Stephanie Laurens - A Lady of Expectations and Other Stories - A Lady Of Expectations / The Secrets of a Courtesan / How to Woo a Spinster

“A very stuffy ordeal,” Lucilla agreed. Turning to the chaise, she asked, “Did you not find it so, my dears?”

Clarissa smiled brightly and opened her mouth to deny any adverse opinion of the previous evening’s entertainment.

Smoothly, Sophie cut in, “Indeed, yes. It may not have been a crush, yet the crowd was not inconsiderable. Towards the end, I found the atmosphere positively thick.”

It was simply not done to admit to unfettered delight, nor to dismiss a kindly hostess’s entertainments as uncrowded.

Jack kept his smile restrained. “Just so. I had, in fact, wondered, Miss Winterton, if you would like to blow away any lingering aftertaste of the crowd by taking a turn in the Park? I have my curricle with me.”

“What a splendid idea.” Lucilla concurred, turning, wide-eyed, to Sophie.

But Sophie was looking at Jack.

As she watched, he inclined his head. “If you would care for it, Miss Winterton?”

Slowly, Sophie drew in a breath. And nodded. “I…” Abruptly, she looked down, to where her hands were clasped in the lap of her morning gown, a concoction of lilac mull-muslin. “I should change my gown.”

“I’m sure Mr. Lester will excuse you, my dear.”

With a nod to her aunt, Sophie withdrew, then beat a hasty retreat to her chamber. There, summoning a maid, she threw open the doors of her wardrobe and drew forth the carriage dress Jorge had sent round that morning. A golden umber, the heavy material was shot with green, so that, as she moved, it appeared to bronze, then dull. Standing before her cheval-glass, Sophie held the gown to her, noting again how its colour heightened the gold in her hair and emphasized the creaminess of her complexion. She grinned delightedly. Hugging the dress close, she whirled, waltzing a few steps, letting her heart hold sway for just a moment.

Then she caught sight of the maid staring at her from the doorway. Abruptly, Sophie steadied. “Ah, there you are, Ellen. Come along.” She waved the young girl forward. “I need to change.”

Downstairs in the drawing-room, Jack made idle conversation, something he could do with less than half his brain. Then, unexpectedly, Lucilla blandly declared, “I hope you’ll excuse Clarissa, Mr. Lester. We’re yet very busy settling in.” To Clarissa, she said, “Do look in on the twins for me, my love. You know I never feel comfortable unless I know what they’re about.”

Clarissa smiled in sunny agreement. She rose and bobbed a curtsy to Jack, then departed, leaving him wondering about the twins.

“They’re six,” Lucilla calmly stated. “A dreadfully imaginative age.”

Jack blinked, then decided to return to safer topics. “Allow me to congratulate you on your daughter, Mrs. Webb. I’ve rarely seen such beauty in conjunction with such a sweet disposition. I prophesy she’ll be an instant success.”

Lucilla glowed with maternal satisfaction. “Indeed, it seems likely. Fortunately for myself and Mr. Webb, and I dare say Clarissa, too, her Season is intended purely to—” Lucilla gestured airily “—broaden her horizons. Her future is already all but settled. A young gentleman from Leicestershire—one of our neighbours—Ned Ascombe.”

“Indeed?” Jack politely raised his brows.

“Oh, yes,” his redoubtable hostess continued in a comfortably confiding vein. “But both my husband and I are firmly of the opinion that it does no good for a young girl to make her choice before…surveying the field, as it were.” With every appearance of ingenuousness, Lucilla explained, “The chosen suitor may be the same as before she looked but she, certainly, will feel much more assured that her choice is the right one if she’s given the opportunity to convince herself it is so.” Lucilla’s pale eyes swung to Jack’s face. “That’s why we’re so keen to give Clarissa a full Season—so that she’ll know her own mind.”

Jack met her level gaze. “And your niece?”

Lucilla frowned delicately but approval glimmered in her eyes. “Indeed. Sophie’s first Season was cut so very short it hardly signified. She was presented, and had her come-out and even braved the trial of Almack’s, but it was barely three weeks in all before my sister succumbed to a chill. So very tragic.”

Her sigh was sorrowful; Jack inclined his head and waited.

“So, you see, Mr. Lester,” Lucilla continued, raising her head to look him in the eye. “Both Mr. Webb and I hope very much that any gentleman who truly appreciates dear Sophie will allow her to have her Season this time.”

Jack held her coolly challenging gaze for what seemed like an age. Then, reluctantly, he inclined his head. “Indeed, ma’am,” he replied, his tone even. “Your arguments are hard to deny.” When it became clear his hostess was waiting for more, he added, his expression impassive, “Any gentleman who valued your niece would, I feel sure, abide by such wisdom.”

Gracious as ever, Lucilla smiled her approbation, then turned as the latch lifted. “Ah, there you are, Sophie.”

Smoothly, Jack rose and went forward, his eyes feasting on the vision hovering on the threshold. She had donned a forest green half-cape over her carriage dress, which was of a strange bronzy-gold shade with piping of the same dark green at collar and cuffs. Green gloves and green half-boots completed her outfit. Jack felt his lips soften in a smile; his Sophie was fashionable elegance incarnate.

Reassured by his smile, and the appreciative light in his eyes, Sophie smiled back and gave him her hand. Together, they turned to Lucilla.

“I will engage to take all care of your niece, Mrs. Webb.” Jack sent an arrogantly questioning glance across the room.

Lucilla studied the picture they made, and smiled. “I trust you will, Mr. Lester. But do not be too long; Lady Cowper is to call this afternoon, and we must later attend Lady Allingcott’s at-home.” With a graciously benevolent nod, she dismissed them.

It was not until they reached the Park and Jack let his horses stretch their legs that Sophie allowed herself to believe it was real. That she was, in truth, bowling along the well-tended carriageway with Jack Lester beside her. The brisk breeze, cool and playful, twined in her curls and tugged little wisps free to wreath about her ears. Above and about them, arched branches were swelling in bud; the sky, a clear, crisp blue, formed a backdrop for their nakedness. Slanting a glance at her companion, she wondered, not for the first time, just what he intended.

He had, most correctly, escorted her down the steps of her aunt’s house, then blotted his copybook by ignoring her hand and lifting her instead to his curricle’s seat. On taking his own seat beside her and being assured she was comfortable, he had smiled, a slow, proudly satisfied smile, and clicked the reins. The bustle in the streets had made conversation unwise; she had held her peace while they travelled the short distance to the gates of the Park.

Now, with the first fashionable carriages looming ahead, she said, her tone merely matter-of-fact, “I had not looked to see you so soon, sir.”

Jack glanced down at her. “I couldn’t keep away.” It was, he somewhat ruefully reflected, the literal truth. He had fully intended to allow the Webbs reasonable time to settle in the capital; instead, he had not been able to resist the compulsion to take Sophie for a drive, to show her the ton, and display her to them, safely anchored by his side. Staking his claim—and in such uncharacteristically blunt fashion that Sophie’s aunt had seen fit to metaphorically wag her finger at him. Even the weather was conspiring to make him rush on with his wooing, the bright sunshine more redolent of April and May than chilly March.

He had expected some confusion in response to his forthright answer. Instead, to his delight, Sophie raised her chin and calmly stated, “In that case, you may make yourself useful and tell me who all these people are. My aunt has had little time to fill me in, and there are many I don’t recognize.”