She made the comment in an even voice, giving Mr. Marston the opportunity to retreat gracefully. He, however, seemed more intent on glowering at Jack, a futile gesture for, as she shifted her gaze to her rescuer’s face, Sophie found he was watching her.
She would have given a great deal, just then, for one of his smiles. Instead, he simply bowed, urbanely elegant, and offered her his arm. “I came to collect you, my dear. The tea trolley has just been brought in.”
Sophie tried a small smile of her own and placed her fingers on his sleeve.
Phillip Marston snorted. “Ridiculous! Taking lessons in comportment from a—” He broke off as he met Jack’s gaze.
One of Jack’s brows slowly rose. “You were saying, Marston?”
The quiet question made Phillip Marston glower even more. “Nothing, nothing. If you’ll excuse me, Miss Winterton, I find I am not in the mood for tea.” With a curt bow, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the greenery.
Sophie didn’t bother to stifle her sigh. “Thank you again, Mr. Lester. I must apologize for Mr. Marston. I fear he’s labouring under a misapprehension.”
As they strolled towards the parlour, Sophie glanced up at her knight-errant. He was looking down at her, his expression enigmatic.
“No need for apologies, my dear. Indeed, I bear Marston no ill-will. Strange to say, I know just how he feels.”
Sophie frowned, but she got no chance to p
ursue his meaning; the tea trolley and the bulk of her aunt’s guests were waiting.
* * *
WHEN SOPHIE AWOKE the next morning, and tentatively peeked out from under the covers, she was met by weak sunshine and a pale, blue-washed sky. She relaxed back against her pillows, feeling decidedly more confident than she had the morning before.
The previous evening had passed off smoothly, much in the manner of the first. The only exceptions had been the behaviour of her suitors, who, one and all, had recovered from the dampening effects of their arrival and were once more attempting to pay court to her. That and the behaviour of the elder Miss Billingham, who had all but thrown herself at Jack Lester.
Sophie grimaced, her eyes narrowing. After a moment, she shook herself. And rose to meet the day.
She looked in on Lucilla on her way downstairs. Her aunt was sitting up in bed sipping her morning cocoa. “Indeed, I would love to see how things are progressing, but I still feel quite weak.” Lucilla pulled a face. “Maybe this evening?”
“You will remain abed until you are well,” declared Horatio, coming through the door with a laden tray.
Leaving her aunt to her husband’s fond care, Sophie descended to the breakfast parlour. There, her suitors lay in waiting.
“This kedgeree is quite remarkable, m’dear,” offered the marquess. “Quite remarkable.”
“Perhaps you would care for some bacon and an egg or two, Miss Winterton?” Mr. Chartwell lifted the lid of a silver platter and glanced at her enquiringly.
Sophie smiled on them all, and managed to install herself between Mr. Somercote, engaged in silent communication with Belle Chessington, who was chattering enough for them both, and Mrs. Chessington, who smiled understandingly.
Further down the board, Jack was apparently absorbed with Mrs. Ellis and her daughter. Beside him, Ned was chatting to Clarissa, Lord Swindon and Mr. Marley openly eavesdropping. Sophie hid a smile at her cousin’s rapt expression.
She escaped the breakfast parlour unencumbered, using the pretext of having to check on her younger cousins. Jeremy and Gerald had been tired out by a day in woods and fields; they had happily eaten with Amy and the twins the night before. When she reached the nursery she was greeted by an unnatural silence, which was explained by Nurse when she hunted that worthy down. The children had been taken on a long ride by the grooms; peace, therefore, was very likely assured. Smiling with both relief and satisfaction, Sophie descended—into the arms of her suitors.
The marquess took the lead. “My dear Miss Winterton, may I interest you in a stroll about the gardens? I believe there are some early blooms in the rose garden.”
“Or perhaps you would rather stroll about the lake?” Mr. Chartwell directed a quelling look at the marquess.
“There’s a very pretty folly just the other side of the birch grove,” offered Lord Ainsley. “Nice prospect and all that.”
Mr. Marston merely frowned.
Sophie resisted the urge to close her eyes and invoke the gods. Instead, she favoured them all with a calm smile. “Indeed, but why don’t we all go together? The gardens, after all, are not that large; doubtless we can see the rose garden, the lake and the folly before lunch.”
They mumbled and shot frowning glances at each other but, of course, they had to agree. Satisfied she had done what she could to improve the situation, Sophie resigned herself to an hour or two’s insipid conversation. At least she would get some fresh air.
As they wandered the lawns and vistas, they came upon little groups of their companions likewise employed. They nodded and smiled, calling out information on the various sights to be found, then continued with their ambles. In the distance, Sophie saw the unmistakable figure of Jack Lester, escorting Mrs. Ellis and Mrs. Doyle. Neither lady had her daughter with her, but Miss Billingham the elder had attached herself to the group. Viewing the gown of quite hideous puce stripes that that young lady had donned, along with a chip bonnet from under which she cast sly glances up at Jack Lester, Sophie gritted her teeth and looked elsewhere. To her mind, her own walking gown of pale green was far superior to Miss Billingham’s attire, and she would never cast sheep’s eyes at any man—particularly not Jack Lester.