Harlequin Historical November 2015, Box Set 2 of 2 Read online

  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.

  He gave her a relieved smile. ‘Yes, indeed. Though it seems I must come back later, since the door knocker is off.’

  ‘Won’t do you any good, sir, as I think they left this morning.’

  ‘Left? For good?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Carts came and hauled off boxes and trunks before it was even light outside. That happened to the last people who lived there, too, but they ran off from the debt collectors. My master says the Mannings were just sent off to a new posting.’ She gave a doubtful frown under the frills of her cap.

  Off to a new posting. Already? How could that be? Sebastian felt the heat of an urgent need to find Miss Manning right away, before she left for good.

  He knew of one person who always seemed to know what was happening with the Foreign Office—his father. Sebastian quickly thanked the maid and hurried back to his phaeton, set on going to his parents’ house in Portman Square immediately. His father would be certain Sebastian had messed something up, again, and indeed he had.

  But then he had to find Miss Manning.

  * * *

  ‘It is good you are here, Sebastian,’ his father said, barely looking up from the papers scattered across his desk as Sebastian knocked at his library door.

  Sebastian was surprised and brought up short on his urgent errand. His father was seldom happy to see him at the family domicile. Even after he had returned from the battlefield and his father admitted that Sebastian’s Army life had been a credit to their family after all, his father had spoken of little but his own work at the Foreign Office. ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Yes. Henry has been ill this week and there is much work to be done. Several people have been sent to new, vital postings and I must see that these messages go to them immediately. You can deliver some of them, surely? Find out from Henry if he has messages to send, as well.’

  Sebastian was even more startled. ‘You want my help, Father?’

  His father looked up, blinking behind his spectacles, almost as if he just realised Sebastian was there. ‘You’re here, so of course you’ll do. I told you, Henry is ill and your eldest brother is still in the country looking after the estate. You can make yourself useful, for once.’

  Sebastian laughed wryly. That was all he could do, really, when it came to his family. Laugh—and go his own way. His world had been designated the dust and roar of battle long ago, far from the darker world of his father and Henry, the world of diplomacy.

  The world of Miss Manning and her father.

  He remembered his true errand at his father’s library, to find out what had happened to the Mannings, and he brushed away his irritation. ‘So your diplomatic friends are being shuffled off to new ports, are they?’

  His father glared at him. ‘You have never shown an interest in them before.’

  Sebastian shrugged. He had to keep up his careless façade; he could never let his father see that something mattered to him, especially if that something was a respectable young lady. ‘These are interesting times, are they not? One never knows when the Army will be called out next. I met your friends the Mannings at the Alnworth ball.’

  ‘Did you indeed? Sir William has been sent to Lisbon. That idiot Prince Joao has been wavering in his alliance and must be brought back most firmly to England’s side. The loss of Portuguese New World ports at this time would be disastrous. Sir William is the man for the job.’

  ‘To Portugal?’ Sebastian said, his mind racing. Mary Manning would be well on her journey now—too far out of the reach of his apologies. He had to find her somehow.

  His father waved him away and turned back to his papers. ‘I must finish this. Go see your brother and be on your way, Sebastian.’

  Sebastian hardly noticed his father’s curt dismissal, so accustomed was he to this behaviour. He thought perhaps Henry would know more of Miss Manning. They were rumoured to maybe make a match of it, after all, and Henry seemed much more the sort of man Sir William would want for his daughter—on the surface, anyway.

  He left his father’s library and made his way up the stairs to the corridor where Henry had his rooms. On the staircase, he was suddenly caught by the painted eyes of the ancestral portraits hung on the red-painted walls. A long line of them, all the way back to a Barrett who represented Charles I in Venice, who served England so well behind the scenes. Who excelled at saving their country time and again.

  When he was a child, he always thought they seemed to sniff at him disapprovingly. They didn’t seem to have changed much over the years.

  He dashed past them and knocked on Henry’s sitting-room door. ‘Come in!’ Henry ordered, and when he saw it was his brother rather than a servant, he merely added, ‘Oh. It is you.’

  ‘Your brother, home from the wars,’ Sebastian answered lightly. ‘Father is sending off messengers hither and yon, he wanted to see if you had anything to add.’

  ‘Just a moment, then.’ Henry turned back to his desk. Like their father, he was tall and slim, with curling hair and spectacles over his faraway blue eyes. But Sebastian noticed suddenly that Henry also seemed pale, a warm wrap closely tucked around his shoulders despite the sunny day. Sebastian wondered with a worried pang if his brother was indeed ill, but he knew Henry would welcome no such queries.

  ‘Father says all your diplomatic friends are scattering across the Continent, gathering in reluctant allies,’ Sebastian said.

  ‘I doubt he would put it quite like that,’ Henry muttered. ‘But, yes. We must all do our duty now.’

  ‘He said Sir William Manning has been sent to Portugal.’

  ‘It is of vital importance now.’

  ‘So it seems. But I heard a rumour you might miss Sir William’s daughter when she is gone.’

  Henry gave a humourless laugh. ‘Miss Mary Manning? I had thought of her, of course. Our fathers have long known each other and she knows what a life such as ours entails. She wouldn’t be too tiresome.’

  Sebastian felt a flare of anger on the lovely Miss Mary’s behalf—only to push it away, knowing he had no right. He was the one she should rightfully be furious with, of course. ‘I saw her at the ball last night. She was very pretty.’

  ‘She is all right, but that hardly matters, does it? I must find a suitable bride one day and she is one of the ladies who would be suitable. But right now I cannot think of such things.’ Henry glanced up from his letter. ‘Nor should you. Duty is paramount right now, Seb.’

  ‘You needn’t lecture me about duty, Henry. I have served England with my own blood and will again.’

  Henry studied him closely. ‘We all do what we can, I suppose. Here,
give these letters to Father. And I hope you are not tempted to add a little line to Miss Manning. Ladies like that are not for such as you, Brother. Besides, perhaps she will be better off in Portugal. I hear her own mother was from Lisbon.’

  ‘Oh, believe me, I know that she is not for me very well indeed.’ Sebastian took the letter from his brother, looking into Henry’s cold blue eyes, and turned on his heel to leave the room. His brother had long been studious, long been focused on following their father’s footsteps, but when had be become so very distant? So hardened to people like Miss Manning, seeing only her ‘usefulness’?

  Then again—Sebastian knew he himself had been no better. Surely his brother was right. Now was not the time to chase Miss Manning and make her listen to his poor excuses. She had her own family to think of now, her own work, and he had his.

  Perhaps only through his work could he one day make her see how sorry he was and how he would work to erase that one night. If only he could some day see her again.

  * * *

  ‘Sebastian!’ Sebastian heard Nicholas Warren call from across the street as he stepped out of his father’s house. He glanced over to find his friend hurrying between the carriages and horses, his hat threatening to fly away in the breeze, and the sight actually made him start to smile. Nicholas often had that effect on people.

  But his brief smile faded as he saw Nicholas’s face. His friend was usually quick to smile, yet today he looked solemn as a funeral, and Sebastian was reminded sharply of that disagreeable scene at the ball—as if he could forget it. He would never forget the darkness that came into Mary Manning’s bright eyes.

  ‘Were you calling on your father?’ Nicholas asked. He glanced up at the Barrett house, looking as if the bricks and stone could suddenly sprout teeth and bite him. Most of Sebastian’s friends seemed to have that reaction.

  ‘Yes, duty done for the day. I was on my way back to my lodgings.’ Sebastian almost suggested they go to the club for a claret, but then he remembered too clearly what had happened the last time they were there.

  Nicholas nodded. ‘Surely too early for the club,’ he said, as if he had read Sebastian’s thoughts. ‘Shall I walk with you? I am supposed to escort my sister to the milliner later and I’d rather like to put off that errand for as long as I can. Can I walk with you for a time?’

  ‘Of course,’ Sebastian answered. ‘If you can bear my company right now.’

  Nicholas was quiet for a moment as they made their way along the walkway. ‘Do you mean because of what happened at the ball? Surely it was my fault for introducing you to such a bounder as Gilesworth. I know you haven’t been, well, quite yourself since you returned to London and I thought the chaps at the club might amuse you. I’m sorry for that.’

  ‘It is not your fault in the least, Nick,’ Sebastian said, feeling even worse now that he knew he had hurt and disappointed one of his best friends as well as Miss Manning. ‘You are quite right—I have not been myself since I left my regiment. I have been behaving terribly, and after what happened I felt as if I woke from a nightmare to find I had done terrible things in my sleep. You tried to stop that wretched wager from ever happening and I thank you for that.’

  Nicholas reached up to fiddle with his hat, his face gong a bit red. ‘Well. Yes. What shall you do now?’

  ‘I wanted to apologise to Miss Manning myself, but it seems she has gone away. One day, though, when that chance comes, I hope I can tell her I was not myself and prove it to her.’ An image of Mary Manning’s face flashed in his mind again, her shy smile, the glow of her eyes.

  ‘A goal more worthy of you, I must say,’ Nick said encouragingly. ‘How will you do that?’

  Sebastian shrugged. ‘Return to my regiment, I suppose. Do my duty the best I can.’ He paused, trying to collect his thoughts. ‘If you ever happen to run into the Mannings in your own work...’

  ‘Shall I pass on a message?’

  Sebastian was tempted, but he could imagine the dismay on Miss Manning’s face to hear his name. Surely she could only think any secondhand words most insincere. ‘No. Just speak kindly of me to Miss Manning. If you can bear to.’

  They walked along in silence for a few more moments and Sebastian thought of her. The warmth and welcome of her kindness after his rocky homecoming, the way she made him think of the more pleasant things in life when he was with her. He had ruined all that much too quickly. But if he had learned one thing from his Army life, it was that men could always redeem themselves if they wanted to, if they tried. They could always be better. And he would try to do that, if only in memory of Miss Manning.

  Chapter Five

  Lisbon, two years later

  It sounded as if the world was cracking open.

  Another deafening peal of thunder broke over the tiled roof of the Manning house in the Baixa district of Lisbon, making Mary’s lady’s maid scream and duck down to cover her head.

  ‘Mother of heaven, senhorita, but it is the French, come to murder us in our beds!’ she cried.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Adriana,’ Mary said sternly, though she was far from feeling certain herself. She had to force herself to stay with her embroidery by the fire and not leap up at every noise. True, it was just a storm rolling in from the hills—this time. ‘It is only rain.’

  A gust of wind caught at one of the shutters, making Adriana scream again. Mary jumped up and ran to catch it.

  The chilly autumn wind rushing over the rooftops was a relief after being closed inside all day, ever since her father received an urgent message summoning him to the royal palace at Mafra, outside the city. He’d warned Mary to stay in, to keep the servants calm, but that was becoming harder and harder to obey. The whole city felt as if it would burst at any moment from the terrible strain of fear and uncertainty. The storm only made everything worse.

  Mary leaned out the window, letting the cold, damp wind catch at her loosely braided hair, the fringe of her shawl. Their house was on a small plaza, like so many in Lisbon, a tall, whitewashed structure along a cobblestone square with a communal fountain at its centre. Over the steep red-tiled roofs she could see the purple outlines of the hills against the night sky, inky and impenetrable. The storm clouds scuttled past overhead, casting shadows over the moon. Only sizzling, silvery bolts of lightning split the gloom.

  Mary shivered and pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders. Usually the nights in Lisbon were full of sound. Music from the salons, their windows thrown wide to the flower-scented breezes. Laughter from the people parading together around the plazas. Lights sparkling in long, snaking rivers up the narrow lanes into the hills. It was one of the things she loved about the city, the birthplace of her beautiful mother. She tried to write of it in her long letters to Louisa back in England, to show it all to her friend. The laughter and fire of it, the warmth and life. So different from London, especially the London from Louisa’s return letters, a place of assemblies and plays with the same people every night. Compared to that, Lisbon had felt so—freeing.

  But now the city was completely transformed, as if a wicked fairy had cast a dark spell over it all. The plaza was deserted, the fountain gone still. Many of the doors and windows were barricaded, some of the houses deserted as families fled to the countryside. Even the church bells were quiet. No one knew what would happen next. It was quite certain Portugal’s hard-fought neutrality between England and France could no longer hold. But which way would things tumble?

  Mary curled her fingers into the wood of the windowsill, forcing herself to breathe deeply, to remain still. With her father, she had seen the careful diplomatic dance many times before, yet it had never felt so very urgent.

  She glanced up at the dark hills and imagined the armies that were on the move just beyond them, on the Iberian plains. Was Sebastian Barrett among them, dashing in his red coat, urging his men onward to defeat the Fren
ch? Or was he already dead on some distant battlefield, once more lauded as great hero in London? The thought of his spirit being gone from the world made her shiver.

  ‘Stop it, Mary,’ she whispered to herself. She had to push away memories of Sebastian, as she always did when he slid unbidden into her mind, her dreams. Usually she was much too busy to let him there again, to let him charm her all over again. But sometimes, especially in tense, quiet moments like this one, he slipped back in. Taunting her with how foolish she had once been.

  She had let no one court her since London, since she let herself care for Lord Sebastian Barrett, let herself believe his lies. Lord Henry Barrett had married someone else and had passed away from a fever on a posting to Madeira, news which her father had received sadly. Lord Henry had written to her once or twice, but his words on the page had been as stiff and dutiful as their meetings in London had been. After she had danced with Sebastian, she had known that any marriage based on business, on abrupt convenience, could never be for her, even though such romantic feelings had ended badly. She thought perhaps she would end a spinster, keeping house for her father always. But she had heard little of Sebastian in all those months. Louisa had once given an offhand mention in one of her letters that it was rumoured Sebastian would marry his sister-in-law’s sister, some viscount’s daughter, but naught had come of it. Mary hadn’t wanted to ask too much, to seem too eager. And she half feared to hear bad news. Even though he had hurt her...

  The thought of him being gone was still too painful. He had shown her a new way of feeling, even if it had only been for a moment.

  Lightning suddenly crashed out of the sky, a sizzling lavender-white flash, and Mary drew back, startled. Thunder rattled the roof tiles and the first cold drops of rain touched her hand on the windowsill.

  Adriana screamed again. ‘’Tis the French!’

  Mary glanced outside one more time, hoping her father might be returning at last with some news, but there was nothing. Only the rain, falling harder now, and the boarded-up houses across the plaza.