Listening to the genial chatter, Sophie spared a thought for Lucilla’s expertise. Her aunt had selected her guests with a knowing hand; they had melded into a comfortable party despite the presence of such difficult elements as Mr. Marston and Mr. Somercote.
But by the end of the meal, the rain had returned, gusting in from the east in leaden sheets. By unvoiced consensus, the gentlemen retired to the library or billiard room, while the ladies took possession of the morning- room and parlour, to chat in little groups ensconced in the comfortable armchairs or wander in the adjoining conservatory.
With everyone settled, Sophie went to the kitchens to confer with Cook. Belowstairs, she stumbled on an army, the depleted ranks of Aunt Evangeline’s aged servitors swelled beyond imagining by the maids, coachmen and valets of the guests, as well as the doyens of the Webb household. But all seemed to be cheery, the bulk of the men gathered about the huge fire in the kitchen. Minton, beaming, assured her all was well.
Climbing back up the stairs, her chores completed, Sophie decided she could justifiably seize a moment for herself. The conservatory had proved a most amazing discovery; it was huge and packed with ferns and flowering creepers, many of kinds Sophie had not before seen. She had had time for no more than a glimpse; now, she pushed open the glass door and slipped into the first avenue, half an hour of peace before her.
As the greenery surrounded her, Sophie closed her eyes and breathed deeply. The humid scent of rich earth and green leaves, of growing things, tinged with the faint perfume of exotic flowers, filled her senses. A smile hovered on her lips.
“There you are, Miss Winterton.”
Sophie’s eyes flew open; her smile vanished. Swallowing a most unladylike curse, she swung round to see Mr. Marston advancing purposefully upon her. As usual, he was frowning.
“Really, Miss Winterton, I cannot tell you how very displeased I am to find you here.”
Sophie blinked; one of her brows rose haughtily. “Indeed, sir?”
“As you should
Sophie straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eye. “I fear, sir, that I cannot allow you to malign my uncle, who, as everyone knows, takes exceptional care of me. In truth, I cannot follow your reasoning at all.”
Mr. Marston appeared to have difficulty restraining himself. “What I mean, Miss Winterton,” he finally replied, his tones glacially condemnatory, “is that I am
Sophie hung onto her patience. “Mr. Marston, may I point out that I am in my great-aunt’s house, within easy call not only of servants but many others whom I consider friends? Is it not all the same thing as if I had chosen to walk the pavements of Covent Garden unattended?”
Mr. Marston’s grey eyes narrowed; his lips were set in a thin line. “You are mistaken, Miss Winterton. No lady can afford to play fast and loose with her reputation by courting-”
“Really, Marston. No need to bore Miss Winterton to tears by reciting the Young Ladies’ Catechism. They all have to learn it by heart before being admitted to Almack’s, you know.” Jack strolled forward, green leaves brushing his shoulders. His expression was easy and open, but Sophie saw a glint of something harder in his eyes.
The sudden rush of mixed emotions-relief, nervousness and anticipation among them-on top of her rising temper, left her momentarily giddy. But she turned back to Mr. Marston, lifting her chin challengingly. “Mr. Lester is correct, sir. I assure you I need no lectures on such topics.”
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 pursue 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.
