A Lady of Expectations

Sophie openly studied her cousin’s lovely face. At the sight of the glowing expression inhabiting Clarissa’s clear eyes, she stifled a groan. “Clarissa-please believe me-not all London gentlemen are like Lord Percy and Mr. Lester. Some of them are no better than… than any of the young gentlemen you’ve met at the local balls. And many are a great deal worse.”

“Maybe so,” Clarissa allowed. “But it’s an indisputable fact that both Mr. Lester and Lord Percy put all the gentlemen hereabouts to shame.”

Sophie closed her eyes and wished she could argue.

Clarissa rose, eyes shining, and twirled about the room. “Oh, Sophie! I’m so looking forward to being surrounded by all the swells-the dandies, the town beaux, even the fops. It will be so thrilling to be sought after by such gentlemen, to be twitted and teased-in a perfectly acceptable way, of course.” Clarissa dipped and swirled closer. “And I know,” she continued, lowering her voice, “that one is not supposed to say so, but I can’t wait to at least try my hand at flirting, and I positively can’t wait to be ogled.”

As she squinted against the glare of the late afternoon sun, her narrowed vision filled with Clarissa’s svelte form, Sophie didn’t think her cousin would have all that long to wait. She should, she supposed, make a push to bring Clarissa back to earth, and defend the local young gentlemen, Ned in particular. If she hadn’t been feeling so ill, she would have. But with her head throbbing so, and her mind still tangled in her own confusion, she doubted she could find sufficient words to succeed.

“But what of you, Sophie?” Abruptly, Clarissa turned from rapt contemplation of her rosy future and plumped down on the chaise close by. “After his dramatically chivalrous rescue yesterday, aren’t you just a little bit taken with Mr. Lester?”

Sophie let her lids fall; Clarissa, when she put her mind to it, could be quite as perspicacious as her mother. “Indeed,” she forced herself to say. “Mr. Lester was everything that is gallant. However, that’s hardly the only criterion I have for choosing a husband.”

“So, what are your other criteria?”

Squinting through her lashes, Sophie studied Clarissa’s grin. Her cousin, she reluctantly concluded, was unlikely to be diverted by any prevarication. “A liking for children,” she stated. An obvious test; one, she suspected, Jack Lester would pass. He had handled Amy very well, and the boys, too. “And a sense of humour.” He had that, too, reprehensible though it might sometimes be.

“And I would want a man who was steady and reliable, not given to fits of temper.” Now that was a prerequisite her knight in shining armour might have trouble complying with. Rakes, she had always understood, were totally unreliable. Becoming absorbed with her catalogue, Sophie frowned. “Sufficiently handsome, although he needn’t be an Adonis. Not mean or stingy. And he’d have to be able to waltz. There,” she concluded, opening her eyes fully and fixing Clarissa with a mock glare. “Are you satisfied?”

Clarissa laughed and clapped her hands, making Sophie wince. “But that’s famous! Mr. Lester might be just the man for you.”

Abruptly, Sophie stood, disguising the sudden movement with a little laugh. “I pray you, Clarissa, don’t let your imagination fly away with you. Mr. Lester’s presence here-and our meetings-have been occasioned by nothing more than coincidence.”

Clarissa looked slightly surprised by her vehemence but, to Sophie’s intense relief, she forbore to argue. “I expect something must have detained them today.” Clarissa’s tone suggested she could see no other likelihood. As she fell to neatly folding the ribbons of her hat, she added, “I wonder when next we’ll meet?”

AS HE SAT DOWN to dinner that evening in the dining room of the cottage, Jack could have answered Clarissa’s question without further thought. He was leaving Leicestershire on the morrow. Early.

He said as much to Percy, taking his seat on his right hand.

“What brought that on? Thought you were fixed here for another few weeks?”

“So did I,” Jack returned. “But something’s come up.” Before Percy could ask what, he added, “And the weather’s turned, so I think I’ll do better to look in at Lester Hall before hying up to town.”

“There is that,” Percy agreed knowledgeably. “Ground’s softening up. Not many good runs left in the season.”

Jack nodded, unexpectedly grateful for the thaw. As he rode very heavy, the going for his mounts would become noticeably harder in the coming weeks.

“Think I’ll take a look in on the old man,” Percy mused, his expression distant. “Gets a bit obstreperous if we forget him. I’ll go and do my filial duty, then meet you in town.”

Jack nodded again, his mind busy with his plans. There was no need to hurry up to town. The Webbs would not be receiving for at least another week.

His decision to quit the field in Leicestershire was prompted by a firm conviction that such a scene as had occurred when he’d hauled Sophie from her stallion’s back could not be repeated. However, thanks to the incident, he was now on good terms with the Webbs and had been all but commanded to call, once in town. Assuming Mrs. Webb approved, there would, he felt sure, be no impediment placed in his path should he desire to further his interest with Sophie in the usual way.

It was his first, albeit small, advance.

However, given his turbulent and presently unpredictable reactions, it seemed the course of wisdom to suspend all further activity until his golden head was safe in the bosom of the ton. His home ground, as it were.

The strictures of Society reached a pinnacle of stringency in London-the strict mores and unwavering practices would undoubtedly prove sufficiently rigid to ensure his wooing followed acceptable paths.

So, for her sake, and, he reluctantly admitted, his own, he had determined to forgo the sight of Sophie’s fair face until she appeared in London.

It would be safer for everyone that way.

CHAPTER FIVE

CLIMBING THE STAIRS of Entwhistle House, Sophie looked about her, at the silks and satins, the jewels and curls, and knew she was back in the ton. About her, the refined accents and dramatic tones of the elite of society, engaged in their favourite pastime, drowned out the plaintive strains of a violin, struggling through from the ballroom ahead. Immediately in front of her, Lucilla, clad in an exquisite gown of deep blue silk overlaid with figured lace, forged steadily onward, stopping only to exchange greetings with the acquaintances, both close and distant, who constantly hailed her.

Close beside Sophie, Clarissa frankly stared. “Isn’t it wonderful?” she breathed. “So many beautiful gowns. And the men look just as I imagined-precise to a pin. Some are very handsome, are they not?”

As she whispered the words, Clarissa caught the eye of an elegant buck, who, noticing her wide-eyed stare, ogled her shamelessly. Clarissa blushed and retreated behind her fan.

Following her gaze, Sophie caught the gentleman’s eye, and raised a coolly superior brow. The man smiled and bowed slightly, then turned back to his companions. Sophie slipped an arm through Clarissa’s. “Indeed, and you look very handsome, too, so you must expect to be ogled, you know. The best way to deal with such attentions is to ignore them.”

“Is it?” Clarissa sent a cautious glance back at the gentleman, now fully engaged with his friends. Relieved, she relaxed and looked down at her gown, a delicate affair in palest aquamarine muslin, a demure trim of white lace about the neckline and tiny puffed sleeves. “I must admit, I did wonder at Madame Jorge’s choice, but it really does suit me, doesn’t it?”

“As that gentleman has just confirmed,” Sophie replied. “I told you you should never argue with Madam Jorge. Aside from anything else, it’s wasted breath.”

Clarissa giggled. “I never imagined she would be like that.”

Looking ahead, Sophie smiled. They had quit Leicestershire on Friday, spending two nights on the road in a stately progress that had delivered them up in Mount Street on Sunday afternoon. The rest of that day had gone in