“Ah-but if you don’t get an early night, you won’t be up in time to go shooting tomorrow.”
Sophie jumped. The deep, drawling voice brought goose-bumps to her skin. But both boys turned eagerly as Jack strolled out from the shadows.
“Shooting?”
“You mean you’ll take us?”
Jack raised a brow. “I don’t see why not. I was discussing the outing with your father earlier. If the rain eases, we should have tolerable sport.” Jack’s blue gaze flicked to Sophie, then returned to the boys’ glowing faces. “But you’d have to get an early night-and that, I fear, means dining in the nursery. Of course, if that’s beneath you…”
“Oh, no,” Jeremy assured him. “Not if we’re to go shooting tomorrow.”
George tugged his brother’s sleeve. “Come on. We’d better let Jack and Sophie get to dinner and go find ours before the twins scoff all the buns.”
Restored to good humour, the boys hurried off.
Sophie breathed a sigh of relief, then glanced up at Jack. “Thank you, Mr. Lester.”
For a moment, Jack’s gaze rested on her face, his expression impassive. Then he inclined his head. “Think nothing of it, my dear. Shall we?”
He gestured towards the stairs. With a nod, Sophie started forward. As they strolled the short distance in silence, she was excruciatingly aware of him, large and strong beside her, her skirts occasionally brushing his boots. He made no move to offer her his arm.
They descended the stairs and turned towards the drawing-room. Minton was hovering in the hall. “Could I have a word with you, miss?”
Sophie’s heart sank. “Yes, of course.” With a half smile for Jack, she glided across the tiles. “What is it?”
“It’s the footmen, miss. That’s to say-there aren’t any.” Looking supremely apologetic, Minton continued, “The old lady apparently didn’t see the need and Mrs. Webb didn’t imagine we’d need more. Even with old Smithers- that’s the old lady’s butler-there’ll only be two of us and that’ll make service very slow. Naughton-Mr. Webb’s man- said as he’d help, but still…”
Minton didn’t need to spell it out; Sophie wondered what next the evening had in store. Where on earth could she find footmen to wait at table at a minute’s notice “I don’t suppose the coachman…”
Minton looked his answer. “I’d rather have the maids. But you know how it’ll look, miss, having women wait at table.”
She did indeed. Sophie’s shoulders slumped.
“If I could make a suggestion?”
Sophie turned as Jack strolled forward. He glanced at her, his expression merely polite. “I couldn’t help overhearing. I suggest,” he said, addressing Minton. “That you ask my man, Pinkerton, to assist. Huntly’s man, too, will be well-trained, and Ainsley’s and Annerby’s. The rest I can’t vouch for, but Pinkerton will know.”
Minton’s worried expression cleared. “Just the ticket, sir. I’ll do that.” He bobbed to Sophie. “All under control, miss, never fear.” And with that, Minton hurried off.
Sophie knew a moment of blessed relief, superceded by the knowledge that more hurdles doubtless awaited her. She glanced up at Jack. “I have to thank you again, Mr. Lester. I would never have thought of such a solution; I only hope it serves.” The last was uttered softly, a slight frown playing about her brows.
Not a glimmer of expression showed on Jack’s face as, looking down, he studied hers. “Don’t worry. Such arrangements are not uncommon-no one will remark on it.”
From beneath her lashes, Sophie glanced up. “Thank you,” she murmured, a tentative smile touching her lips.
Jack’s hand closed about the knob of the drawing-room door. “After you, Miss Winterton.”
Sophie entered to find most of the company already assembled. She moved among the guests, seeing that all had everything they needed. Most had recovered from their soaking and regained their spirits. Only Mrs. Billingham and Mrs. Ellis, a delicate lady, had elected to take trays in their rooms. Clarissa was surrounded by her usual little band, Ned included. Her cousin had drawn the other younger ladies into the charmed circle; the sound of shy laughter now ran as a counterpoint to more sober conversations. Her uncle, together with the more mature gentlemen, was deep in discussion of the sport to be found in the vicinity.
Great-Aunt Evangeline provided an unexpected distraction. She had come down to examine the guests who had invaded her home. Blithely calling Sophie “Maria” and Clarissa “Lucilla,” she happily chatted with the ladies, her remarkable shawls threatening to trip her at every step.
When Minton announced dinner, the old lady squeezed Sophie’s arm. “I’ll take mine in my room, dear. Now remember, Maria-you’re in charge. Keep an eye on Lucilla, won’t you?” With a motherly pat, Great-Aunt Evangeline retired.
Dinner, as it transpired, posed no further problems. As one course was smoothly followed by the next, Sophie gradually relaxed. She had led the way into the dining-room on the Marquess of Huntly’s arm. He was now seated on her right with Lord Ainsley on her left. A hum of good-natured conversation hovered over the table; everyone was reasonably well acquainted and, so it seemed, determined to enjoy themselves. Further down the board, Belle Chessington had taken on the challenge posed by Mr. Somercote; she was bending his ear unmercifully. Sophie smiled and let her gaze travel on, to where Clarissa and Ned, together with Lord Swindon and Mr. Marley, were deep in discussion of some passingly serious subject. Beyond them, Jack Lester was devoting himself primarily to Mrs. Chessington. Sophie had seen him offer that lady his arm in the drawing-room even as she herself had placed her hand on the Marquess’s sleeve.
Rousing herself from her thoughts, Sophie conjured a smile and beamed at the marquess. “Do you intend to make one of the shooting party tomorrow, my lord?”
Once the covers were removed, Sophie led the ladies back to the drawing-room. The gentlemen were disposed to linger over their port, yet there was still an hour before the tea trolley was due when they strolled back into the room.
As ladies and gentlemen merged, then fractured into the inevitable smaller groups, Sophie wondered how to keep them amused. She hadn’t had time to organize any of the fashionable little games that were so much a part of country-house parties. She was cudgelling her brains for inspiration when Ned stopped by her chair.
“We thought we might try charades, Sophie. Jack mentioned it was all the thing for the younger crowd.”
Relieved, Sophie smiled. “By all means; that’s an excellent idea.”
She watched as Ned and Clarissa rounded up the younger members of the party and cleared an area of the large room. Many of the matrons seemed disposed to look on indulgently. Rising, Sophie glanced about-and found her uncle approaching.
Horatio beamed and took her hand. “You’re doing magnificently, my dear.” He squeezed her fingers, then released them. “Lester’s taken Huntly, Ainsley and Annerby off to try their luck at billiards. I’ll just go and have a word with Marston.” Horatio glanced about the drawing-room. “The rest I fear I’ll have to leave to you-but I’m sure you can manage.”
With Mr. Marston off her hands, Sophie was sure of it, too. Belle Chessington seemed reluctant to let Mr. Somercote escape, which left only Mr. Chartwell, Miss Billingham and a few relaxed matrons for her to take under her wing. Sophie smiled. “Indeed, Uncle, it seems we’ve contrived amazingly well.”
“Indeed.” Horatio grinned. “Your aunt will be delighted.”
TO SOPHIE’S RELIEF, the rain cleared overnight. The morning was damp and dismal, but sufficiently clement to allow the shooting party to proceed. By the time the ladies descended to the breakfast parlour, the gentlemen had taken themselves off. Even Mr. Marston had seized the opportunity to stretch his legs.
The ladies were content to stroll the gardens. Sophie went up to check on the twins and Amy. She eventually ran them to earth in the attics; their nurse, who had been with the Webbs for many years, had had the bright idea of turning them loose in such relatively safe surrounds. The trio were engaged in constructing a castle, later to be stormed. Great-Aunt Evangeline was with them. Sophie left them to it and went to look in on her aunt. She found Lucilla sleeping, which of itself spoke volumes. Mimms confirmed that her aunt’s indisposition had eased, but she was still very weak.
The gentlemen returned in time for luncheon, an informal meal at which their prowess with their guns was discussed and admired, the ladies smiling good-naturedly at claims of prizes flushed from coverts or taken on the wing.
