherine Tinley - The Makings Of A Lady

He had been ever the gentleman, but she hoped he might love her the way she loved him. She had sometimes sensed something from the expression in his eyes. There was also, she reminded herself, the fact that he sought her out and seemed genuinely interested in all of her thoughts and feelings. There was hope!

And now, he wished to speak to her. Alone.

Heart pounding, she made her way downstairs, through the townhouse and out to the garden beyond. And there he was! Seated on the usual bench, waiting for her. No stick today, she noticed automatically. It had been over a week since he had used the stick to aid with his walking. His crutches had been dispensed with over three weeks ago and it was wonderful to see him healed further.

She smiled instinctively, gladness sweeping through her just on seeing him. Her eyes swept over him, noting the polished boots, the well-tailored breeches clinging to his muscular thighs, the smart military coat that suited him so well. How handsome he looked in his uniform! This was only the second time she had seen him fully attired in his dashing regimentals. She strongly approved.

Her eyes scanned upwards to his beloved face. No smile. He looked serious, grave, solemn. Of course he did! This was an important moment.

They exchanged greetings and he invited her to sit next to him. She did so, all the while her mind racing in anticipation of what he would do and say next.

‘Lady Olivia,’ he began, his deep blue eyes trapping hers. ‘I wanted to see you as there is something important I must say to you.’

She nodded. She was not normally tongue-tied, but the enormity of the moment had taken from her the power of speech.

‘I am lately returned from Horse Guards Parade. As you know, I was also there two days ago, to report my leg is now fully healed.’ Olivia frowned—this was unexpected. ‘I returned today, to some surprising news.’ He paused, seemed to gather himself, then resumed. ‘I am to be posted to Australia.’

‘Australia?’ What on earth was he talking about? He couldn’t possibly be going to Australia ! ‘For how long?’

‘For at least two years.’ He looked pale, she noticed absently, even as she felt the blood draining from her own face.

‘Two years?’ She echoed him mechanically, barely able to take it in.

‘At least. In reality I am likely to be gone for longer. I am transferring to the Forty-Eighth and am promoted to Lieutenant.’

‘Lieutenant?’ She swallowed. ‘But that is wonderful news! And well deserved. But—must it be Australia?’

He nodded grimly. ‘You know my situation. Although there is no shame in my lineage, my father died penniless. Thankfully he had paid for my army commission before his gambling debts overwhelmed him, and my sister Lizzie has a small income from our mother’s family. But—’ his eyes blazed into hers ‘—I have no choice. This is a chance to make something of myself. Today, I am nothing. I am no one. A young ensign, half-crippled, with no fortune, no position in society, nothing. I am truly grateful to your family for offering me a home here these past months, but it has only served to underline my determination to improve my station.’

‘But, no!’ she protested. ‘That does not matter! Money and station are not what is truly important!’ Her eyes were filling with tears as shock turned to a dawning realisation. He was leaving her. ‘You cannot leave—us!’ Almost, she had said ‘me’. They both knew it.

He stood. ‘I am truly sorry. I have allowed a...friendship to develop between us, even though I knew this parting must come. I had no intention of causing you hurt, Lady Olivia.’

She could not speak. Her heart was breaking. She looked up at him in mute appeal. His jaw hardened. He bowed, wished her farewell and was gone.

‘Why must Adam be always telling me what to do? Life is so dreary here at Chadcombe!’ Olivia sat down heavily on an ornate French chair, uncaring that the mud along the hem of her petticoat was transferring itself to a gilded wooden leg. ‘Everyone thinks I am still ten years old!’

Great-Aunt Clara set down her knitting. ‘Oh, dear, Olivia—I did not know you were so unhappy here with us!’ Her lined face was filled with distress. ‘But, yes, how tedious you must find us all!’

With a startled expression, Olivia jumped up and moved to sit beside the elderly lady. ‘Oh, no! Darling Great-Aunt Clara, I did not mean you are dreary!’ She took her great-aunt’s hand. ‘You know I love you dearly, and I love Adam and Charlotte, but I have spent most of my life here at Chadcombe and sometimes I just feel—oh, I don’t know! You will think me foolish!’

‘Who is being foolish?’ Charlotte, Olivia’s sister-in-law, entered the morning room. ‘Olivia? But you could never be foolish!’ Charlotte leaned over and kissed Olivia’s cheek. ‘Good morning!’ she added cheerily.

Charlotte’s elegant morning gown, Olivia noted, had no trace of mud anywhere on its green-silk folds. Its gently draped skirts revealed that Charlotte was expecting a child. She had suffered in the early months with tiredness and the indignity of being frequently sick. Yesterday she had declared she was much better. Olivia was not convinced.

‘Charlotte! You are up already—how did you sleep?’

‘Perfectly well, thank you!’ Charlotte brushed off Olivia’s concerns with a wave of her hand. ‘Now, what is this about you being foolish?’

Olivia struggled to answer. Suddenly her frustrations seemed churlish. She knew she had what others would view as a perfect life, in a beautiful house, with a loving family. It was just—she felt as though she needed to escape. She needed adventure!

‘Our poor Olivia finds it dull to be always at Chadcombe,’ offered Great-Aunt Clara tentatively.

Charlotte eyed her keenly. ‘Are you moped, love? Remember, Miss Ford and her brother will arrive tomorrow for their visit. You have been looking forward to that, have you not?’

Olivia sighed in frustration. ‘I am always happy to see Lizzie, and it will be good to meet—’ she choked a little on his name ‘—Jem again. I cannot say why I am feeling so unsettled. It’s just—I feel as though everyone still believes me to be a child!’

‘Poor, dear Olivia!’ Great-Aunt Clara’s knitting slipped to the floor. Olivia retrieved it for her and the old lady patted her hand kindly. ‘I can quite understand how it must be frustrating. After all, you must be nearly twenty now.’

‘I had my twenty-second birthday last December, Great Aunt-Clara. Don’t you remember?’

‘ Twenty-two? Really?’ Great-Aunt Clara looked astonished. ‘Well, bless me! I do think of you as properly belonging in the schoolroom! I am so sorry! But, yes, I remember you had your Season in London last year, or was it the year before?’

Olivia exchanged a brief glance with Charlotte. ‘I made my debut four years ago, if you remember.’ She spoke gently, hoping her elderly relative would recollect. ‘After Charlotte and Adam were married? It was the time Juliana came to stay with us—and she and Harry got married soon afterwards.’

‘Of course! Was that really four years ago? Yes, I suppose it must be—because we got the new oven and Charlotte was such a help... And then that dreadful Napoleon and the battle... I was never so relieved as to see Harry home safe after Waterloo, and married, and now he and dear Juliana live so close by with their dear little son—it all worked out so well...’ Great-Aunt Clara almost lost herself in a tangle of recollections. ‘So, yes,’ she concluded firmly, ‘it was three years ago. Or possibly four. So how old are you again, Olivia?’