A Lady of Expectations

by Stephanie Laurens

Relieved but determined not to show it, Sophie held out her hand. He looked at it. An instant later, she was lifted, as if she weighed no more than a feather, and deposited on the curricle’s padded seat. Sophie sucked in a quick breath. He held her firmly, his fingers spread about her waist, long and strong. In the instant before his hands left her, his eyes locked with hers. Sophie gazed into the deep blue and trembled. Then blushed rosy red. She looked down, fussing with her skirts, shuffling along to make room for Amy.

  He had taken up the reins and half turned the curricle before she recalled the purpose of her trip.

  “The basket.” Sophie looked back at the gig. “For Mildred. It’s under the seat.”

  Jack smiled reassuringly. In a trice, Jigson had the basket out and transferred to the curricle’s boot. “Now,” Jack said, “whither away?”

  Sophie bestowed a smile of thanks on Jigson. “The other side of the village and out along the road to Asfordby, a mile or so. Mildred lives very quietly; she’s quite old.”

  Jack gave his horses the office. “Your mother’s nurse, you said. Did your mother’s family come from hereabouts?”

  “No, from Sussex. Mildred came to Webb Park with Aunt Lucilla on her marriage. My aunt was the younger, so Mildred stayed with her.”

  Jack slanted a glance at the pure profile beside him—Amy’s head was too low to interfere with his view. “Do you often do the duty visits for your aunt?”

  Sophie considered the question. “I’ve often done so whenever I’ve stayed.” She shrugged. “Aunt Lucilla is frequently very busy. She has twins younger than Amy—they’re just six.”

  Jack grinned. “And quite a handful?”

  “That,” declared Sophie, “is a description insufficient to adequately convey the full glory of the twins.”

  Jack chuckled. “So you help out by taking on the role of the lady of the manor?”

  “It’s hardly an arduous task,” Sophie disclaimed. “I’ve been doing much the same on my father’s estate ever since my mother died.”

  “Ah, yes. I recall you mentioned helping your father.”

  Sophie threw him a quick frown. “That’s not what I meant. Performing one’s duty is hardly doing anything out of the ordinary.” There had been something in his tone, a note of dismissal, which compelled her to explain. “I acted as his amanuensis in all matters concerning the estate and also for his studies. And, of course, since my mother’s death, I’ve had charge of the house.” It sounded like a catalogue of her talents, yet she couldn’t help adding, “House parties, naturally, were impossible, but even living retired as we did, my father could not escape some degree of local entertaining. And the house, being so old and rambling, was a nightmare to run with the small staff we kept on.” Sophie frowned at the memory.

  Jack hid his keen interest behind an easy expression. “Who’s running the house now?”

  “It’s closed up,” Sophie informed him, her tone indicating her satisfaction. As the curricle rounded a corner, she swayed closer. “My father would have left it open—but for what? I finally managed to persuade him to leave just a caretaker and his agent and let the others go on leave. He may be away for years—who can tell?”

  Jack slanted a curious glance at her. “If you’ll forgive the impertinence, you don’t seem overly troubled by the prospect.”

  Sophie grinned. “I’m not. Indeed, I’m truly glad Papa has gone back to his ‘old bones.’ He was so abjectly unhappy after my mother’s death that I’d be a truly ungrateful wretch were I to begrudge him his only chance at contentment. I think his work carries him away from his memories, both physically and mentally.” Her lips curved wryly; her gaze swung to meet Jack’s. “Besides, even though I managed affairs for his own good, he could be a crusty old devil at times.”

  Jack’s answering smile was broad. “I know exactly what you mean. My own father’s in much the same case.”

  Sophie grasped the opportunity to turn the conversation from herself. “Are you his only son?”

  “Oh, no.” Jack turned his head to glance at her. “There are three of us.” He was forced to look to his horses but continued, “I’m the eldest, then Harry. My sister, Lenore, came next; she’s now married to Eversleigh. And the baby of the family is Gerald. Our mother died years ago but m’father’s held on pretty well. Our Aunt Harriet used to watch over us, but Lenore did most of the work.” He threw another glance at Sophie. “My sister is one of those women who shuns the bright lights of the ton; she was perfectly content to remain at home in Berkshire and keep the Hall going and the estates functioning. I’m ashamed to confess that, when she married two years ago, I was totally unprepared to take on the burden.”

  Noting the wry grimace that twisted his lips, Sophie ventured, “But you’ve managed, have you not?”

  Jack’s lips lifted. “I learn quickly.” After a moment, he went on, his gaze still on the road, “Unfortunately, Aunt Harriet died last year. The estate I can manage—the house … that’s something else altogether. Like your father’s, it’s a rambling old mansion—heaps of rooms, corridors everywhere.”

  To Jack’s surprise, he heard a soft sigh.

  “They’re terribly inconvenient, but they feel like home, don’t they?”

  Jack turned his head to look at Sophie. “Exactly.”

  For a long moment, Sophie held his gaze, then, suddenly breathless, looked ahead. The first houses of the village appeared on their right. “The fork to the left just ahead leads to Asfordby.”

  Their passage through the small hamlet demanded Jack’s full attention, his bays taking well-bred exception to the flock of geese flapping on the green, the alehouse’s dray drawn up by the side of the road and the creak of the tavern’s weatherbeaten sign.

  By the time they were passing the last straggling cottages, Sophie had herself in hand. “Mildred’s cottage is just beyond the next corner on the right.”

  Jack reined in the bays by the neat hedge, behind which a small garden lay slumbering in the sunshine. A gate gave on to a narrow path. He turned to smile ruefully at Sophie. “I’d come and lift you down, but these brutes are presently too nervy to be trusted on loose reins. Can you manage?”

  Sophie favoured him with a superior look. “Of course.” Gathering her skirts, she jumped down to the lane. Collecting her basket from the boot, she turned to Amy.

  “I’ll stay here with Mr. Lester,” her cousin promptly said. “Old Mildred always wants to tidy my hair.” Her face contorted in a dreadful grimace.

  Sophie struggled to keep her lips straight. She glanced up at Jack, a questioning look in her eyes.

  He answered with a smile. “I can manage, too.”

  “Very well. But don’t be a nuisance,” she said to Amy, then, unconsciously smoothed her curls, Sophie went to the gate.

  The door opened hard on her knock; Mildred had obviously been waiting. The old dame peered at the curricle and all but dragged Sophie over the threshold. Mildred barely waited for Sophie to shut the door before embarking on a catechism. In the end, Sophie spent more time reassuring Mildred that Mr. Lester was perfectly trustworthy than in asking after Mildred herself, the actual purpose of her visit.

  Finally taking her leave, Sophie reached the curricle to find Jack busy teaching Amy how to hold the reins. Depositing the empty basket in the boot, she climbed aboard.

  Jack reached across Amy to help her up, then lifted a brow at her. “Webb Park?”

  Sophie smiled and nodded. Amy relinquished the reins with sunny good humour, prattling on happily as the horses lengthened their stride.

  About them, the March morning sang with the trills and warbles of blackbirds and thrush. The hedges had yet to unfurl their buds, but here and there bright flocks of daffodils nodded their golden heads, trumpeting in the spring.

  “So tell me, Miss Winterton, what expectations have you of your stay in the capital?” Jack broke the companionable silence that had enveloped them once Amy had run her course. He flicked a quizzical glance at Sophie. �
�Is it to be dissipation until dawn, dancing until you drop, Covent Garden and the Opera, Drury Lane and the Haymarket, with Almack’s every Wednesday night?”

  Sophie laughed, and ducked the subtle query in his last words. “Indeed, sir. That and more.”

  “More?” Jack’s brows rose. “Ah, then it’ll be three balls every night, the Park and two teas every afternoon and more gossip than even Silence knows.”

  “You’ve forgotten the modistes.”

  “And the milliners. And we shouldn’t forget the boot-makers, glovers and assorted emporia, the ribbon-makers and mantua-makers.”

  “Then there are the intellectual pursuits.”

  At that Jack turned to gaze at her, his expression one of stunned dismay. “Good heavens, Miss Winterton. You’ll show us all up for the fribbles we are. No, no, my dear—not museums.”

  “Indeed,” Sophie insisted, tossing her head, “I fully intend to view Lord Elgin’s marbles.”

  “Oh, those. They don’t count.” When Sophie stared at him, Jack explained, “They’re fashionable.”

  Sophie laughed again, a silvery sound. Jack smiled. He waited for a moment, then asked, “Will you be riding in the Park?”

  “I should think nothing’s more likely.” Sophie glanced at him over Amy’s head. “My cousins all rode before they could walk—literally. My uncle is a very keen horseman and I’m sure he’ll be sending mounts down for us.”

  “So you won’t be cutting a dash in a high-perch phaeton?”

  “Alas,” Sophie sighed. “Although I have always yearned to handle the ribbons, I’ve never had the opportunity to learn.” Immediately, the curricle slowed. As it came to a halt, she turned to look at Jack.

  His slow smile greeted her. “That sounded like a cry from the heart. Never let it be said that a Lester failed to respond to a damsel’s plight.”

  Sophie blinked.

  Jack’s smile broadened. “I’ll teach you.”

  “Here?”

  “Now.” He leaned across Amy. “Here, hold the reins like this.”

  Bemused, Sophie did as he said, taking the leather ribbons in her gloved fingers, looping them in accordance with his directions. It was a fiddle, with Amy between them.

  “This will never work,” Jack said, echoing Sophie’s sentiments. Leaving the reins in her hands, he sat back, his gaze considering. “Just hold them a moment. They won’t bolt as long as they sense some weight on the reins.” He swung down from the carriage as he spoke. “They’re not particularly frisky now; they’ve been out for over an hour.”

  Sophie just hoped he knew what he was talking about. Her heart was in her mouth as the leader tossed his head.

  Jack rounded the horses and came up beside her. “Shuffle up, Miss Amy, so I can give your cousin her first lesson.”

  Startled, Sophie glanced down at him. The leader immediately tugged on the loosened reins.

  “Hoa, there.”

  One strong hand closed about her fingers, tightening the rein, steadying the restive horse.

  Sophie knew she was blushing. With no alternative offering, she shuffled over, followed a delighted Amy across the seat, allowing her rakish mentor to sit beside her. Her first lesson—in what?

  She risked a glance up from beneath her lashes; his eyes held a mocking gleam.

  “Fie, Miss Winterton.” His voice was low. One dark brow rose. “If I offered a guinea for your thoughts, would you take it?”

  Sophie blushed even more. She abruptly transferred her gaze to the horses, thus missing Jack’s smile.

  “Now, the first thing to remember …”

  To Sophie’s surprise, despite the distraction of his nearness, she quickly mastered the reins, keeping the thoroughbreds well up to their bits. Even more amazingly, he kept strictly to his role of tutor; doubtless, she rationalized, he was sufficiently concerned over the welfare of his horses—and their sensitive mouths—to keep his mind on their safety. Whatever, her suspicions proved unfounded; caution evaporating, she quickly dropped her guard, absorbed in practising the skills he imparted.

  Webb Park appeared far too soon.

  Exhilarated, Sophie tooled the curricle up the drive, slowing to effect a sedate halt in the gravel forecourt. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks pink as she turned to her companion and, with real reluctance, handed back the reins.

  “A most commendable first outing, my dear.” Jack met her shy smile with a smile of his own, his eyes searching hers.

  A groom came running to hold the horses. Recalled to his surroundings, Jack tied off the reins and leapt down.

  Amy scrambled from her perch on the other side and went to natter to the groom.

  Sophie slid to the side of the carriage. She made no demur when Jack reached for her and lifted her down. Her feet touched solid earth; she glanced up, and was overcome by flustered shyness. Sternly subduing the sensation, she accepted her empty basket and held out one gloved hand. “Thank you, Mr. Lester. You have indeed proved yourself a knight errant this day. Not only must I thank you for your timely rescue, but also for your excellent tuition.”

  Smiling down at her, Jack took her hand. “On the contrary, Miss Winterton, the gain was mine. I’ve rarely had the pleasure of an outing with a lady of such manifold talents.”

  Squelching the inner glow that rose in response to that compliment, Sophie shot him a sceptical glance. “Indeed, sir, I fear I’m no different from many another.”

  Jack’s slow smile softened his features. “Now, there you are wrong, my dear.” He trapped her gaze with his. “You are quite unique.” Sophie’s eyes widened; he felt her quiver.

  Letting his lids veil his eyes, Jack lifted her hand, studying the slender palm, the long, slim fingers. Then his lids rose, his dark gaze again holding hers. Smoothly, he raised her hand and placed a kiss on her inner wrist, exposed above the edge of her glove. “You take the shine out of all the London belles, my dear.”

  Sophie’s skin burned where his lips had touched. Her breathing suspended; light-headedness threatened. It took all the experience she possessed to summon an unaffected smile. “Why, thank you, sir. Will you come in and meet my aunt? I know she’ll want to thank you for your help.”

  He accepted the dismissal without a blink, although the expression in his eyes was amused. “No, I thank you. I know your aunt will be busy; I will not press my presence on her at this time.”

  Holding hard to her composure, Sophie inclined her head. “Then I’ll bid you a very good day, Mr. Lester.”

  He smiled then, his slow, teasing smile. “Au revoir, Miss Winterton.”

  Sophie turned and climbed the steps. On the threshold, she paused and looked back. He had climbed to the curricle’s seat; as she watched, he flicked the reins. With a last wave, he was away, the carriage sweeping down the drive.

  She watched until his dark head was no longer in sight. Then, lowering the hand she had automatically raised in farewell, Sophie frowned and turned indoors. She eventually located Amy in the kitchens, munching on a fresh-baked bun.

  “Come, Amy. You should change.”

  Bustling the exuberant child, full of prattle, up the back stairs, Sophie was jolted from her thoughts by her cousin’s bright voice, raised in innocent query.

  “Is Mr. Lester courting you, Sophie?”

  The breath caught in Sophie’s throat. For an instant, she felt as if the world had lurched. She coughed. “Good heavens, Amy!” The dimness of the stairs hid her furious blush. “Of course not—he was just funning.” She sought for more words—more convincing words—to deny the possibility; none were forthcoming. In desperation, she flapped her hands at Amy. “Come on now, up you go.”

  As she followed the little girl up the stairs, Sophie frowned. From the mouth of an innocent babe..?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  NOT CONTENT with her efforts thus far, Fate seemed intent on assisting him at every turn.

  As he sat his black hunter in the shadows of a wind-break and watched the small cavalcade come thund
ering up Ashes’ Hill, Jack couldn’t keep the smile from his face.

  Jigson, ever mindful of his place in the scheme of things, had been assiduous in his visits to the tap. Thus Jack had learned that the junior Webbs, accompanied by Miss Winterton and Miss Webb, were to be found on horseback most afternoons. Weather permitting, they would hack about the lanes and fields, but, according to one of the Webb grooms, the track over Ashes’ Hill was currently their favoured route.

  As he watched them canter up onto the green swath before him, Jack’s smile broadened. His golden head was a delight in moss-green velvet, the long skirts of her habit brushing tan boots. On her guinea-gold curls perched a typically feminine contraption; he knew she’d call it a hat, but to his mind the wisp of fabric anchoring a pheasant’s feather hardly qualified for the title. Turning, he lifted a brow at Percy mounted on a bay gelding beside him. “Shall we?”

  Percy started; his abstracted gaze, very likely visualizing the rival merits of herringbone and country plaid, rapidly refocused. “What? Oh, yes. ‘Bout time.”

  Jack smiled and led the way forward, out of the shadows of the firs.

  Pulling up on the crest of the hill, then wheeling her horse to view her cousins, straggling up in her wake, Sophie did not immediately see him. Clarissa, who had reached the spot some moments ahead of her, had likewise turned to view the vista spread below them. Stone walls and still-dormant hedges divided the brown fields, their colour just tinged with the first hint of green. Jeremy and George, fourteen and twelve respectively, were but yards from the top; Amy, bouncing along on her placid cob, brought up the rear. The twins, yet to graduate from plodding ponies, were not included in these afternoon expeditions.

  Reassured that all was well, Sophie relaxed her reins. Eyes bright, cheeks aglow, she drew in a deep breath, savouring the crisp freshness.

  “Well met, Miss Winterton!”

  The hail brought her head round; the deep voice sent the colour to her cheeks even before her eyes found him. He was mounted on a raking black hunter, sleek and powerful. As the animal walked towards her, neck proudly arched, black withers rippling, Sophie was struck by its harnessed power. Then her eyes lifted to its owner.