A Lady of Expectations
With a snap, she shut her lorgnettes and used them to tap him on the sleeve.
Choosing to interpret this as a dismissal, Jack bowed and slid into the crowd. It was, indeed, as Harry had foreseen; despite his efforts to make his intentions crystal clear, he was not yet safe. Doubtless, nothing less than the announcement of his betrothal would convince the matchmaking mamas that he had passed beyond their reach. Yet another good reason to add to the increasingly impressive tally indicating that the speedy curtailment of Miss Sophia Winterton’s Season was a highly desirable goal.
Looking about him, he spotted his quarry, elegant as ever in a gown of pale green figured silk, her curls glowing warmly in the candlelight. His height was both advantage and disadvantage, allowing him to scan the crowds but making him far too conspicuous a target. By dint of some rapid tacking by way of evasive action, he gained Sophie’s side without further difficulty.
As always, his appearance coincided with a thinning of the ranks about her. Sophie no longer noticed. She gave him her hand and a warmly welcoming smile. “Good evening, Mr. Lester.”
“Actually,” Jack said, straightening and scanning their surroundings. “It probably isn’t.”
“I beg your pardon?” Sophie stared at him.
“As an evening, I’ve probably faced better,” Jack replied, tucking her hand into his arm. “Ruthven, Hollingsworth—I’m sure you’ll excuse us.” With a nod for those two gentlemen, Jack led Sophie into the crowd.
Hearing Lord Ruthven chuckle, Sophie glanced back to see his lordship explaining something to a puzzled Mr. Hollingsworth. “What is it?” she asked, looking up at Jack.
“I’ve been pegged up for target practice.”
“Whatever do you …” Sophie’s words trailed away as she noticed the simpering glances thrown Jack’s way—mostly by debutantes who, two days ago, would certainly not have dared. She shot a suspicious glance at Jack. “You’ve put the story of your fortune about?”
Under his breath, Jack growled. “No, Sophie. I have not put the news about. It got out—doubtless from the other investors involved in the Indies Corporation.” He cast an exasperated glance down at her. His temper was not improved by the wary frown he saw in her eyes. “Devil take it, woman!” he growled. “No rake in his right mind, having declared his intention to wed, would then call the dragons down on his head by inventing a fortune.”
Sophie swallowed her giggle. “I hadn’t thought of it in quite that way.”
“Well, do,” Jack advised. “It’s the truth—and you’re not going to escape it. And speaking of escape, I do hope you realize that, until your uncle returns and our betrothal can be announced, I expect you to assist my cause.”
“In what way?” Sophie asked.
“By lending me your protection.”
Sophie laughed, but the smile was soon wiped from her face. A succession of cloying encounters set her teeth on edge; some of the warm hints directed at Jack left her positively nauseous. Somehow, he managed to keep a polite expression on his face and, by dint of his quick wits and ever-ready tongue, extricated himself from the ladies’ clutches. She admired his address, and was more than ready to acquiesce to his unvoiced plea. She remained fixed by his side, anchored by his hand on his sleeve, and defied all attempts to remove her. That she managed to do so while restraining her comments to the realms of the acceptable was, she felt, no reflection on the provocation provided. Indeed, on more than one occasion she found herself blushing for her sex. Miss Billingham proved the last straw.
“My mama was quite bowled over to hear of your windfall, sir,” she declared, batting her sparse lashes and simpering. “In light of our time spent together at Mrs. Webb’s house party, she has charged me to ask you to call. Indeed,” she went on, dropping her coy smile long enough to shoot a venomous glance at Sophie, “Mama is very keen to speak to you immediately.” Greatly daring, Miss Billingham placed her hands about Jack’s arm and smiled acidly at Sophie. “If you’ll excuse us, Miss Winterton?”
Sophie stiffened, then smiled sweetly back. “I greatly fear, Miss Billingham,” she said, before Jack would speak, “that I cannot release Mr. Lester. There’s a waltz starting up.” With calculated charm, Sophie smiled dazzlingly up at Jack. “Our waltz, I believe, Jack.”
Jack’s slow smile was triumphant. “Our waltz, dear Sophie.”
They left Miss Billingham, open-mouthed, staring after them.
Sophie was seething as they took to the floor. “How dare she? How can they? They’re all quite shameless. I thought it was only rakes who were so.”
Jack chuckled and drew her closer. “Hush, my sweet Sophie.” When she glared in reply, her full breasts swelling with indignation, he brushed a most reprehensible kiss across her curls. “It doesn’t matter. You’re mine—and I’m yours. When your uncle returns, we can tell the world.”
Sophie took comfort in the warmth of his gaze, and in the delight she saw behind it. Did he really find it so surprising that she would fly to his aid?
Whatever the case, she thought, as she felt the waltz, and him, weave their accustomed magic, Horatio had better return soon. In such difficult circumstances, there was no telling what scandalous declaration she might feel obliged to make.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
GALA NIGHT AT VAUXHALL was a treat few among the ton cared to miss. With their party, swollen by the presence of Jeremy and Gerald, who had been included by special dispensation, Sophie strolled beside Jack down the Grand Walk. She saw many familiar faces, all bright with expectation of the night’s revelries. None were as bright as hers.
She glanced up at Jack and smiled, feeling her brittle tension tighten. Horatio was due back tonight; her uncle had sent word that despite the business that had delayed him, he would return this evening to join them at the Gardens. Jack smiled back, his hand warm over hers where it rested on his sleeve. He said nothing, but the expression in his eyes left her in no doubt of his thoughts.
Determined at least to appear calm, Sophie gave her attention to their surroundings, duly exclaiming at the brightly lit colonnade, which had been added since her last visit. Jeremy and George, and, to a lesser extent, Toby, Ned and Clarissa, looked about with avid interest, speculating on the age of the elms lining the gravelled promenade and eyeing the dense shrubbery separating the walks.
“I think the booth your uncle has rented is this way.”
Jack steered her to the right of the section of promenade known as the Grove. Toby followed with Lucilla on his arm, Ned and Clarissa behind with the two boys bringing up the rear. In the centre of the Grove, a small orchestra was setting up. Arranged about the perimeter were a large number of wooden booths, many already filled with patrons come to enjoy the night’s entertainments.
Their booth proved to have an excellent view of the orchestra.
“Ah, yes.” Lucilla settled herself on a chair by the wide front window. “A most satisfactory location. From here, one can see almost everything.”
Sophie noticed her aunt’s gaze was not on the musicians. Indeed, it seemed as if all of fashionable London were a part of the passing scene. Gentlemen and ladies of all degrees strolled upon the paths; many stopped to exchange pleasantries with her aunt before moving on. Then there were the bucks and their ladybirds, the bright lights of the demi-monde. Sophie found herself fascinated by one particular redhead—or rather her gown, a wispy concoction of silk and feathers that barely concealed her charms. Until she noticed the interest the lady evinced in return, and realized it was not for her. A frown threatening, Sophie glanced at her companion—the focus of the red-head’s attention—only to find he was watching her. A slow smile lifted his lips; one dark brow rose.
Sophie blushed vividly, and pointedly transferred her gaze to the orchestra. As if sensing her need, they promptly laid bow to string, filling the night with their magic. Soon, a bevy of couples was whirling in the light of the Chinese lanterns, suspended high overhead.
Jack rose. “Come,” he said, hol
ding out his hand, a smile and an invitation in his eyes. “No one counts the dances at Vauxhall.”
For an instant, Sophie met his gaze. Then, with a calm decisiveness that surprised even her, she lifted her chin and put her hand in his. “How accommodating.”
Her uncle had better arrive soon; she couldn’t bear to wait much longer.
Luckily, Jack proved most efficient at distracting her, until her mind was filled with nothing beyond thoughts of him, of his teasing smile and the beckoning warmth behind his blue eyes. He danced with her twice, then relinquished her to Ned, who in turn passed her to Toby before Jack once more drew her into his arms.
Sophie laughed. “I find myself quite breathless, sir.”
Jack smiled down at her, a slow crooked smile. “Jack,” he said.
Sophie looked into his eyes; her breath vanished altogether. “Jack,” she whispered, letting her lashes fall.
Jack’s arm tightened about her; he swept her into the waltz.
Supper was provided in the booth, laid out on a narrow trestle table at the rear, along with a jug of lemonade and another of the famous Vauxhall punch. When they lifted the linen cloths from the dishes, they found delicate cucumber sandwiches, a selection of pastries and a large platter of the fabled wafer-thin ham.
“Exactly as I recall,” Lucilla declared, holding up one near-transparent slice. She looked at Sophie. “When your mother and I were debs, we were always famished after a night at Vauxhall.” Nibbling the ham, she added, “I told Cook to lay out a cold collation for when we get back.”
Jack, Ned and Toby looked relieved.
Somewhere in the gardens, a gong clanged. The music had stopped some minutes before and the heavy note vibrated through the twilight.
“Time to view the Grand Spectacle!”
Jeremy’s shout was echoed from all around. There was a surge of bodies as people left their booths to join the throng flocking to where a looming mountain, now brilliantly lit, rose craggily from amidst the otherwise unremarkable landscape. Fifteen minutes were spent in oohing and aahing at the various elements, some mechanical, others purely decorative, artfully placed within the alpine scene. Then the lights were doused. Chattering and exclaiming, the patrons returned to the walks, the booths and the dancing.
The last of their company to return to their booth, Sophie and Jack strolled through the twilight, her hand on his arm. She could feel the tension that gripped him, lending steel to the muscles beneath her fingertips.
“Sophie?”
Wreathed in shadows, Sophie looked up.
Jack stared at the pale oval of her face, the wide eyes and slightly parted lips. For a moment, he was still, then, concealed by the shadows, he bent his head and swiftly kissed her.
Sophie’s lips met his, her heart leaping at the brief caress. Her hands fluttered; her arms ached to hold him.
Jack caught her hands. “Not yet, sweetheart.” His smile was decidedly crooked. “Just pray your uncle’s carriage doesn’t break an axle.”
Sophie sighed feelingly and allowed him to resettle her hand on his sleeve.
Covering her hand with his, Jack gently squeezed her fingers. “We’d better get back to the booth.” As they strolled out of the shadows, he added, “The fireworks come later.”
Puzzled, Sophie looked up. “I hadn’t imagined fireworks to be one of your abiding interests.”
Jack glanced down at her, then his slow, rake’s smile curved his lips. “There are many kinds of fireworks, my dear.”
For an instant, Sophie glimpsed the dark, powerful passions behind his blue eyes. A distinctly delicious sensation slithered down her spine. But further discovery was denied her; they were caught up in the dancers and dragged into the heart of the revels once more.
The orchestra was now accompanied by a vocalist, a tenor whose pure notes drifted high over the booths to disappear into the increasing darkness. Stars speckled the sky as night slowly enfolded the scene. The Chinese lanterns came into their own, shedding their rosy glow over dancers and musicians alike. Laughter and the mellow murmur of conversation, softer now, muted by the effects of good food and fine wines, rippled through the shadows.
Throughout the evening, again and again, Sophie’s eyes met Jack’s. A magical web held them bound; neither was aware of those about them. And what passed between them was magical, too, carried in the weight of shared glances and the lingering touch of lovers’ hands.
Their surroundings were part of the magic. At the conclusion of the musical interlude, the tenor embarked on a solo performance. Breathless, conversing softly, the dancers headed back to their booths. As she strolled on Jack’s arm, Sophie noticed Belle Chessington on the arm of Mr. Somercote—surely a most unlikely Vauxhall patron. Belle waved and smiled hugely, her eyes sparkling. Mr. Somercote, too, smiled broadly, clearly both pleased and proud.
“Well, well,” Jack murmured. “You’ll have to tell your aunt she’s achieved a minor miracle. Somercote’s silence has been tripping the matchmakers up for years. It looks as if he’s finally found his tongue.”
Sophie laughed. “Indeed, you have to admit he won’t need many words, not with Belle on his arm.”
Jack smiled, then looked ahead.
And tensed. Sophie felt it, and followed his gaze to see the rotund figure of her uncle clearly visible in their booth.
“Just in time.” Jack quickened his pace.
As they entered the booth, Lucilla beckoned to Sophie. “Mrs. Chessington just stopped by. Wonder of wonders!”
From the corner of her eye, Sophie saw Jack greet Horatio. They exchanged a few words, Jack very serious, then both turned and left the booth.
Subsiding onto the chair beside her aunt, Sophie forced herself to concentrate enough to follow Lucilla’s discourse. It proved a supremely difficult task. Her hands clasping and unclasping in her lap, she was acutely conscious of every little sound, every movement in the booth.
She jumped when the gong rang again.
“The fireworks!”
Once more, the patrons poured from the booths and from the shadowy walks, heading for a small arena surrounded by lawns. Smiling indulgently, Lucilla allowed Jeremy and George to tug her to her feet. Sophie rose uncertainly, glancing about. Ned offered Clarissa his arm; together with Toby they joined the exodus. Jack was nowhere to be seen.
“There you are, m’dear.” Horatio materialized outside the booth. “Come along now or you’ll miss the fun.”
Sophie stared at him, her heart sinking all the way to her slippers. Hadn’t Jack asked? Why wasn’t he here? Did that mean..? Forcing her shaking limbs to function, she picked up her half-cape. Swinging it about her shoulders, she left the booth.
Horatio offered her his arm. They started to stroll slowly in the wake of the others, now far ahead. But instead of joining his family, Horatio stopped in the shadows, well to the rear of the crowd.
“Now, my dear Sophie, I understand you have had some reservations about Jack’s financial situation.”
Slowly, Sophie turned to face her uncle, her heart thudding in her throat. She held herself proudly, a silent prayer on her lips.
Apparently oblivious, Horatio rattled on. “It really was quite remiss of him, I agree. He should have told you much earlier. But you’ll have to excuse him—not but what, with his experience, you might have expected a little more than the usual impulsive rush. But men in love, you know, tend to forget such minor matters as money.” Smiling genially, he patted Sophie’s hand.
Sophie drew in a slow, deep breath. “Uncle, are you telling me that Jack is truly wealthy? That he doesn’t need to marry a rich bride?”
Horatio’s grey eyes twinkled. “Let’s just say that for him, expectations alone will be a more than sufficient dower.”
A golden rocket burst in a flurry of brilliant stars, gilding Sophie’s face. Her eyes shone, reflecting the glory.
“Oh, Uncle!” Sophie flung her arms about Horatio’s neck.
Horatio chuckled and reciproc
ated her, then gently turned her. “Come, let’s join the festivities.”
Sophie was only too ready to do so. She peered into the darkness, eagerly searching the crowd every time another rocket lit up the scene. They found Lucilla and the boys in the front ranks. The boys pounced on Horatio, bombarding him with questions.
Then a large wheel lit up the night, hissing and spitting as the force of the rockets tied to its spokes whirled it round. In the midst of the crowd, Sophie stood very still, her face slowly draining of expression. The steadier illumination confirmed beyond doubt that Jack, Ned and Toby were not present. Neither was Clarissa.
The memory of Gurnard’s plan rushed into Sophie’s mind, thrusting all other considerations aside. This was the time Toby was to have taken Clarissa to meet the dastardly captain. Yet Ned had been with them—he wouldn’t let any harm come to Clarissa. But where were they? If Jack, Ned and Toby had gone to warn off the captain, where was Clarissa?
Sophie blinked in the glare of a set of coloured flares; elation, guilt and sheer frustration poured through her in a dizzying wave.
Horatio would know. She looked to where her uncle stood, Lucilla beside him, George’s hand in his. Jeremy was throwing questions at his father in a never-ending stream. There was no possibility of speaking to Horatio without alerting Lucilla and, potentially worse, the boys.
Everything was probably all right; Jack would surely have the matter in hand.
But maybe Jack was elsewhere, ignorant of Gurnard’s threat? Perhaps Toby and Ned had decided to handle it on their own? And Clarissa had followed?
Sophie turned and quietly made her way back through the crowd.
The majority of the patrons were viewing the fireworks, leaving the walks sparsely populated. Here and there, a couple or a small group still wandered, having seen the fireworks too many times. But the crush of revellers that had filled the walks earlier had given way to empty shadows.