her misgivings with the reflection that, once on horseback, she would not have to deal with her apparently inevitable reactions to his nearness. Riding, when all was said and done, should be safe enough.
It was not until they paused beside Dulcima that Sophie realized that there were hurdles, even when riding in London. Hurdles such as gaining her saddle atop the tall mare.
Jack, of course, saw no obstacle before him. He placed his hands about Sophie’s slim waist and easily lifted her up.
Gently deposited in her saddle, Sophie tried to hide her blush, vowing to make a special effort, as of today, to stop reacting that way to his touch. Her heart was thudding madly; the tension within her had twisted tight. She felt the warmth of Jack’s blue gaze upon her face but refused to meet it. By the time she had settled her skirts, he had swung up to the saddle of his black and the party was ready to depart.
Determined to appear unaffected by his proximity, she forced herself to look up and smile. She watched as Jack brought his sleek black alongside her mare; with the others ranged neatly before them, they brought up the rear of the procession as it clattered, eager but restrained, down Mount Street, towards the leafy precincts of the Park.
Grateful to feel her cheeks cool once more, Sophie kept her gaze fixed ahead. Jack’s black swung his head towards Dulcima’s, then snorted and shook his mane, setting his harness jingling. Dulcima calmly trotted on. The black repeated the manoeuvre, this time nudging Dulcima’s shoulder. Sophie frowned. Four paces on, as the black turned to her mare again, Dulcima whinnied and tossed her head.
“Mr. Lester.” Sophie felt compelled to support her mare’s protest. She turned to Jack, gesturing to the black. “Your horse, sir.”
Jack’s expression turned rueful. He obligingly tightened his reins, leaning forward to pat the black’s glossy neck. “Never mind, old boy. Delicately reared ladies are always the hardest to win over. Pretend they don’t even see one. I know just how you feel.”
For an instant, Sophie’s mind went quite blank. Finding her gaze locked with Jack’s, she glared at him. Then, with a toss of her head that came perilously close to mimicking her mare, she looked straight ahead, thereby proving Jack’s point.
To her immense relief, the gates of the Park appeared ahead. They entered and proceeded down a ride at a leisurely pace, glorying in the sunshine that continued to defy all predictions. About them, the rich smell of warming earth spiced the air, while birds trilled in the branches arching high overhead.
Glancing at Sophie, Jack inwardly smiled. Prey to an unnerving uncertainty, he had not again called to take her driving. But their stroll in the Park had reassured him, even though she had pulled back the instant he had drawn closer. Feminine nerves-that was the problem. He would just have to bide his time, and give her time to grow accustomed to his interest, to become more at ease with him.
So, holding his restless black to a sedate walk, he ambled beside her, his thoughts filled not with the joys of burgeoning spring, but with resigned acceptance of the tales that would no doubt be told in his clubs that night. He consoled himself with the reflection that, as his pursuit of Sophie would keep him in the ballrooms for most of the Season, he would not be spending much time at his clubs.
And if his pursuit of his bride did not keep him sufficiently busy, there was always his self-imposed task of keeping Ned Ascombe from doing himself an injury.
“I dare say the preparations for your coming-out ball must be exercising your imagination, Miss Webb.” Jack cut across Ned to put a stop to what, to his experienced eyes, had been all too much like backsliding.
Caught out, reminded of the role he had been instructed it was in his best interests to play, Ned looked guilty.
“Yes, indeed,” Clarissa readily replied. “But Mama had taken care of all the details. The theme is to be classical, although personally I would rather have had the Rites of Spring. But Mama held that that has been quite done to death these last years.”
Clarissa glanced at Ned.
“I’m sure Mrs. Webb knows what’s best” was his verdict.
Sophie bit her lip.
After a moment’s blank astonishment, Clarissa stiffened slightly. When no expression of empathetic understanding joined Ned’s bare statement, she pointedly looked ahead.
Jack grinned and drew back, sure Ned would not again lapse into his habitually easy relationship with Clarissa. At least, not today.
“Are we allowed to gallop in the Park sir?” Toby brought his bay hunter up alongside Jack’s black.
At twenty, brown-haired and blue-eyed with the same innate elegance that characterized Lucilla, Toby struck Jack as the sort to be up to all the usual larks, yet wise enough to avoid the grief that often overtook his peers. There was a glimmer of wisdom already detectable in his blue-grey eyes. No doubt, Jack mused, he had inherited his parents’ brains. “You and your younger brothers and sister could conceivably do so. However, neither Miss Webb nor Miss Winterton would be wise to attempt the feat.”
Toby wrinkled his nose. “The usual stuffy notions?”
Jack nodded. “As you say.”
Lifting a brow at Sophie, and seeing her smile, Toby grinned ruefully. “Sorry, Sophie.” Then, turning to his younger siblings, he waved his quirt and challenged, “Last to the oak at the other end of the turf gets to tell Mama what happened today!”
His three juniors responded immediately. All four thundered off.
Exchanging an indulgent smile, Jack and Sophie set their horses into a mild canter in their wake. Ned and Clarissa fell in behind. As they broke from the cover of the long ride and slowed, Sophie noticed their presence was attracting considerable interest. She did her best to appear unaware, until she realized that surprise was the predominant emotion on the faces of the gentlemen they passed.
Turning, she lifted a brow at her companion.
Jack smiled. “I fear I’m not noted for escorting boisterous families on jaunts through the Park.”
“Oh.” Uncertain, Sophie blinked up at him.
“I don’t regret it in the least,” Jack supplied, his smile somewhat wry. “But, tell me, my dear Miss Winterton, if you had to make the choice, would it be town or country for you?”
“Country,” Sophie immediately replied. “Town is pleasant enough, but only…” she paused, putting her head on one side, “as a short period of contrast.” After a moment, she shook herself free of her thoughts and urged Dulcima into a trot. “But what of you, sir? Do you spend much time in the country?”
Glancing down at Sophie’s face, Jack added, “I fully intend to resuscitate the estate. I know what’s needed; now it’s simply a matter of getting things done.”
A steel vice closed about Sophie’s heart. She let her lids veil her eyes. Her features frozen in an expression of rapt attention, she inclined her head.
Encouraged, Jack briefly described those improvements he felt most urgent. “I think it has something to do with being the one to inherit the land,” he concluded. “I feel an attachment-a responsibility-now that it’s virtually mine. I know Harry feels the same about the stud farm, which will one day be his.”
Woodenly Sophie nodded, clutching her reins tightly. From her experience of her father’s estates, she knew the cost of Jack’s dreams. His words settled, a leaden weight about her heart.
Distraction arrived in a most unexpected form. A brusque hail had them drawing rein; turning, they beheld Mr. Marston astride a showy dun trotting quickly towards them. As he approached, Sophie inwardly admitted that Phillip Marston looked his best on horseback; his best, however, had never been sufficient to raise her pulse. Now, with her expectations conditioned by the likes of Jack Lester, she knew it never would.
