Thus it was that, admitted by a benignly beaming Minton, Jack, with Ned behind, came upon his golden head knee-deep in commotion. However, the expression of resigned calm on Sophie’s face assured him she was not about to succumb to the vapours, despite the din.
“Quiet, you vexatious imps!” His firm greeting immediately transformed said imps into angels.
Sophie struggled to keep her lips straight. Jack’s eyes lifted to meet hers and she lost the battle, her lips curving in a generous smile. “Good morning, sir. You see us almost ready.”
“Almost?” Taking her hand, Jack lifted an eyebrow, then turned to nod to Clarissa.
“My eldest cousin, Toby, has rejoined the family. He’s just gone to change.” Nodding to Ned, Sophie wondered if it would be possible to tug her fingers free of the warm clasp which held them trapped. Despite her firm intention to remain aloof, her heart, unreliable organ that it was whenever he was near, was accelerating. “Toby’s a keen rider and would not wish to miss our outing.”
“Naturally not,” Jack agreed, his gaze touching the children’s eager faces. “Not when we’ve such an august and intrepid company as shall make all the ton stare.”
He smiled as he made the statement, which was greeted with hoots from the younger Webbs. Sophie, however, was suddenly visited by a vision of how their cavalcade would appear to others in the Park. With a sudden sinking feeling, she realized that Lucilla, in her usual cryptic manner, had made no mention of the children.
As the children fell to fitting on their hats and gloves and swishing their skirts, Sophie lowered her voice to say, “Indeed, Mr. Lester, I would understand if you feel my aunt was not sufficiently open with you—she did not mention the children, and I dare say you will not care to be seen with such an entourage in the Park.”
Jack turned to regard her in genuine surprise. Then he smiled. “If I were a Tulip of the ton, I might be concerned. However, such as I am, I feel sure my standing is sufficient to weather being seen with the Webbs, en famille. Besides which, my dear, I like your cousins.”
Gazing up into his face, and seeing the gentle amusement therein, Sophie could not doubt his sincerity. It eased her mind and brought a calm smile back to her lips.
Which, to Jack’s mind, was a perfectly satisfactory recompense for the trouble he could see looming before him.
Then Toby came bounding down the stairs, his enthusiasm only slightly less than that of his younger siblings. Introduced to Jack, he wrung his hand good-naturedly, nodded to Ned with easy familiarity and suggested they be off.
By Jack’s side, Sophie was the last to quit the house. Standing at the top of the steps, she beheld a scene of veritable pandemonium. Luckily, her uncle’s grooms had come to hold the horses; used to their master’s children, the grooms did not blink as the youngsters rowdily mounted. As Jack drew her protectively closer, Sophie quieted 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.