A Lady of Expectations

by Stephanie Laurens

  Just beyond the booths, Sophie slowed. The Dark Walk, with the Temple of Diana, lay furthest afield, the narrowest and most heavily shaded of the Gardens’ promenades. And the most secluded.

  Grimacing, Sophie halted. It would be the height of folly to risk the length of the Dark Walk at night, alone. But if she went back up the Grand Wall, wide and well lit, she could take a side path across to the Dark Walk, emerging just a little above the Temple. It was longer, but she was far more certain to reach her goal by that route.

  Clutching her cape about her, she turned and hurried up the Grand Walk.

  At the Temple of Diana, deep in the shadows of the Dark Walk, Jack waited with Toby, concealed in thick bushes by the temple’s side. A small structure in the Ionic style, the temple was little more than a decorative gazebo. The surrounding bushes had grown close over the years, filling the side arches until the space within resembled a room with green walls.

  Jack peered through the shadows. Toby had delivered Clarissa to the temple at the appointed time. Ned had earlier hidden himself on the other side of the main archway, awaiting his moment of glory. Gurnard, however, was late.

  The scrunch of heavy footsteps on gravel brought Jack’s head up. Out on the path, the figure of a man came into view, heading purposefully towards the temple. He made no attempt to conceal his approach; a guardsman’s red cape was thrown over one shoulder.

  “Here he comes,” hissed Toby.

  They waited, frozen in the shadows, as Gurnard climbed the short flight of steps and disappeared into the temple.

  “So far so good,” Jack whispered.

  Inside the temple, however, all was not going as either they, or Captain Gurnard, had planned.

  Clarissa, delivered by a strangely serious Toby to the dim temple with a promise that her most ardent suitor—Ned, of course—would shortly join her, had entered the shadowy hall with high hopes. It was clear that Sophie would shortly receive the offer she desired; Clarissa, having expended considerable effort in encouraging Ned, expected that he would, tonight, at least take a more definite step in his wooing of her. With any luck, he might kiss her. Why else had he asked her here?

  As the minutes ticked by, she had fallen to pacing, hands clasped behind her, her brow furrowed as she wondered how fast she could urge things along. A marriage in September, assuming Sophie did not opt for a long betrothal, seemed a distinct possibility.

  She had reached this point in her cogitations when firm footsteps approached and ascended to the temple.

  Starry-eyed, Clarissa turned.

  And beheld the unmistakable outline of Captain Gurnard.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded, not the least bit pleased at the prospect of having her tryst with Ned interrupted or—even worse—postponed.

  Terrance Gurnard blinked. “Why, I’m here to meet you, my dear.”

  “I’m afraid, sir, that my time this evening is spoken for.” If nothing else, Clarissa was Lucilla’s daughter. She delivered the captain’s dismissal with an affronted dignity that would have done justice to royalty.

  For a moment, Gurnard was bewildered. Where was the youthful, wide-eyed innocent he had arranged to meet? Then he shook himself. The hoity young miss was just playing hard to get. “Nonsense, my dear,” he purred, advancing on Clarissa. “We all know you’re besotted with me. But fear not, for I’m equally besotted with you.”

  Even in the dimness, Gurnard could not misinterpret the icy rigidity that laid hold of Clarissa’s slim frame. She drew herself up and, somehow, succeeded in looking down her nose at him. “My dear Captain, I believe you have lost your wits.” The cool incisiveness in her tone bit deep. “If you will but consider, the notion that I, with suitors such as Mr. Ascombe, could consider you, who have nought but your uniform to commend you, is highly insulting, sir!”

  Rocked by the strident vehemence in her tone, Gurnard blinked. Then he sneered. “You were ready enough to encourage me to dangle after you—do you deny it?” Abruptly, he closed the gap between them. He did not have all night to accomplish what he must.

  “That was because you were being useful.” Clarissa, her own considerable temper in orbit, continued with undisguised relish, “Useful in ensuring that Mr. Ascombe’s attention did not wander.”

  “Useful, was I?” Gurnard ground out. “In that case, my dear, you’ll have to pay the piper.” Roughly, he grasped her arms, intending to pull her to him.

  Used to wrestling with her brothers, Clarissa anticipated the move enough to wrench one arm free. “Let me go, sir!”

  Her furious shriek jolted Ned from the dazed stupor into which he had fallen. He shot up the steps, only just remembering their plan in time to change his automatic. “Unhand her, you fiend!” to a relatively normal, if slightly strangled, “Clarissa?”

  He saw her immediately, one arm held by Gurnard. With an heroic effort, assisted by the calming effects of the cold rage that poured through him, Ned strolled lazily forward. “There you are, m’dear. I apologize for my tardiness, but I was held up.” Commandingly, he held out his hand to Clarissa, his gaze, coldly challenging, fixed on Gurnard’s face.

  In order to take her hand, Clarissa chose to use the arm Gurnard was holding. She did so without in any way acknowledging Gurnard’s grasp, much less his presence.

  The action snapped Gurnard’s patience. He had no time to play games, nor to brook interference of any sort. He waited until, as Clarissa’s fingers slipped into Ned’s palm, Ned glanced at her. Then he attacked.

  And was immediately sent to grass—or marble, as was the case—by a punishing left jab.

  In the bushes to the side, Jack allowed the battle-ready tension that had instantly gripped him to fade. “He said his left jab was coming along.”

  Inside the temple, Ned frowned, attempting to shield Clarissa from the sight of the captain stretched out on the marble floor. “I’m sorry, Clary. Not the sort of thing one should do in front of a lady, I know. You aren’t feeling faint or anything, are you?”

  “Good heavens, no!” Clarissa, eyes alight, both hands clutching one of Ned’s forearms, peered around him at the captain’s prone form. Satisfied that the captain was, at last temporarily, beyond further punishment, she turned her glowing eyes on Ned. “That was marvellous, Ned! How thrillingly heroic. You rescued me!”

  And with that, Clarissa promptly hurled herself into her knight errant’s arms.

  The watchers in the bushes heard Ned mutter something that sounded like a weak disclaimer but his heart was clearly not in it. Then came silence.

  Jack sighed and relaxed, looking up into the night sky, considering, with a certain rakish satisfaction, the prospect of the immediate future. Beside him, Toby shifted restlessly.

  Then they heard Ned’s voice, and Clarissa’s replying; the pair turned, still hand in hand, Clarissa’s head against Ned’s shoulder, and made slowly for the steps.

  “We’ll follow,” Jack said. “They may be almost betrothed but they’re not betrothed yet.”

  They followed Clarissa and Ned at a distance; it was questionable whether either was aware of their presence.

  When they reached the booth, it was to find Horatio beaming benevolently, and Ned standing, proud but a trifle hesitant, as Clarissa poured the details of her rescue into her mother’s ear. Jeremy’s and George’s eyes were wide as they drank it all in. Seeing Jack, Lucilla smiled and asked, “Where’s Sophie?”

  Ned and Clarissa looked blank.

  Toby blinked.

  Jack froze—and looked at Horatio.

  Suddenly serious, Horatio frowned. “I spoke with her, then we joined Lucilla and the boys. At the end of the fireworks display, Sophie had disappeared. I thought she was with you.”

  “She must have gone to the temple,” Toby said, genuinely horrified.

  “Gurnard’s still there,” Ned pointed out.

  “I’ll find her.” Jack kept his expression impassive, despite the emotions roiling within. He exchanged a look with Horat
io, who nodded. Striding to the door, Jack spared a glance for Lucilla. “Don’t worry,” he said. The smile that accompanied the words held a certain grim resolution.

  Somewhat subdued, the rest of the party settled to listen to the last of the music.

  “You know,” Lucilla murmured as Horatio took the seat beside her. “I’m really not sure we’ve done the right thing.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, I’m quite sure Sophie can handle Captain Gurnard. But can she handle Jack Lester?”

  Horatio smiled and patted her hand. “I’m sure she’ll contrive.”

  ON GAINING the Dark Walk, Sophie paused to catch her breath. Peering through the shadows, she could just make out the distant glimmer of the temple’s white pillars, set back in a small grove. The path leading to the water-gate lay nearby; somewhere beyond the temple lay one of the less-used street gates.

  Dragging in a deep breath, Sophie quit the shadows. There was no one about. Her soft slippers made little sound on the gravel as she neared the temple steps. Standing at the bottom, she peered in but could see nothing but shadows. Surely Clarissa could not be inside?

  For a full minute, she vacillated, then, holding her cape close about her, Sophie mounted the steps. If there was no one inside, it couldn’t hurt to look.

  The shadows within enveloped her. Sophie glanced about, then stifled a shriek as a dark shape loomed beside her.

  “Well, well, well. Come to look for your cousin, I take it?”

  As the shape resolved itself into Captain Gurnard, Sophie gave an almost imperceptible gasp. Straightening, she nodded. “But as she isn’t here—”

  “You’ll do just as well.”

  The captain wrapped one hand about Sophie’s arm.

  Instinctively, she tried to pull away. “Unhand me, sir! What on earth do you believe can come of this?”

  “Money, my dear Miss Winterton. Lots of money.”

  Sophie remembered his scheme. “You appear to have overlooked something, Captain. I am not an heiress.”

  “No,” Gurnard acknowledged. “You’re something even better. You’re the woman Lester’s got his eye on.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Sophie carefully tested the captain’s hold.

  “It means,” Gurnard sneered, convincing her his grip was unbreakable by shaking her, “that Lester will pay and pay handsomely to have you returned to him. And he’ll pay even more to ensure you’re … unharmed, shall we say?”

  Sophie recoiled as Gurnard thrust his face close to hers. “It seems Lester’s windfall is to be my gain.” With an abrupt laugh, he turned and dragged her towards the door. “Come on.”

  Dredging up every ounce of her courage, Sophie went rigid and pulled back. Her full weight served only to slow the captain, but it was enough to make him turn with a snarl.

  Sophie lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed. “There is, as I said, something you appear to have overlooked, Captain. I am not going to marry Mr. Lester.”

  “Gammon,” said Gurnard, and tugged her on.

  “But I’m not!” Sophie placed her free hand over her heart. “I swear on my mother’s grave that Mr. Lester has not asked for my hand.”

  “It’s not my fault if he’s backward.” They had almost reached the top of the steps.

  Sophie lost her temper. “You imbecile! I’m trying to make it plain to you that I am not going to marry Jack Lester!“

  Gurnard stopped and turned to her, fury in every line of his large frame. “You,” he began, pointing a finger at her.

  “Should learn to accept Fate graciously.”

  There was a split second of silence, then Gurnard turned.

  Only to meet a left jab that had a great deal more power behind it than the one he’d met earlier.

  The result was the same. The captain’s head hit the marble with a resounding thump.

  Sophie glared down at him, prostrate at her feet. “Of all the unmitigated scoundrels,” she began.

  Jack shook his head and sighed. “Are you and your cousin so lost to all sensibility that you can’t even swoon at the sight of violence?”

  Sophie blinked at him, then humphed. “If you must know, I’m feeling quite violent myself. Did you know he intended to—”

  “I heard.” Jack reached for her and drew her to him. “But you don’t need to worry about him any more.”

  Sophie readily went into his arms. “But shouldn’t we—”

  “It’s already taken care of.” Jack looked down at Gurnard, then prodded him with the toe of his boot. His victim groaned. “I sincerely hope you’re listening, Gurnard, for I’m only going to say this once. I’ve had a word with an acquaintance of mine, the Earl of Melcham. He was most upset to hear of the method you’d selected to raise the wind. He doesn’t approve—not at all. And I’m sure you know what happens to those of whom Melcham disapproves.”

  There was a stunned silence, then Gurnard groaned again.

  Grimly satisfied, Jack turned Sophie towards the steps. “And now, my dear, I think it’s time we left.” Tucking her hand in his arm, he led her down onto the gravelled walk.

  Sophie went readily, her mind seething with questions. “What happened to Clarissa? Did she go to the temple?”

  Jack glanced down at her. “She did.”

  Sophie glared at him. “What happened?”

  Jack smiled and told her, adding that Horatio had approved their scheme. “If Clarissa had simply not shown up, Gurnard would have assumed she’d been prevented from doing so, not that she wouldn’t go to meet him. He’d have tried again to get her alone, and perhaps we wouldn’t have learned of his intentions in time to foil him. It was best to make the situation as clear as possible.”

  “But what if he turns to some other young lady?”

  “He won’t have time. As of tomorrow, courtesy of Melcham, to whom Gurnard is deeply in debt, the captain will have entirely too much on his mind to think of persuading any other young lady to his rescue.”

  Sophie pondered his revelations, her feet following his lead. “So Ned floored the captain?”

  “He seems to have floored Clarissa as well.” Jack’s lips curved in fond reminiscence. He slanted a glance at Sophie. “We all thought the opportunity too good to miss to advance Ned’s standing with your cousin.”

  For an instant, Sophie stared into his smugly satisfied face. Then she burst out laughing. “Oh, dear. Was that supposed to be Ned’s great scene—so that Clarissa would think him her hero and respond suitably?”

  Frowning, Jack nodded.

  “Oh, poor Ned.” Sophie could not stop smiling. She glanced confidently up at Jack. “Just for your information, Clarissa settled on Ned some weeks ago, not all that long after we’d come up to town. She’s been trying to nudge him along for the past two weeks at least. I’m not at all surprised to hear she flung herself into his arms. After all, what better opportunity she could hope for?”

  Jack looked down at her through narrowed eyes. “Remind me,” he said, “to tell Ned just what he’s getting into, marrying a Webb female.”

  Sophie pressed her lips tightly together. When she was sure her voice was under control, she said, “I’m related to the Webbs; does that make me a ‘Webb female’, too?”

  Jack’s glance was supercilious. “I haven’t yet decided.”

  It was then, when he stood back to usher her through the watergate, that Sophie realized that they had been walking in the wrong direction. A leafy lane stretched before them. Not far ahead, the lane ended by the banks of the Thames. Sophie halted. “Ah … Jack …?”

  Jack looked down at her and held out his hand. “Your uncle’s returned. He spoke to you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.” Eyes wide, Sophie studied his face. “He told me there’s no reason we can’t marry.”

  “Precisely.” Jack smiled, closing his hand about the fingers she had automatically surrendered. He drew her closer and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Which is to say that by common consent,
general agreement and the blessing of Fate, my wait is, at long last, over.”

  “But shouldn’t we..?” Sophie glanced back at the dark shrubbery of the Gardens, slowly receding in their wake.

  Jack cast her a reproving glance. “Really, my dear. You don’t seriously imagine that I, such as I am, could consider Vauxhall a suitable venue for a proposal, do you?”

  There seemed no sensible answer to that.

  But Sophie had no time to ponder the implications. They had reached the water’s edge. She glanced about, somewhat surprised at the bustling scene. A stone wharf lined the river and extended out in a jetty where a small flotilla of pleasure craft bobbed gently at their moorings.

  “If habits linger, he’ll be at the end.”

  A most peculiar sensation started to creep along Sophie’s nerves. She clung to Jack’s arm as they wended their way between Garden patrons haggling with the boatmen, and others embarking for a slow ride home. The craft were of a variety of sizes, some holding no more than a couple, while others could comfortably carry a small party. Still others had canopies erected over their bows under which lovers could pursue their acquaintance in privacy, screened by drapes which let down about the sides.

  It was towards one of these last that Jack led her.

  “Rollinson?”

  Sophie suddenly felt quite light-headed.

  The beefy boatman in charge of the largest and most opulent craft turned from desultory conversation with his crew to peer up at Jack. “There you be, Mr. Lester!” He grinned, displaying a row of decidedly haphazard teeth, and tipped his felt hat to Sophie. “Got your message. We’re here and ready, sir.”

  “Very good,” Jack replied.

  Sophie found it hard to follow the rest of their conversation, at least half of which was conducted in boatman’s cant. She glanced about, trying to interest herself in the scene, rather than dwell on what their presence here probably meant. If she thought of that, she might feel obliged to protest.

  As it was, she was not to escape making some part of the decision on her fate. Their itinerary agreed upon, Jack leapt down to the wooden planking of the boat’s hull, which floated a good yard below the jetty.