His place in the doorway was immediately filled by Miss Ellis and her mother, closely followed by Mr. Marston, Lord Swindon and Lord Thurstow. Of them all, only Mr. Marston, clad in a heavy, old-fashioned travelling cloak, was less than drenched. Sophie left the marquess; she tugged the bell-pull twice, vigorously, then hurried forward to help the others out of their soaked coats.
Mentally reviewing the guest list, she thought most had now arrived.
Mr. Marston moved to intercept her, unwrapping his cloak as he came. He was frowning. “What’s this, Miss Winterton? Where is your aunt?”
His question, uttered in a stern and reproving tone, silenced all other conversation. The latest arrivals glanced about, noting Lucilla’s absence. Suppressing a curse, Sophie launched into her explanation. Mr. Marston did not, however, allow her to get to her reassurances. He cut across her smooth delivery to announce, “A sad mischance indeed. Well—there’s nothing for it—we’ll all have to return to town. Can’t possibly impose on the family with your aunt so gravely ill. And, of course, there are the proprieties to consider.”
For an instant, silence held sway. The others all looked to Sophie.
With an effort, Sophie kept her smile in place. “I assure you, Mr. Marston, that my aunt has nothing more than a cold. She would be most unhappy if such a trifling indisposition were to cause the cancellation of this party. And with my great-aunt, my uncle and Mrs. Chessington and the other matrons all present, I really don’t think the proprieties are in any danger of being breached. Now,” she went on, smiling around at the others, “if you would like to retire to your chambers and get dry—”
“You’ll pardon me, Miss Winterton, but I must insist that you fetch your uncle. I cannot be easy in my mind ov
er this most peculiar suggestion that the party proceed as planned.” Supercilious as ever, Phillip Marston drew himself up. “I really must insist that Mr. Webb be consulted at once. It is hardly a minor matter.”
An utterly stunned silence ensued.
It was broken by a stupendous thunderclap—then the night outside lit up. The blaze in the forecourt threw the shadow of a man deep into the hall.
As the brilliance beyond the door died, Sophie, along with everyone else, blinked at the newcomer.
“As usual, Marston, you’re mistaken,” Jack drawled as he strolled forward. “Mrs. Webb’s indisposition undoubtedly is, as Miss Winterton has assured us, entirely minor. Our kind hostess will hardly thank you for making an issue of it.”
A most peculiar frisson frizzled its way along Sophie’s nerves. She could not drag her gaze from the tall figure advancing across the floor towards her. The long folds of his many-caped greatcoat were damp, but it was clear he, alone amongst the gentlemen invited, had been wise enough to come in a closed carriage. Beneath the greatcoat, his dark coat and breeches were dry and, as usual, immaculate.
With his usual grace, he bowed over her hand. “Good evening, Miss Winterton. I trust I see you well?”
Sophie’s mind froze. She had convinced herself he wouldn’t come, that she would never see him again. Instead, here he was, arriving like some god from the darkness outside, sweeping difficulties like Mr. Marston aside. But his expression was impassive; his eyes, as they touched her face, held no particular warmth. Sophie’s heart contracted painfully.
Glancing about, Jack bestowed a charming smile on the other, much damper, guests. “But pray don’t let me detain you from giving succour to these poor unfortunates.” His smile robbed the term of any offence.
Gently, he squeezed Sophie’s hand.
Sophie dragged in a sharp breath. She retrieved her hand and pinned a regal smile to her lips. “If you and Mr. Marston don’t mind, I shall see these others to their rooms.”
Still smiling, Jack politely inclined his head; Phillip Marston hesitated, frowning, then nodded curtly.
Determinedly calm, Sophie moved forward to deal with the last of her aunt’s guests. As she did so, Ned slipped in through the door. He grinned at her. “Shall I shut it? Jack was sure we’d be last.”
Sophie smiled and nodded. “Please.” As she helped Minton ease Lord Thurstow from his sodden coat, she wondered whether Jack Lester had purposely arrived last for greatest effect—or whether his lateness was a reflection of reluctance.
The heavy door clanged shut on the wild night; to Sophie, it’s resounding thud sounded like the knell of an inescapable doom.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SHE BARELY HAD TIME to scramble into an evening gown and brush out her curls before the dinner gong sounded, echoing hollowly through the long corridors. The meal had already been put back twice to accommodate the travellers and their recuperation.
With a last distracted glance at her mirror, Sophie hurried out. The corridor was dark and gloomy, the ubiquitous wood panelling deepening the shadows cast by the candles in the wall sconces. Feet flying over the worn carpet, Sophie turned a corner only to find a cordon, formed by two determined figures, across her path.
Jeremy frowned, threatening sulky. “We can come down to dinner, can’t we, Sophie?”
Sophie blinked.
“It’s not as if we’d cause any ruckus,” George assured her.
“It’s boring here, Sophie. Having dinner with Amy and the twins—well, it’s just not fair.” Jeremy’s jaw jutted pugnaciously.
“It’s not as if we’re children.” George fixed his blue eyes on her face and dared her to contradict him.