A Lady of Expectations - Stephanie Laurens 13 стр.


Horatio smiled his deceptive smile and rose. And now I must be off. He waited while Jack rang and gave orders for his horse to be brought round, then shook hands with his host. His eyes roving the room once more, he added, Its nice to see this place kept up. Its been in your family for some time, has it not?

Escorting Sophies amazing uncle to the door, Jack nodded. Five generations. All the Lester men have been bred to hunting.

As it should be, Horatio said, and meant far more than the obvious. Dont forget, he added, as he swung up to the back of his bay. Well look to see you in London.

Horatio nodded a last farewell and turned his horses head for home. As he urged the bay to a canter, a subtle smile curved his lips. He was well pleased with what he had found at Rawlings Cottage. Aside from all else, the Lesters were obviously planning on remaining a part of the landscape, here as much as in Berkshire.

Lucilla would be pleased.

BY THE TIME she returned from their ride, Sophie had a headache. As she was not normally prey to even such minor ailments, she felt the constraint deeply. As she preceded Clarissa into the back parlour, she massaged her temples in an effort to ease the throbbing ache behind them.

It was, of course, all Jack Lesters fault. If she hadnt spent half her time worrying about how she would respond if he joined them, and the other half scanning the horizon for his broad-shouldered frame, metaphorically looking over her shoulder all the way, she would doubtless have taken her customary enjoyment in the ride. Instead, she felt dreadful.

Throwing her riding cap onto a chair, she sank gratefully into the overstuffed armchair in the shadows by the hearth.

A pity Mr. Lester and Lord Percy didnt join us. Clarissa dropped onto the chaise, obviously ready to chat. I was sure that, after yesterday, they would be waiting at Ashes Hill.

Perhaps theyve already returned to London, Sophie suggested. The grounds certainly soft enough to send the tail-chasers back to town.

Tail-chasers was the family term for those gentlemen whose only purpose in coming to Melton Mowbray was to chase a foxs tail. At the first sign of the thaw, such gentlemen invariably deserted the packs for the more refined ambience of the tons gaming rooms.

Oh, but I dont think Mr. Lester and Lord Percy are tail-chasers, exactly. Not when they both ride such superb horses.

Sophie blinked and wondered if her headache was affecting her reason. What have their horses to do with it? she felt compelled to ask. All tail-chasers, ipso facto, must have horses.

But Clarissas mind was on quite a different track. Theyre both terribly elegant, arent they? Not just in the ballroom-well, everyone tries to be elegant there. But they both have that indefinable London polish, dont they?

Sophie openly studied her cousins lovely face. At the sight of the glowing expression inhabiting Clarissas 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 youve met at the local balls. And many are a great deal worse.

Maybe so, Clarissa allowed. But its 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! Im 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 cant wait to at least try my hand at flirting, and I positively cant wait to be ogled.

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As she squinted against the glare of the late afternoon sun, her narrowed vision filled with Clarissas svelte form, Sophie didnt 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 hadnt 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, arent 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, thats hardly the only criterion I have for choosing a husband.

So, what are your other criteria?

Squinting through her lashes, Sophie studied Clarissas 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 neednt be an Adonis. Not mean or stingy. And hed 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 thats 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, dont let your imagination fly away with you. Mr. Lesters presence here-and our meetings-have been occasioned by nothing more than coincidence.

Clarissa looked slightly surprised by her vehemence but, to Sophies intense relief, she forbore to argue. I expect something must have detained them today. Clarissas 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 well meet?

AS HE SAT DOWN to dinner that evening in the dining room of the cottage, Jack could have answered Clarissas 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 somethings come up. Before Percy could ask what, he added, And the weathers turned, so I think Ill do better to look in at Lester Hall before hying up to town.

There is that, Percy agreed knowledgeably. Grounds 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 Ill take a look in on the old man, Percy mused, his expression distant. Gets a bit obstreperous if we forget him. Ill 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 hed hauled Sophie from her stallions 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 Sophies 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. Isnt 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 gentlemans eye, and raised a coolly superior brow. The man smiled and bowed slightly, then turned back to his companions. Sophie slipped an arm through Clarissas. 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 Jorges choice, but it really does suit me, doesnt it?

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