Engaged in this necessary occupation, Sophie greeted any acquaintances who passed, exchanging commonplaces all but automatically, while her wandering gaze became gradually more intent. When it finally occurred to her what she was doing, she frowned and shook herself.
With a determined air, she looked about for distraction. And discovered Mr. Marston, waiting, sober and serious as a judge, to greet her.
“Oh, good day, sir.” Annoyed at her awkwardness—she was surely more experienced than this!—Sophie summoned a smile. “I did not know you had intended to come to London.”
Phillip Marston took her hand and bowed. He shook hands with both Clarissa and Lucilla, who, on hearing his voice, had turned, brows flying upward. After exchanging a few words, Lucilla turned back to Lady Abercrombie, leaving Mr. Marston to gravely tell Sophie, “Indeed, Miss Winterton, it was not my intention to join the frivolity.” A disdainful glance at two young gentlemen who came up to speak to Clarissa declared his opinion very clearly. “Nevertheless, I felt that, in this case, my presence was necessary.”
Sophie was mystified. “Indeed, sir?”
“I flatter myself that I am fully cognizant of the inherent sensibility of your mind, Miss Winterton. I greatly fear that you will find little to entertain a lady of your refined nature here in the capital.” Phillip Marston cast a glance at Lucilla, once more deeply engrossed with Lady Abercrombie, and lowered his voice. “As your aunt was determined to bring you to town, I felt that the least I could do, as I assured my dear mama, was to journey here to do what I may to support you through this time.”
Utterly dumbfounded, Sophie silently searched for the prescribed reply to that revelation, and discovered that there wasn’t one. In fact, as the full implication of Mr. Marston’s declaration impinged on her mind, she decided she did not approve—of him or it. Drawing herself up, she fixed him with a distinctly frosty gaze. “I must inform you, sir, that I find the entertainments to which my aunt escorts me quite fascinating.”
A condescending smile lifted Mr. Marston’s thin lips. “Your loyalty to your aunt does you credit, my dear, but I feel I must point out that the Season has not yet begun. The entertainments thus far are doubtless mild enough. You will understand my concern once the more…rackety gentlemen are included. Then, I venture to say, you will be only too glad of my escort.”
Sophie struggled for words. She dragged in a deep breath, glanced up—and felt a surge of inexpressible relief. Her heart leapt. She promptly tried to dampen her reaction, only to see the corners of Jack Lester’s lips lift.
With determined calm, Sophie coolly extended one hand. “Good afternoon, Mr. Lester.”
“Miss Winterton.” With suave grace, Jack bowed. “I had hoped to discover you here.” He ignored Mr. Marston beside him.
Mr. Marston, Sophie noticed, was not ignoring him. He drew himself up, his nostrils pinched as if Mr. Lester’s appearance was offensive. Just what he could find amiss with that supremely elegant figure Sophie was at a loss to guess. “Ah…I believe you have met Mr. Marston before, Mr. Lester? He’s down from Leicestershire. I was just commenting on what a surprise it was to see him here.” Sophie watched as the two men exchanged glances, Marston visibly bristling.
“Marston.” With a brief nod, Jack dismissed the fellow from his thoughts and turned to Clarissa as her two admirers withdrew. “Miss Webb.” Jack shook her hand, then indicated the figure beside him. “I believe Mr. Ascombe is known to you both?”
Sophie blinked, then smiled delightedly. From the corner of her eye, she saw Clarissa’s jaw drop. Ned had been to a tailor—a good one. His coat of Bath superfine now hugged his shoulders, doing far more justice to his lean frame than his previous suiting ever had. And he had had a haircut—his crisp brown locks were now in fashionable disarray. His breeches, his boots—all were new and all contributed to a remarkable transmogrification. Taking it all in with one comprehensive glance, Sophie retained sufficient wit to respond to the subtle prompt in Jack’s steady blue gaze. She held out her hand and smiled warmly. “Indeed, yes. It’s good to see you, Ned.”
Some of Ned’s stiffness faded. He slanted Sophie a grin. “You look ravishing, Sophie. Determined to cut a swath through the ton?”
Sophie was impressed by the clear confidence in Ned’s tone. A quick glance to her right showed that she wasn’t alone. Clarissa was staring at Ned, confusion clearly writ in her large blue eyes. “I’m certainly determined to enjoy myself this Season,” Sophie responded. “Will you be in town for the duration?”
“I expect so,” Ned replied, his gaze fixed on Sophie. “I hadn’t realized before just how many distractions there were to be found in the capital.”
“Hello, Ned.”
At Clarissa’s somewhat tentative greeting, Ned turned to her with an easy but in no way especial smile. “Good afternoon, Miss Webb. You’re looking quite splendid. Have you been enjoying your stay thus far?”
Sophie bit her lip. The quick glance she sent Jack was a mistake. The devilish light in his blue eyes very nearly overset her control.
Clarissa, clearly bemused by the change in her childhood companion, mumbled a disjointed response, lost as Mr. Marston cut in.
“Afternoon, Ascombe.” Phillip Marston eyed Ned’s new finery with a critical eye. “Your father, I suspect, would be quite surprised to see you thus decked out.”
Used to Phillip Marston’s sober declarations, Ned merely grinned and shook his hand.
Sophie smothered a giggle. Jack caught her eye; she looked away, her jaws aching.
Then Lucilla joined the fray. She greeted Jack as an old acquaintance, complimented Ned on his good sense, and, under cover of a rapid-fire monologue on the varied entertainments to be found in the capital, managed to divulge that her charges would dearly like to ride in the Park in the mornings but lacked suitable escorts. “For even when Toby arrives,” she declared, “I would not be happy to allow a group of such innocents to brave the Park without someone more experienced to handle the reins, as it were.”
Stunned, Sophie directed a look of pointed reproof at her aunt. Lucilla pretended not to notice. Predictably, a deep voice answered.
“Mr. Ascombe and I would be only too happy to be of assistance, Mrs. Webb. Would you be content to release your charges to our care?”
Impotent, Sophie watched as Lucilla bent a look of shining approval on Jack. “Indeed, Mr. Lester. I cannot think of anyone I’d trust more.”
Jack very nearly winced but inclined his head in acceptance of her commission. In this instance, her stipulation that he was being entrusted with her charges and therefore, as a gentleman, expected to respect her confidence, was no handicap.
And there was hay yet to be made from the situation. “Perhaps Miss Winterton and Miss Webb would care to stroll the lawns while we discuss the most appropriate time to meet?”
Lucilla’s eyes widened slightly.
Sophie was not at all certain of the wisdom of strolling beside Jack Lester, even in the middle of the Park. Maintaining an appropriate distance was imperative; closing the physical distance between them was unlikely to help her cause.
“What a perfectly splendid idea!” Clarissa turned to Lucilla, her eyes bright and eager.
With a sigh and a lifted brow, Lucilla relaxed against the squabs. “By all means—but only for fifteen minutes. I’ll await you here.”
To Sophie’s immense relief, Phillip Marston said nothing, merely frowning into the distance in an abstracted fashion. Then, rather abruptly, he bowed and took his leave of them.
Jack barely noticed. He handed Sophie down from the carriage, his satisfaction implicit in his smile. She was a picture in muslin the colour of old gold, a fairy princess with a touch of rose in her cheeks.
With her hand snugly tucked in his arm, they strolled across the broad expanse of clipped grass. Beside them, Clarissa, on Ned’s arm, kept shooting shy glances up at him. Very correctly, the party remained together, clearly within sight of Lucilla in the barouche
.
Aware, again, as she paced beside him of that strength that seemed an integral part of Jack Lester, impinging on her senses as if she had no defence, Sophie struggled to remain calmly aloof. Just friends—only friends. To her surprise, her companion proved to have a ready line of patter to meet even this occasion, one she doubted he had had much previous experience of.
“The ton seems uncommonly eager to commence this Season.” Jack commented, idly scanning the host dotting the lawns. “I don’t think I’ve seen such a turnout this early for years.”
“My aunt was commenting on that fact,” Sophie returned, keeping her gaze firmly on their surroundings. “I believe that a number of ladies are considering holding coming-out balls next week.”
“My own ball will be held on Friday,” Clarissa volunteered, suppressed excitement quivering in her tone. “Mama says there’s no reason not to get into the swing of things.”
“Your mother is indeed very wise, Miss Webb.” Jack smiled down at Clarissa’s delicately flushed face. A few days of Ned’s company had more than sufficed to bolster his instinctive liking into solid support. He was quite determined that, come the end of the Season, Ned would retire from the lists with Clarissa’s favour firmly in his possession. “I suspect there are few subjects on which you would not be wise to heed your mother’s advice.”
“Have you been on an excursion to the Royal Exchange, Miss Webb? I’m told the wild beasts are a fearsome spectacle.” Ned’s tone was commendably even, devoid of overeagerness.
Hearing Clarissa, still warily suspicious but too unsure of this new Ned to risk any airs, answer with unaffected openess, Sophie was hard put to hide her grin.
Seeing her lips quirk, and deciding he had done enough today in furthering Ned’s enterprise, Jack slowed his pace.
Sophie noticed. Her head came up. Looking her escort firmly in the eye, she raised a brow at him. When he merely smiled back, maddeningly, she surrendered to temptation. “Am I right, sir, in supposing you are helping Ned to adjust to town life?”
Jack smiled and leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Ned’s a likeable chap. But having come up fresh from the country, he was facing opposition of unfair proportions. I thought it only fair to even the odds a little.”
Sophie felt her lips soften. “Indeed?” she replied, her eyes on his. “So your actions are prompted by nothing more than a passing interest in righting an inequity?”
“I’m very keen on righting inequities,” Jack informed her, his brows rising arrogantly. Then, abandoning his haughty attitude, he added, his tone deepening, “Not that I don’t have reasons of my own to wish Clarissa settled.”
“Oh?” Sophie held his gaze, warmly blue. Caution went winging. “And what might those be, sir?”
“Jack.” Glancing ahead, Jack asked, “Do you think I’m succeeding?”
Although his glance had taken in Clarissa and Ned immediately ahead of them, his gaze had swung back to her on his question. Sophie, her heart increasing its tempo, was not sure how to reply. With a determined effort, she switched her gaze forward to where Clarissa was still viewing Ned curiously, like some specimen she did not yet understand. “My cousin certainly seems enthralled by Ned in his new guise.”
A heartfelt sigh came from beside her. “Perhaps I should take a leaf out of his book? Mayhap Percy could give me some hints.”
At his defeated tone, Sophie swung about, her eyes automatically travelling the length of his elegantly accoutred frame before, realizing she had fallen into his trap, her gaze snapped up to meet his. Warm amusement, and a clear invitation to play this game—with him—glowed in the deep blue. Abruptly, Sophie dropped her gaze and murmured, “Time is flying; we should return to my aunt, sir.”
A gentle, somewhat wry smile softened Jack’s lips. “I dare say you’re right, Miss Winterton.” So saying, he drew her hand once more through his arm. A few quick strides brought them up with the younger couple.
Ned turned, a glimmer of relief showing briefly in his eyes. But before they could retrace their steps to the barouche, they were hailed from the nearby carriageway.
“Jack!”
They all turned. Sophie recognized Gerald Lester—and his new phaeton. Ned had noticed the phaeton, too—and Gerald had noticed Clarissa. Naturally, they had to pause while introductions were performed and accolades on the phaeton and pair duly exchanged.
“No doubt but that I’ll see you at one of the balls,” Gerald said, impartially addressing them all. Then he flicked his whip and waved. “Tally-ho!”
“Puppy!” Jack snorted, but he was grinning.
Sophie watched the expensive carriage roll away, then turned towards the barouche.
One more reason why Jack Lester would have to marry well.
She risked a glance up at him; he was scanning the couples between them and the barouche. With Ned and Clarissa in tow, he steered her clear of any interference, making directly for the carriage where Lucilla sat awaiting them. Sophie bit her lip and looked down.
Gerald Lester was clearly a young gentleman unaccustomed to habits of economy. Jack’s elegance declared that he, too, was not one to count the cost in presenting himself to the ton. The Lesters, at least those she had thus far encountered, knew their place, knew to a nicety how to behave within the circles into which their birth and estates elevated them. Equally obviously, they thought nothing of financing their expensive style of life on tick.
Well, she amended moodily, perhaps not on tick—but there was little doubt that Jack needed a rich wife.
It was not, Sophie reflected dourly, an uncommon occurrence in the ton—families innured to living well beyond their means. She could only curse the fate that had made the Lesters one of them.
Then the barouche was before them and it was all she could do to behave normally, agreeing to ride the next morning in the Park, then acknowledging the farewells, smiling as he bowed over her hand, as if there were no black cloud lowering on her horizon, about to deprive her of the warmth of his gaze.
CHAPTER NINE
RESIGNED to the inevitable, Sophie was the first of the Webb contingent to appear in the hall the next morning. As she came down the stairs, buttoning her gloves, a wary smile twisted her lips. She should have expected Lucilla to seize the opportunity to throw Ned and Clarissa together, especially now that Ned had captured Clarissa’s attention in what was, for her cousin, a wholly novel way. And Jack Lester, of course, was an undeniably capable escort. The children, for some mystical reason, had accorded him favoured status; he had only to speak and they tumbled to obey. Sophie grimaced. Descending the last flight, she tried to ease the knot of nervous tension that was tightening within her. The situation, she told herself, could have been worse. Mr. Marston might have spoken first.
Busy with her thoughts, her gaze abstracted, she did not see the young gentleman who emerged from the library.
“Sophie! Just the person! How are you?”
Before she could answer, Sophie was engulfed in a hug which owed more to enthusiasm than art. “Toby!” she gasped, recognizing her assailant. “Watch my hat, you clunch!”
“That wispy thing ain’t a hat, Sophie.” Toby flicked her riding hat, composed of a pheasant’s feather and a scrap of velvet, with one finger. “Wouldn’t keep the rain off you for a moment.”
“As I should hope you are by now aware, Tobias Webb, having attained the years of wisdom, the importance of a modish hat lies not in its ability to protect one from the elements.” Sophie’s severity was belied by the affectionate twinkle in her eyes. “How was the trip down?”
“Enjoyable enough.” Toby assumed a nonchalant air. “Peters and Carmody and I all came down together.”
“I see.” Sophie hid her smile. “Have you seen your father and mother yet?”
Toby nodded. “Papa told me you were planning to ride this morning with Ned Ascombe and a Mr. Lester. Thought I might join you.”
“By all means,” Sophie replied, only too glad of another distraction t
o counteract Jack Lester. “But they should be here with the horses any moment.”
“I’ve already sent around to the stables for mine, so I shouldn’t keep you. I’ll just change my coat.”
As Sophie stood in the hall watching Toby briskly climb the stairs, pausing at the top to greet Clarissa, about to descend, the clop and clash of many hooves on the cobbles beyond the massive oak door heralded the arrival not only of their mounts, but also of Jeremy, Gerald and Amy, who had been keeping watch from a window upstairs.
After whooping in greeting about their eldest brother, who admonished them with mock severity, the tribe descended to whirl about Sophie, eager to be off on this, their first excursion in the Park.
Thus it was that, admitted by a benignly beaming Minton, Jack, with Ned behind, came upon his golden head knee-deep in commotion. However, the expression of resigned calm on Sophie’s face assured him she was not about to succumb to the vapours, despite the din.
“Quiet, you vexatious imps!” His firm greeting immediately transformed said imps into angels.
Sophie struggled to keep her lips straight. Jack’s eyes lifted to meet hers and she lost the battle, her lips curving in a generous smile. “Good morning, sir. You see us almost ready.”
“Almost?” Taking her hand, Jack lifted an eyebrow, then turned to nod to Clarissa.
“My eldest cousin, Toby, has rejoined the family. He’s just gone to change.” Nodding to Ned, Sophie wondered if it would be possible to tug her fingers free of the warm clasp which held them trapped. Despite her firm intention to remain aloof, her heart, unreliable organ that it was whenever he was near, was accelerating. “Toby’s a keen rider and would not wish to miss our outing.”
“Naturally not,” Jack agreed, his gaze touching the children’s eager faces. “Not when we’ve such an august and intrepid company as shall make all the ton stare.”
He smiled as he made the statement, which was greeted with hoots from the younger Webbs. Sophie, however, was suddenly visited by a vision of how their cavalcade would appear to others in the Park. With a sudden sinking feeling, she realized that Lucilla, in her usual cryptic manner, had made no mention of the children.