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 to 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.