To her immense relief, the gates of the Park appeared ahead. They entered and proceeded down a ride at a leisurely pace, glorying in the sunshine that continued to defy all predictions. About them, the rich smell of warming earth spiced the air, while birds trilled in the branches arching high overhead.
Glancing at Sophie, Jack inwardly smiled. Prey to an unnerving uncertainty, he had not again called to take her driving. But their stroll in the Park had reassured him, even though she had pulled back the instant he had drawn closer. Feminine nerves—that was the problem. He would just have to bide his time, and give her time to grow accustomed to his interest, to become more at ease with him.
So, holding his restless black to a sedate walk, he ambled beside her, his thoughts filled not with the joys of burgeoning spring, but with resigned acceptance of the tales that would no doubt be told in his clubs that night. He consoled himself with the reflection that, as his pursuit of Sophie would keep him in the ballrooms for most of the Season, he would not be spending much time at his clubs.
And if his pursuit of his bride did not keep him sufficiently busy, there was always his self-imposed task of keeping Ned Ascombe from doing himself an injury.
“I dare say the preparations for your coming-out ball must be exercising your imagination, Miss Webb.” Jack cut across Ned to put a stop to what, to his experienced eyes, had been all too much like backsliding.
Caught out, reminded of the role he had been instructed it was in his best interests to play, Ned looked guilty.
“Yes, indeed,” Clarissa readily replied. “But Mama had taken care of all the details. The theme is to be classical, although personally I would rather have had the Rites of Spring. But Mama held that that has been quite done to death these last years.”
Clarissa glanced at Ned.
“I’m sure Mrs. Webb knows what’s best” was his verdict.
Sophie bit her lip.
After a moment’s blank astonishment, Clarissa stiffened slightly. When no expression of empathetic understanding joined Ned’s bare statement, she pointedly looked ahead.
Jack grinned and drew back, sure Ned would not again lapse into his habitually easy relationship with Clarissa. At least, not today.
“Are we allowed to gallop in the Park sir?” Toby brought his bay hunter up alongside Jack’s black.
At twenty, brown-haired and blue-eyed with the same innate elegance that characterized Lucilla, Toby struck Jack as the sort to be up to all the usual larks, yet wise enough to avoid the grief that often overtook his peers. There was a glimmer of wisdom already detectable in his blue-grey eyes. No doubt, Jack mused, he had inherited his parents’ brains. “You and your younger brothers and sister could conceivably do so. However, neither Miss Webb nor Miss Winterton would be wise to attempt the feat.”
Toby wrinkled his nose. “The usual stuffy notions?”
Jack nodded. “As you say.”
Lifting a brow at Sophie, and seeing her smile, Toby grinned ruefully. “Sorry, Sophie.” Then, turning to his younger siblings, he waved his quirt and challenged, “Last to the oak at the other end of the turf gets to tell Mama what happened today!”
His three juniors responded immediately. All four thundered off.
Exchanging an indulgent smile, Jack and Sophie set their horses into a mild canter in their wake. Ned and Clarissa fell in behind. As they broke from the cover of the long ride and slowed, Sophie noticed their presence was attracting considerable interest. She did her best to appear unaware, until she realized that surprise was the predominant emotion on the faces of the gentlemen they passed.
Turning, she lifted a brow at her companion.
Jack smiled. “I fear I’m not noted for escorting boisterous families on jaunts through the Park.”
“Oh.” Uncertain, Sophie blinked up at him.
“I don’t regret it in the least,” Jack supplied, his smile somewhat wry. “But, tell me, my dear Miss Winterton, if you had to make the choice, would it be town or country for you?”
“Country,” Sophie immediately replied. “Town is pleasant enough, but only …” she paused, putting her head on one side, “as a short period of contrast.” After a moment, she shook herself free of her thoughts and urged Dulcima into a trot. “But what of you, sir? Do you spend much time in the country?”
“Most of my time.” Jack grinned. “And, although you might not credit it, quite willingly. The estates, of course, need constant attention. When my sister left, she bequeathed me a list as long as my arm of all the improvements required.” His brow darkening as a subject that, now, was very close to his heart claimed him, Jack continued, “I’m afraid, before Lenore left, I had not paid as much attention as I should have. She kept us together financially, which was no small feat. Consequently, my brothers and I left the decisions on what projects the family could afford to undertake to her. Although she was not to blame in any way, I should have realized that she did not have an extensive grasp of the estate as a whole, but was entirely familiar with all matters pertaining to the Hall itself. Hence, our ancestral home is in very good repair, but, for my money, I would have given some, at least, of the improvements necessary on the estate a higher priority.”
Glancing down at Sophie’s face, Jack added, “I fully intend to resuscitate the estate. I know what’s needed; now it’s simply a matter of getting things done.”
A steel vice closed about Sophie’s heart. She let her lids veil her eyes. Her features frozen in an expression of rapt attention, she inclined her head.
Encouraged, Jack briefly described those improvements he felt most urgent. “I think it has something to do with being the one to inherit the land,” he concluded. “I feel an attachment—a responsibility—now that it’s virtually mine. I know Harry feels the same about the stud farm, which will one day be his.”
Woodenly Sophie nodded, clutching her reins tightly. From her experience of her father’s estates, she knew the cost of Jack’s dreams. His words settled, a leaden weight about her heart.
Distraction arrived in a most unexpected form. A brusque hail had them drawing rein; turning, they beheld Mr. Marston astride a showy dun trotting quickly towards them. As he approached, Sophie inwardly admitted that Phillip Marston looked his best on horseback; his best, however, had never been sufficient to raise her pulse. Now, with her expectations conditioned by the likes of Jack Lester, she knew it never would.
“Good day, Mr. Marston.” Her expression calmly regal, Sophie held out one hand, refusing to embellish the brief greeting with any hypocritical phrases.
“My very dear Miss Winterton.” Phillip Marston attempted the difficult feat of bowing over her hand, but was forced to release it quickly as his horse jibbed. Frowning, he restrained the restive animal and, with obvious reluctance, nodded at Jack. “Lester.”
Jack returned the nod with a perfectly genuine smile. “Marston.”
The dun continued to jib and prance.
Phillip Marston did his best to ignore it—and the fact the dun was no match on any level with the even-tempered black Jack Lester rode. He nodded gravely to Ned and Clarissa, then fixed his pale gaze on Sophie. “I thought I’d take the trouble to find a mount and join you, my dear. I have not, as you know, previously had much experience of town, but I felt sure you would feel more easy in the company of one with whom you share a common background.”
Inwardly bridling, Sophie refrained from glancing heavenwards and searched for some acceptable response. She was delivered from her unenviable predicament by the arrival of her younger cousins, whooping gleefully, their faces alight with exuberant joy.
Phillip Marston frowned bleakly. “Really, you young barbarians! Is this the way you behave when out from under your parents’ eye?”
Their transports abruptly cut short, their joy fading, Jeremy, George and Amy instinctively looked not to Sophie, but to Jack.
He reassured them with a smile. “Nonsense, Marston,” he said, his tone equable but distant. “The Park at this h
our is a perfectly acceptable venue for the young to let off steam. Later, perhaps, such behaviour would be frowned upon, but now, with mainly young people and families about, there’s nothing the least untoward in such high spirits.”
The crestfallen trio were miraculously revived. They shot Jack a grateful glance and fell in beside him, as far as they could get from Mr. Marston. For a moment, Sophie allowed herself to envy them, before regretfully banishing the thought.
Phillip Marston received Jack’s wisdom with a stiff little bow. His pinched lips and the slant of his brows left little doubt of his feelings. A charged moment passed in which Sophie bludgeoned her brains for some safe topic—not an easy task with Mr. Marston on one side and Jack Lester on the other—before Marston’s particular devil prompted him to say: “I dare say, Lester, not being a family man, you don’t realize the importance of discipline in handling the young.”
Jack controlled his countenance admirably, bending a look of blandly polite enquiry on Marston. As Jack had hoped, Phillip Marston continued, airily declaiming, apparently unaware of Sophie’s stunned silence.
“Natural enough, of course. After all, discipline’s hardly your style, is it? I mean to say,” he hurried on, “that doubtless, having little need for such in your own life, it’s hard for you to understand that others live by a different code.”
“Indeed?” Jack lifted a brow, his expression remote and slightly bored. “I hadn’t, I confess, thought my life so very different from that of the rest of my class.”
Phillip Marston laughed condescendingly. “Oh, but it is.” He waved airily. “Why, I dare say you’d be stunned to know that some of us spend months on our estates, grappling with such matters as tenants and bailiffs and crop rotation.” Oblivious to the flags flying in Sophie’s cheeks, Marston continued, “Not all of us can spend our lives in London, frittering away our money at the tables, sipping, unrestrained, from the bowl of life’s pleasures.”
That was far too much for Sophie. “Mr. Marston!” She regarded him with icy indignation. “I’m surprised, sir, that you even know of such things as life’s pleasures.” The words—so uncharacteristically sniping—shocked her, but she had no intention of recalling them. However, it immediately became clear Mr. Marston stood in no danger of being crushed.
He inclined his head, smiling unctuously. “Quite so, my dear. Such pastimes hold no allure for me. However, I am aware that others find them much more to their taste.” He lifted his pale gaze to Jack’s face. “No doubt, Lester, you find this squiring of innocents not at all to your liking. Playing nursemaid to a pack of brats is hardly your style, after all.” Marston leant forward and spoke across Sophie. “I heard Mrs. Webb trap you into this little jaunt. Dare say you’d rather be anywhere but here. However, as I’ve nothing better to do with my time, I’ll be only too happy to take the responsibility off your hands.”
Ned and Clarissa had drawn closer; along with Toby, who had silently rejoined the company, they held their breath and looked, slightly stunned, at Jack. Indeed, every eye in the party was fixed upon him.
They all saw his slow smile.
“On the contrary, Marston,” Jack drawled. “I believe you’re labouring under a misapprehension. Believe me, there’s nothing I would rather be doing than squiring this particular party of innocents. In fact,” he went on, his expression growing pensive, “I believe if you consider the matter more closely, you’ll see that one such as I, to whom the … ah, pleasures of life are well known, is precisely the most suitable escort.”
The relief that swept the party, all except Marston, was palpable.
Jack’s smile broadened as he met the other man’s gaze. “Indeed, Marston, I wouldn’t have missed this morning’s jaunt for the world.”
Confounded, Phillip Marston glanced at Sophie. Her glacial expression awoke the first inklings of understanding in his brain. His hand tightened on his reins.
The dun, having behaved reasonably for all of ten minutes, reacted predictably, jibbing, then twisting, prancing sideways. Marston struggled to subdue the animal, muttering perfectly audible curses beneath his breath.
Sternly quelling her laughter, Sophie grasped the opportunity. “Mr. Marston, I believe you would be wise to return that horse to the stables forthwith. I confess its antics are making me quite nervous.” She managed to imbue her tones with perfectly specious feminine fear.
Which left Phillip Marston with little choice. His expression grim, he nodded curtly. He left, heading straight for the gate.
“Phew!” Toby came up beside Sophie, a grin lighting his face. “I wouldn’t want to be the stableman when he returns that horse.”
The comment drew laughter all round, banishing any lingering restraint. Restored to their usual high spirits, the youngsters were soon off again. By mutual consent, the party ambled slowly in Mr. Marston’s wake.
Summoning the children, coercing them into an orderly retreat, then supervising them through the traffic kept Sophie fully occupied. But when they turned the corner into Mount Street and the youngsters drew ahead, she glanced up at her companion. His features were relaxed; he looked every bit as content as he had claimed. “I feel I must apologize for Mr. Marston’s behaviour, sir.”
Jack looked down at her. “Nonsense, my dear. It was hardly something you could control. Besides,” he continued, his blue gaze holding hers, “I have yet to see you encouraging him.”
“Heaven forbid!” Sophie shuddered, then, seeing the calm satisfaction that infused Jack’s expression, wished she’d been rather more circumspect. It was, after all, no business of Jack Lester’s whom she encouraged. Taking refuge in the banal, she said, “So the balls are starting at last.”
With a slow smile, Jack inclined his head. “Indeed. And your cousin’s come-out will be one of the first. Your aunt seems set to steal a march on her peers.”
Thinking of Lucilla and her careful scheming, Sophie smiled. “As you say. She’s quite determined to make the most of this Season.”
Clarissa nudged her horse up beside Jack’s. “Indeed,” she declared, unusually pert. “Mama is quite set on my come-out being an unenviable crush.”
Sophie exchanged a wry smile with Jack.
Turning to Clarissa, Jack raised a laconic brow. Obviously, Ned had been faithfully adhering to instructions. “Is that so?” Jack asked. “And what do you know of crushes, Miss Webb?”
Clarissa coloured, then waved a dismissive hand. “Sophie told me all about them.”
“Ah.” Lips quirking, Jack turned back to Sophie as they halted their mounts before the Webbs’ steps.
The junior Webbs had already gone in, leaving the grooms with their hands full. Sophie steeled herself and managed to survive the ordeal of being lifted down to the pavement by Jack Lester with commendable composure.
She looked up—and beheld his slow smile.
“Well, my dear?” Jack lifted a brow. “Was it bearable, riding with me?”
Sophie blushed rosily but was determined to give no ground. Lifting her chin, she looked him in the eye. “Indeed, sir. It was most enjoyable.”
Jack chuckled. “Good. Because from what I understand, your cousins wish it to be a frequent event.”
With an inclination of her head, Sophie indicated her acquiescence.
Her hand in his, Jack looked down at her, his smile a trifle crooked. “Until your aunt’s crush, then, Miss Winterton. Rest assured that, despite the sea of humanity that will no doubt be thrown up between us, I will endeavour to win through to your side.” With a rakish grin, he bowed over her hand.
And let her go.
With a very correct nod, Sophie escaped up the steps, refusing to give in to her heart and look back.
At the corner of the street, two horsemen sat their mounts, apparently discussing the weather. In actuality, their interest was a great deal more focused.
“Well, that’s a relief! It’s the older one Lester’s got his eye on—fancy that.” Hubert, Lord Maltravers, blinked blearily up a
t his companion. “A hard night followed by an ungodly early start may have taken its toll on my wits,” his lordship mused. “But stap me if I can see why.”
Captain Terrence Gurnard’s lips lifted in a sneer. “Tarnished his image, that’s why. The Webbs are a deal too downy to let their chick fly too close to his snare. But obviously the cousin has enough of the ready to satisfy Lester.”
“Odd.” His lordship frowned. “Thought she had nothing more than the usual. You know what I mean—expectations but no more. Would’ve thought Lester needed rather more than that.”
“Obviously not. The point, thank Heaven, doesn’t concern me. As long as he’s not got his eye on that juicy little plum, he can have the rest of London for all I care. Come, let’s get moving. We’ve seen all we need.”
Side by side, they steered their mounts through the streets in the direction of Hubert’s lodgings, the slightly rumpled figure of Lord Maltravers slumped in his saddle, the handsome, broad-shouldered guardsman towering over him.
“Y’know, Gurnard, I’ve been thinking.”
“I thought you didn’t do that until after noon.”
Hubert snorted. “No. I’m serious. This start of yours—sure there isn’t a better way? I mean, you could always try the cent per cents—doesn’t hurt to ask.”
“In this case, I fear it could hurt.” Gurnard winced. “A very great deal.”
Realization was slow but it eventually broke on Hubert. “Oh,” he said. “You’re already on their books?”
“Let’s just say that one or two moneylenders could scrape an acquaintance.”
“Hmm.” Hubert grimaced. “That does rather cut down on your options.” As they turned into Piccadilly, he ventured, “No chance this last opponent of yours would consider holding your vowels for latter payment?”
Slowly, Terrence Gurnard turned his head and looked his friend in the eye. “My last opponent was Melcham.”
Hubert blanched. “Oh,” he said. Then, “Ah.” Switching his gaze to the traffic, he nodded. “In that case, I quite see your point. Well, then—when’s the wedding?”
A Lady of Expectations Page 16