Jack’s answering smile lit his eyes. “Miss Winterton.” He bowed gracefully over her hand, then, straightening, looked down at her. “Sophie.”
Sophie’s serene expression did not waver as she drew her gaze from his; she had had practice enough in the past few days in keeping her emotions in check. Seeing Ned, who had followed his mentor into the room, turn from Lucilla to make his way to Clarissa’s side, Sophie glanced up at her companion. “Ned has told me how much you have done for him, even to the extent of putting him up. It’s really very kind of you.”
Having drunk his fill of Sophie’s elegance, Jack reluctantly looked out over the room. Tonight, his golden head appeared warm yet remote, priestess-like in a classically styled ivory sheath, draped from one shoulder to fall in long lines to the floor. Forcing himself to focus on his protégé, Jack shrugged. “It’s no great thing. The house is more than large enough, and the proximity increases the time we have to…polish his address.”
Sophie arched a sceptical brow. “Is that what you term it?”
Jack smiled. “Polish is all Ned needs.”
Sophie slanted him a glance. “And that’s the secret of gentlemanly success—polish?”
Jack looked down at her. “Oh no, my dear.” His gaze grew more intent. “Such as I, with more sophisticated game in sight, often need recourse to…weapons of a different calibre.”
Sophie tilted her chin. “Indeed, sir? But I was thanking you for helping Ned—and must also convey all our thanks for your assistance this morn. How we would have coped had you not removed Jeremy, George and Amy from the house, I simply do not know.”
Meeting his eyes, Sophie smiled serenely.
Jack smiled back. “As I’ve told you before, your cousins are the most engaging urchins; playing nursemaid, as Marston had it, is no great undertaking. I trust all came right in the end?”
With Ned in tow, Jack had arrived on the Webbs’ doorstep that morning, as he had for the past two, to find the house in the grip of the usual mayhem coincident with a major ball. Knowing neither Sophie nor Clarissa would be free, he and Ned had nevertheless offered to take the youngsters to the Park—a boon to all as, with the house full of caterers, florists and the like, and the servants rushed off their feet, the youthful trio had been proving a severe trial. They had already caused havoc by pulling the bows on the sheaves of flowers the florists had prepared all undone, then been threatened with incarceration when they had discovered the pleasures of skidding across the newly polished ballroom floor.
“Yes, thank Heaven,” Sophie replied, watching further arrivals greet her aunt. “I don’t know how Aunt Lucilla manages to keep it all straight in her head. But the storm and tempest did eventually abate, leaving order where before there was none.”
Jack’s grin was wry. “I’m sure your aunt’s order is formidable.”
Sophie smiled. “I rather suspect the ball tonight ranks as one of her more spectacular undertakings.”
“With both your cousin and yourself to launch, it’s hardly surprising that she’s pulled out all stops.”
Sophie blinked, her smile fading slightly. Then, with determined brightness, she inclined her head. “Indeed. And both Clarissa and I are determined she will not be disappointed.”
A subtle reminder that she, too, was expected to find a husband. Just as he would have to find a wife. Sophie was all too well aware that, through shared moments, shared laughter and some indefinable attraction, she and Jack Lester had drawn far closer than was common between gentlemen and ladies who remained merely friends. Nevertheless, that was all they could be, and the time was fast approaching when their disparate destinies would prevail. She was steeling herself to face the prospect.
“Sophia, my dear!” Lady Entwhistle bustled up, her silk skirts shushing. “You look positively radiant, my dear—doesn’t she, Henry?”
“Set to take the shine out of the younger misses, what?” Lord Entwhistle winked at Sophie, then shook her hand.
“And Mr. Lester, too—how fortunate.” Her ladyship presented her hand and looked on with approval as Jack bowed over it. “A pleasure to see you again, sir.
I hear Lady Asfordby’s in town; have you run into her yet?”
Jack’s eyes briefly touched Sophie’s. “I have not yet had that pleasure, ma’am.”
“A deuced shame about the hunting, what?” Lord Entwhistle turned to Jack. “Not that you younger men care—just change venues, far as I can see.” His lordship cast a genial eye over the room.
“As you say, sir,” Jack replied. “I fear there are few foxes to be found in London, so naturally we’re forced to shift our sights.”
“What’s that? Forced? Hah!” His lordship was in fine fettle. “Why, I’ve always heard the tastiest game’s to be found in the capital.”
Sophie struggled to keep her lips straight.
“Really, Henry!” Her ladyship unfurled her fan with an audible click.
“But it’s true,” protested Lord Entwhistle, not one whit abashed. “Just ask Lester here. Few would know better than he. What say you, m’boy? Don’t the streets of London offer richer rewards than the fields of Leicestershire?”
“Actually,” Jack replied, his gaze returning to Sophie, “I’m not sure I would agree with you, sir. I must confess I’ve recently discovered unexpected treasure in Leicestershire, after a year in the ton’s ballrooms had yielded nothing but dross.”
For an instant, Sophie could have sworn the world had stopped turning; for a moment, she basked in the glow that lit Jack Lester’s eyes. Then reality returned, and with it awareness—of the conjecture in Lord Entwhistle’s eyes, the startled look on her ladyship’s face, and the role she herself had to play. Smoothly, she turned to Lady Entwhistle. “I do hope Mr. Millthorpe has found his feet in London. Will he be here tonight?”