The Demure Miss Manning

She suddenly noticed a movement from the man near the window, a flutter of colour that caught her attention. A man in a red uniform coat stepped forward, into a buttery blade of sunlight, and Mary faltered at the sight of him.

He was quite, quite beautiful, almost unreal, like something in a book suddenly sprung into vivid life. A chivalric knight of old, only in a red coat instead of gleaming armour. On him, that uniform seemed—different. Exotic. Alluring.

He was taller than most of the men she met in London, with enticingly broad shoulders and lean hips, long hips encased in pale breeches set off with tall, glossy black boots.

His hair was a gold-tinged brown, almost tawny, shimmering as if he spent much time in the sun. It gave him such an enticing glow, a warmth, she feared she wanted to get closer and closer to, as if he could melt every tiny sliver of ice around her. Of the loneliness that had seemed to close in around her since her mother died. That hair fell in unruly waves over his brow and the high, gild-trimmed collar of his coat, enticingly soft-looking.

He didn’t seem as if he really quite belonged in the gilded, brocaded drawing room, despite his immaculate uniform and a noble bearing. Mary imagined him on the deck of a pirate ship, riding through a stormy sea, or racing a wild horse madly across an open field.

Or maybe grabbing a sighing, melting lady up into his arms, kissing her passionately until she swooned.

Mary almost laughed aloud at her romantic fantasies. Obviously she was mistaken when she told Lady Alnworth that she hadn’t read so widely; she had been consuming too many poems lately. It was very unlike her. If this was the famous Lord Sebastian Barrett, his reputation was more than justified. He was quite perfectly handsome.

She thought of Lord Henry Barrett, the man everyone seemed to think she should marry, who was perfectly amiable and good-looking, and felt a bit sorry for him.

‘Lady Louisa, Miss Manning!’ the duchess cried. ‘I am so glad to see you both. Come, sit with us. You can assist us in this quarrel between Lord James and Mr Warren. But what we really want to do is get Lord Sebastian to tell us of his many adventures. Perhaps you shall have more luck.’

‘Oh, yes, you must tell us more, Lord Sebastian!’ Louisa cried. ‘How heroic of you to defend us all like that.’

‘Lady Louisa, I know you once met Lord Sebastian. Miss Manning, have you met the great hero of the day?’ Lady Alnworth said. ‘He has so long been away from London, sadly for us all. Much like yourself. Lord Sebastian Barrett, may I present Miss Mary Manning?’

He turned to smile at Mary and it took all her long years of careful diplomatic training to keep her own polite smile in place, to make him the regulation demure curtsy. Up close, his eyes were very, very green. As green as her mother’s treasured emerald earrings, deep and dark, set in a lean, sculpted face touched with the gold of the sun. Even in all her family’s travels, she had never met a man quite like this one before. So very vital, burning with raw, energetic life.

Yes, she thought wryly. No wonder all the young ladies of London were quite in love with him. If she wasn’t careful, she would soon be one of them.

But one thing Mary had learned above all was to be careful.

‘How do you do, Miss Manning,’ he said, bowing over her hand. His breath felt so warm through her glove, but somehow it made her shiver. ‘I believe I have heard of your father. Sir William Manning, the diplomat who was lately in St Petersburg?’

‘Oh, yes, he is my father,’ Mary said, feeling quite pleased he had heard of her family in some way. ‘We’ve only been back in London for a few months. He is waiting for his next post.’

Lord Sebastian’s handsome face looked very solemn suddenly, like a grey cloud sliding over the sun. ‘My friend Mr Denny says he and his wife could never have escaped from France last year without Sir William’s help. He could not say enough fine things about your father.’

Mary couldn’t help but smile at hearing her father’s praises. She well remembered the long nights he had gone sleepless while trying to help every British citizen he could. ‘He would be pleased to hear that your friend is well now, but I know he would claim he only did his duty for England. As you do, Lord Sebastian. We do hear such talk of your heroics.’

An embarrassed look flashed across his handsome face and he glanced away. He laughed and it was as smooth and warm as his fine looks. ‘I did nothing but laze around in the Spanish sun, I promise, Miss Manning. It’s people like you and your father who are the heroes of our country, digging your way through Russian ice and snow to win friends for England.’

Mary had to laugh, too, charmed by how he seemed to want to run away from his heroic reputation rather than revel in it, as any other man surely would. ‘It was indeed—interesting in Russia, Lord Sebastian. I am glad to be back in London now.’

‘I should very much like to hear more about your experiences there, Miss Manning.’

‘Would you truly?’ Mary said, surprised. ‘I promise it was really quite dull.’

‘I always love hearing about other lands. My favourite book as child was Thousand and One Nights. Do you know it?’

‘Of course! It was my favourite, too,’ Mary said. Lord Sebastian, despite his fine looks and great popularity, was not so frightening after all. It felt as though she already knew him, that she could tell him of some of her secret hopes. Her thirst for adventure. ‘I fear I made my nanny read it to me over and over until she was quite sick of it.’

‘What are you two talking of so intently?’ Lady Alnworth called. ‘You must share it with all of us, I insist!’

Mary glanced at their hostess, suddenly startled to realise she and Lord Sebastian had been standing beside the half-open window, talking quietly together for too long. It was most unlike her to lose sight of even a second of impropriety. She felt her cheeks turn warm and quickly smiled to cover her blushes.

Lady Alnworth and Louisa sat with two of the other men, Mr Warren and Lord Paul Gilesworth, two of the most well-known rakes in town. They all looked at her with eyes wide with interest.

‘I fear I was the one monopolising Miss Manning,’ Lord Sebastian said with a charming smile. ‘I was asking about her time in Russia.’

‘Oh, it must have been horrid, all that dreadful snow!’ the duchess cried, with a quick agreement from Lady Alnworth. ‘Surely there are far more amusing things going on right here in London.’

‘Perhaps we could speak more about your travels later, Miss Manning?’ Lord Sebastian whispered in her ear before she could move away.

He wanted to talk more to her? Mary could only nod, frozen with something terribly like excitement and—and pleasure. It was most frightening. He led her back to the group, and soon they were all deep in a conversation about the newest play at Covent Garden. But Mary was always much too aware of Lord Sebastian sitting across from her, of his warm laughter and emerald-green eyes. The way the duchess kept sliding her hand over his arm.

Mary knew she was going to have to be very careful indeed. One careless step and her cautious, contented life could come tumbling down—right into those strong arms.

Chapter Two (#ulink_8272f3ba-ac47-5cf9-9cb7-c4864735d2d2)

‘That Lady Louisa Smythe is a rare beauty,’ Lord Paul Gilesworth said with a laugh. He gestured to the footman for a bottle of port as they settled into armchairs by the fireplace of their club in St James’s, after leaving Lady Alnworth’s tea. ‘Also a rare flirt, it seems. What do you all think?’

Nicholas Warren laughed. ‘I think her father guards her like a chest of gold. You’d have far better luck with Lady Alnworth herself, Gilesworth.’

‘Do you think so?’ Gilesworth said, his expression turning speculative. ‘Depends on what you want the fillies for, I suppose. Brood mare or racehorse? And what of the Duchess of Thwaite? She would be a bit of a challenge.’

Sebastian watched as the servants poured out the blood-red wine into fine cut-crystal goblets, half-listening as his friends debated the merits of various ladies in London. He felt as he had ever since he returned to England—distant from everything that went on around him, as if it was happening in a dream.

The concerns of London society, the concerns that had once been his as well, seemed as insubstantial and inconsequential as the bubbles in a glass of champagne. The beauties of various débutantes, who had lost what in which card games, who took which famous actress as his mistress—it all meant nothing at all after what he had seen. What he had done in battle.

He took a long drink of the fine, satin-smooth wine, and studied the faces of his old friends, as detached as if he looked at paintings in a gallery. Nicholas Warren was all right; a kind-hearted, harmless sort of chap, headed for the diplomatic service like Sebastian’s brother Henry. But Gilesworth and Lord James, who had seemed like such fun companions when they were at school, now had concerns that seemed no deeper than the cut of their coats and the legs of the dancing girls at Covent Garden. It was rather wearying.

Sebastian couldn’t help but remember the men he had seen fall in battle. Good, brave men, who lived to the fullest, yet died fearlessly for their country. He had drunk with them, too, sat up late into the night joking and laughing, gone searching for beautiful women to seek comfort in their arms for a few moments. Faced the deepest instants of life and death with them.

Yet somehow, it had felt so very different with his fellow officers. Life had taken on a rare, shining edge there on the eve of battle. A height of feeling he had never known.

And now those friends were gone, and Sebastian felt as if he had plunged into a dark tunnel where there was no point of light to guide him. Much to his shock, he was hailed as a hero here in London. Welcomed warmly into every drawing room, begged for his ‘stories’. Even his father, who had long bemoaned how ‘useless’ his youngest son was, such a wastrel, seemed proud.

It made Sebastian feel the greatest fraud and he was puzzled that no one else seemed to see it. He was alive and all those good men were dead in the gore of the battlefield.

Surely there was nothing right about that?

But no one here seemed to understand anything. They went on blithely with their lives as if nothing else mattered. As if the world outside their little island wasn’t exploding into pieces.

Sebastian no longer felt he belonged in London. No longer belonged in his own skin. Lord Sebastian Barrett—who was that? With his fellow officers, he had felt he found himself, his true self, at last. For so long, his whole life really, he had felt the tug between what he felt inside and what his family thought. Once he was in the Army, he could just—be. Here, there was only a cold numbness, that terrible distance. He found he would do anything, try anything, to be warm again.

The only time he had felt anything since he came home was when Miss Mary Manning had smiled up at him today in Lady Alnworth’s drawing room. Miss Manning wasn’t flashing and flirtatious like her friend Lady Louisa, to be sure, but there was such a quiet, dignified beauty to her. A solemn, deep perception in her grey eyes that he hadn’t found in anyone else in London. They all swirled on with their merriment, never stopping to look.

Yet Mary Manning seemed to look. Her very stillness seemed to be a refuge, no matter how brief. He had wanted to sit with her, talk to her more. Maybe even tell her something of what had happened to him.

But he remembered all too well that his father had declared Miss Manning would be a suitable bride for Sebastian’s brother Henry. The perfect, intellectual son, destined to carry on the Barretts’ great tradition in the diplomatic service. Sebastian had thought nothing of it when he heard his father and Henry talking about Mary Manning. After all, he did not know her and his thoughts and nightmares were still all of the battlefield. He didn’t care who his brother married. Surely they would be the perfect, dignified couple, a credit to the Barretts and to England.

It was obvious Henry cared little for Miss Manning beyond who her father was, the famous and well-respected Sir William Manning. That was how all their family’s marriages were conducted.