The Demure Miss Manning. Amanda McCabeЧитать онлайн книгу.
duchess is here?’ Mary asked.
‘Yes, with several guests, Miss Manning,’ the butler answered, solemnly but with a twinkle in his eyes. ‘Heroic guests.’
‘Heroic?’ Louisa squealed. ‘Oh, Mary! What if it is Lord Sebastian, and maybe some of his Army friends? How very exciting. I knew it was a good idea to call on Lady Alnworth today.’
‘Louisa, surely it is not...’ Mary began, but Louisa was already dashing off towards the half-open drawing-room doors.
By the time Mary caught up to her, following at the polite pace long years at royal courts with her parents and strict governesses had taught her, Louisa was already at the group gathered around the tall, open windows that looked out on to the park. Mary paused to study them, to gauge the scene, as she would a painting. As she had always been taught to do.
The duchess was at the centre of the group, tall and dark-haired, dressed in the height of fashion in a green-and-black pelisse and tall-crowned green hat, with Lady Alnworth lounging on a brocade chaise beside her in a red classical robe. They looked very dramatic with Louisa, all blonde curls and satin ribbons, fluttering to greet her. A tea table laden with a gleaming silver service was laid before them and they were surrounded by laughing admirers vying for their attention.
Mary felt suddenly shy. She had been taught to be comfortable around different sorts of people, to talk to anyone in a polite fashion, but these people were more than polite—they were known as the wittiest group in London. She recognised Mr Nicholas Warren and Lord Paul Gilesworth, two of the most sought-after society bachelors, and Lord James Sackville, but not another man who stood half in the shadows of the window curtaining, looking out at the park.
‘Miss Manning,’ Lady Alnworth called. ‘Won’t you come in and help us settle a question? You are always so clever, so well read. Lord James here says Plato cannot be a pagan since he advocates the immortality of the soul, while Mr Warren claims that cannot be. I am terribly confused.’
‘I fear my reading is not so extensive as all that, Lady Alnworth. I have only read what Plato reported Socrates, his teacher, to have said,’ Mary said, making her way towards their hostess with her brightest smile. ‘I know little about...’
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