Swallowing a humph, Sophie airily remarked, “The light is quite hazy, is it not?”
Her court immediately agreed, and spent the next five minutes telling her so.
Nevertheless, the brightness seemed to have gone out of her day. Not even the spectacle of her suitors vying for the right to hand her up the steps could resuscitate her earlier mood. She forced herself to smile and trade quips throughout luncheon but, as soon as the meal was over and it became clear that the guests were quite content, she escaped.
Donning a light cloak, she gathered her embroidery into a small basket and slipped out of the morning-room windows.
* * *
IN THE SMALL summer-house at the very end of the birch grove, hidden from the house by the shrubbery, Jack paced back and forth, his expression decidedly grim. He wasn’t all that sure what he was doing at Little Bickmanstead. He had taken refuge in the summer-house—refuge from Miss Billingham, who seemed convinced he was just waiting to make her an offer.
Not a likely prospect this side of hell freezing over—but she did not seem capable of assimilating that fact.
It was another woman who haunted him, leaving him with a decision to make. A pressing decision. Sophie’s suitors were becoming daily more determined. While it was clear she harboured no real interest in them, she had declared her requirement for funds and they each had plenty to offer. It could only be a matter of time before she accepted one of them.
With a frustrated sigh, Jack halted before one of the open arches of the summer-house and gripped the low sill; unseeing, he gazed out over the wilderness. He still wanted Sophie—regardless.
A movement caught his eye. As he watched, Sophie came into view, picking her way along the meandering path that led to the summer-house.
Slowly, Jack smiled; it seemed for the first time in days, Fate had finally remembered him, and his golden head.
Then he saw the figure moving determinedly in Sophie’s wake. Jack cursed. His gaze shifted to the left, to the other path out, but the thought of leaving Sophie to deal with Marston alone occurred, only to be dismissed. Besides, Horatio had had to leave for Southampton on business immediately after lunch; it was, Jack decided, undoubtedly his duty to keep watch over his host’s niece.
Glancing about, he noticed a small door in the back wall of the summer-house. Opened, it revealed a small room, dark and dim, in which were stored croquet mallets, balls and hoops. Shifting these aside, Jack found he could stand in the deep shadow thrown by the door and keep the interior of the summer-house in view. Propping one shoulder against a shelf, he settled into the dimness.
On reaching the summer-house, Sophie climbed the stairs, listlessness dogging her steps. With a soft sigh, she placed her basket on the small table in the centre of the floor. She was turning to view the scene from the arch when footsteps clattered up the steps behind her.
“Miss Winterton.”
In the instant before she turned to face Phillip Marston, Sophie permitted herself an expressive grimace. Irritation of no mean order, frustration and pure chagrin all had a place in it. Then she swung about, chilly reserve in her glance. “Mr. Marston.”
“I must protest, Miss Winterton. I really cannot condone your habit of slipping away unattended.”
“I wasn’t aware I was a sheep, nor yet a babe, sir.”
Phillip Marston frowned harder. “Of course not. But you’re a lady of some attraction and you would do well to bear that in mind. Particularly with the likes of Mr. Lester about.”
Her accents frigid, Sophie stated, “We will, if you please, leave my aunt’s other guests out of this discussion, sir.”
With his usual superior expression, Mr. Marston inclined his head. “Indeed, I’m fully in agreement with you there, my dear. In fact, it was precisely the idea of leaving your aunt’s other guests entirely that has prompted me to seek you out.”
Sophie felt her spirits, already tending to the dismal, slump even further. She searched for some soothing comment.
Mr. Marston fell to pacing, his hands clasped behind him, his frowning gaze fixed on the floor. “As you know, I have not been at all easy in my mind over this little party. Indeed, I did not approve of your aunt’s desire to bring you to town. It was quite unnecessary. You did not need to come to London to contract a suitable alliance.”
Sophie cast a pleading glance heavenward. Her mind had seized up; no witty comment occurred to her.
“But I will say no more on what I fear I must term your aunt’s lack of wisdom.” Phillip Marston pursed his lips. “Instead, I have resolved to ask you to leave your aunt and uncle’s protection and return to Leicestershire with me. We can be married there. I believe I know you too well to think you will want a large wedding. Such silly fripperies might be well enough for the ton but they are neither here nor there. My mother, of course, fully approves—”
“Mr. Marston!” Sophie had heard quite enough. “Sir, I do not know when I have given you cause to believe I would welcome an offer from you, but if I have, I most sincerely apologize.”
Phillip Marston blinked. It took him a moment to work through Sophie’s words. Then he frowned and looked more severe than ever.
“A-hem!”
Startled, both Sophie and Marston turned as first the marquess and then Mr. Chartwell climbed the steps to the summer-house. Sophie stared. Then, resisting the urge to shake her head, she drifted to the table, leaving her three most eager suitors ranged on the other side.
“Er, we were just strolling past. Couldn’t help overhearing, m’dear,” Huntly explained, looking most apologetic. “But felt I had to tell you—no need to marry Marston here. Only too happy to marry you myself.”