The Demure Miss Manning

Gilesworth caught Sebastian’s arm as he started after her, and tossed a heavy purse of clanking coins at his chest. Sebastian let them fall to the terrace stones as he stared into Gilesworth’s smirking face.

How had he ever befriended such a man, even in his desperation to forget battle? He had let boredom draw him into a vile scheme and now he bitterly rued the day.

All he could see was Mary’s face, pale and shocked in the moonlight as she ran away from him. For one perfect moment, as he held her slender, trembling body in his arms, he had forgotten the men he had lost in battle, forgotten his family and London society, and the terrible, numb aimlessness of life. She made him forget, made things seem new and bright again.

It was something he hadn’t expected at all, something startling. That awakening to sensation again, with the soft touch of her lips, the faint scent of her sweet rose perfume. And it had been shattered all too quickly, snatched away, and he had little but himself to blame. He had taken Gilesworth’s ridiculous wager, and now he had wounded the sweetest lady he had ever met.

He reached out and grabbed Gilesworth by the front of his immaculate evening coat, erasing the man’s hideous smirk.

‘You will never speak of this to anyone,’ Sebastian said, in a low, steady voice. He wouldn’t let his burning anger overwhelm him now; he had to help Mary however he could and stemming any gossip was only the first step. ‘If I even hear that you have so much as uttered Miss Manning’s name, I shall make you sorry you were ever born.’

Gilesworth’s self-satisfied smirk vanished, replaced by fear barely masked by a scowl. ‘Now, listen here, Barrett. It was all just a bit of fun, and you—’

‘It is in no way a “bit of fun”, and I was a bloody, foxed fool to ever involve myself in such a vile scheme,’ Sebastian said. Inside, the dark flood of self-disgust threatened to drown him, but outwardly he stayed cold and calm. It was the hard lesson of battle. ‘But it is over now. You will leave Miss Manning in peace. Is that understood?’

He swept a cold glance over all of them. Lord James swallowed hard and nodded, and Nicholas Warren looked red-faced and appalled. Gilesworth scowled, as if he would argue and force Sebastian to challenge him to a duel or something equally ridiculous, but when Sebastian’s fist tightened in the twist of his coat, he sullenly agreed.

Sebastian pushed the man away and hurried to the house to find Mary. She was nowhere to be seen in the ballroom, and her friend Lady Louisa said she thought Mary had already summoned her carriage to return home.

Her smile turned teasing as she looked up at him. ‘But I am sure if she knew you were looking for her, she would never have left so quickly.’

Sebastian knew he had to neutralise any gossip now, even with Mary’s friends. He smiled back at her, a careless, casual smile. ‘I had hoped for a dance with Miss Manning, but I see I was too slow. At the next ball, then.’

He bowed and left her, even though she looked as if she wanted to say something more to him. He found a footman near the duchess’s staircase and the servant verified Lady Louisa’s words, that Miss Manning had called for her carriage and departed in rather a hurry. Sebastian rushed to the street outside, but there was no glimpse of the departing Manning carriage, even in the distance.

He would have to go to her home in the morning, at a proper hour, and make his apologies. He could only hope she would forgive him.

Chapter Four (#ulink_9ba518c9-f8d4-56a0-b266-b9f97e48bc49)

‘Oh, Miss Manning! Thank heavens you’re here,’ Mary’s maid cried, leaping out of her seat in the hall of the Manning house as Mary stepped inside. The floor was piled with crates and trunks. ‘Your father has been asking for you most urgently.’

‘My father?’ Surprise and worry jolted Mary out of the dismal reflections that had been running through her head ever since she had left the duchess’s ball. She had thought it was rather odd that her father would leave the ball early and send the carriage back for her, but she had been too busy chastising herself for ever trusting Sebastian Barrett.

She quickly handed her shawl to the maid and followed the butler down the corridor to her father’s library.

She found her father standing in the midst of more crates, sorting his books and papers as more of the servants hurried around him taking paintings from the walls and draping the furniture in canvas covers. Candles were lit everywhere, casting a flicker over all the frantic activity. She noticed how tired her father looked and now concern replaced the hurt and embarrassment.

Mary was bewildered. It was nearly the middle of the night—what could be happening?

‘Papa? What is going on?’ Mary asked, making her way between the uneven stacks of crates. She caught sight of herself in the looking glass on the wall, just before a footman threw a cloth over it. Her hair was tousled, her cheeks overly pink.

Luckily, her father did not seem to notice. He shoved a stack of books into her hands and vaguely gestured at one of the boxes.

‘I am very glad you’re here, Mary,’ he said. ‘There is not an instant to lose! We must leave in the morning. I’ve instructed the maids to start packing your gowns.’

‘In the morning!’ Mary cried, even more confused. Had he found out about what happened at the ball, that she had disgraced herself? ‘Papa, whatever do you mean? Where are we going? Surely it is not so bad yet we must flee from gossip...’

‘Gossip?’ Her father turned to peer at her closer, his arms full of more papers. ‘Is there gossip about Portugal? How very odd. The prime minister said haste and secrecy were of utmost importance, but I wouldn’t have thought London society would care. Not yet.’

‘Portugal?’ Mary’s head was spinning. ‘Perhaps we should slow down for a moment, so you can tell me what exactly is happening. A half-hour ago I was at a ball...’ Kissing Sebastian Barrett, but her father didn’t need to know that. ‘Now you say we must pack and be gone by morning.’

Her father gave a wry laugh and leaned down to give her cheek a quick kiss. ‘You are quite right, my dear. It is all quite odd, but surely you have become rather accustomed to that in this strange life of ours.’

Mary nodded. Strange things had always happened in her life. New nurseries, new nannies, balls, receptions, new customs, new manners. She had been able to weather them all, thanks to her parents’ example. But now she had no idea how to manage her own feelings. Her own mistakes.

Her father took her hand and led her to a quiet spot near one of the windows, away from the rush and noise of the footmen carrying away the crates. ‘I spoke to the prime minister tonight and he says it is most vital that I be in Portugal as soon as possible. The Portuguese have been trying to maintain neutrality between England and France, but Napoleon’s diplomats have been making very threatening noises to Dom Joao. Lord Strangford has been made Britain’s representative to the royal court there, but the prime minister wants someone with a great knowledge of the country to join him and advise him.’

‘As you do, because of Mama,’ Mary said. She thought of the short time they had been in Portugal when she was a child, the sun and light of it, her mother’s laughter. Surely it could be a refuge of sorts, somewhere far from England where she would make no more romantic mistakes.

‘As I do, yes. It will be a great challenge, I confess, perhaps the greatest I have faced in my career.’ Her father sighed, his face a bit weary. He reached out and gently touched Mary’s cheek. ‘I am sorry, my dear. We have barely settled in London and now I must drag you away again. Perhaps you would rather stay here, maybe with your friend Lady Louisa?’

‘Oh, no, Papa,’ Mary cried. ‘I want to go with you, of course. I should love to see Portugal again and you will need someone to make sure you eat properly.’

He laughed. ‘And I confess I would be most lonely without you. But I can’t help but wonder—are you quite all right?’

Mary was afraid the events at the ball could somehow show on her face and the last thing her father needed was more worries. ‘Of course, Papa. I must be a bit tired after the dancing.’

He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but the butler called him away with a question about the packing. Mary hurried out of the library and upstairs to her chamber, past several servants carrying out more trunks.

She paused at the window on the landing to peer out at the night. The sky was just beginning to lighten at the edges, a pale grey that would see them gone blessedly soon. Against her will, a vision of Sebastian Barrett flashed through her mind. Those jewel-green eyes, that had seemed so sad just before he kissed her. The rush of hot, burning pain when she realised she was only a joke to him.

She pushed the memory away and rushed on towards her room. It felt horribly like running away, but she was very glad of the sudden departure to Portugal. There, she wouldn’t have to worry about seeing Lord Sebastian, facing what her foolish infatuation had led her into.

And, hundreds of miles away, she wouldn’t have to face being led into temptation by him all over again...

* * *

Sebastian knocked on the Mannings’ door again and listened to the hollow echo inside. He stepped back on the walkway and peered up at the house, his hat in one hand and a bouquet of roses in the other. It looked as if all the windows were shuttered, the doors locked.

His heart sank. Where could they be? Surely it had only been last night he saw Mary at the ball and everything went so disastrously wrong. He had gone back to his lodgings and drank rather too much wine after he lost her in the crowd, but surely he had not lost that much time?

Even the wine hadn’t been able to give him sleep. Just like so many other nights since he came back to England, he sat awake into the dawn hours, yet last night it wasn’t the haunting thoughts of battle that kept him up. It was the memory of Miss Manning’s eyes, the way she looked up at him just before she kissed him, so full of wonder that she made him feel it, too. Made the night seem new.

And the shadow in those same eyes when she realised the truth. When she realised the damnable cad he had somehow become.

The truth of what he had done, his appallingly ungentlemanly behaviour, had shocked him out of his hazy, pain-filled memories as nothing else could. He hated what he had become, how near he had come to hurting a sweet lady like Mary Manning.

As soon as he had pulled back the curtains to let the light of day wash over his aching head and carry away the cobwebs of the night, he had known what he had to do. He had to go to Miss Manning immediately, apologise and beg for her forgiveness.

Ask her to help him somehow find his way back into the world. After that kiss, the warm newness of it, he was sure she was the only one who could help him. And he had to erase those shadows he had created in her sweet, beautiful eyes.

But how could he make amends if he couldn’t find her?

He knocked on the door again, only to be greeted with the same—no answer. Some of his eager certainty turned chilly.

The downstairs servants’ door to the house next door opened and a maid appeared on the front steps with a bucket and scrub brush. She gave him a curious glance.

‘Looking for the Mannings, are you, sir?’ she asked.