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A Lady of Expectations and Other Stories (Regencies 6)

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Sophie smiled a ready welcome at Melly, a short, plump figure, still slightly roly-poly in the manner of a young puppy, an impression enhanced by her long, floppy, brown ringlets and huge, spaniel-like eyes. These were presently twinkling.

“Mama’s talking to Mrs. Webb, so I’m here for at least an hour. Plenty of time for a comfortable cose.” Melly curled up in the armchair while Clarissa settled on the other end of the chaise. Seeing Clarissa reach for a needle and thread, Melly offered, “Would you like me to help?”

Sophie exchanged a quick glance with Clarissa. “No need,” she assured Melly. “There’s really not that much to do.” She blithely ignored the huge pile in the basket.

“Good.” Melly heaved a sigh of relief. “I really don’t think I’m much good at it.”

Sophie bit her lip. Clarissa, she saw, was bent over her stitching. The last time Melly had “helped” with the mending, at least half the garments had had to be rewashed to removed the bloodstains. And if there was one task worse than darning, it was unpicking a tangled darn.

“Still, I don’t suppose Mrs. Webb will have you darning in London. Oooh!” Melly hugged herself. “How I envy you, Clarissa! Just imagine being in the capital, surrounded by beaux and London swells—just like Mr. Lester.”

Clarissa lifted her head, blue eyes alight. “Indeed, I really can’t wait! It will be beyond anything great—to find oneself in such company, solicited by elegant gentlemen. I’m sure they’ll eclipse the country gentlemen—well—” she shrugged “—how could they not? It will be unutterably thrilling.”

The fervour behind the comment made Sophie glance up. Clarissa’s eyes shone with innocent anticipation. Looking down at the tiny stitches she was inserting in a tear in one of Jeremy’s cuffs, Sophie frowned. After a moment, she ventured, “You really should not judge all London gentlemen by Mr. Lester, Clarissa.”

Unfortunately, her cousin mistook her meaning.

“But there can’t be many more elegant, Sophie. Why, that coat he wore to the ball was top of the trees. And he did look so dashing this morning. And you have to admit he has a certain air.” Clarissa paused for breath, then continued, “His bow is very graceful—have you noticed? It makes one wonder at the clumsiness of others. And his speech is very refined, is it not?”

“His voice, too,” put in Melly. She shivered artistically. “So deep it reaches inside you and sort of rumbles there.”

Sophie pricked her finger. Frowning, she put it in her mouth.

“And his waltzing must just be divine—so…so powerful, if you take my meaning.” Clarissa frowned as she considered the point.

“We didn’t hear much of his conversation, though,” Melly cautioned.

Clarissa waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, that’ll be elegant, too, I make no doubt.

Why, Mr. Lester clearly moves in the best circles—good conversation would be essential. Don’t you think so, Sophie?”

“Very likely.” Sophie picked up her needle. “But you should remember that one often needs to be wary of gentlemen of manifold graces, like Mr. Lester.”

But Clarissa, starry-eyed and rosy-cheeked, refused to accept the warning. “Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sure you’re wrong, Sophie. Why, with all his obvious experience, I’m sure one could trust Mr. Lester, or any gentleman like him. I’m sure they’d know just how things should be done.”

Mentally Sophie goggled. She was quite sure Jack Lester, for one, would know just how “things” were done—but they certainly weren’t the “things” Clarissa imagined. “Truly, Clarissa, trust me when I say that you would be very much safer with a gentleman without Mr. Lester’s experience.”

“Oh, come now, Sophie.” Puzzled, Clarissa eyed her curiously. “Have you taken him in aversion? How could you? Why, you’ll have to admit he’s most terribly handsome.”

When it became clear neither Clarissa nor Melly was going to be satisfied with anything short of an answer, Sophie sighed. “Very well. I’ll concede he’s handsome.”

“And elegant?”

“And elegant. But—”

“And he’s terribly…” Melly’s imagination failed. “Graceful,” she finally said.

Sophie frowned at them both. “And graceful. Yet—”

“And his conversation is elegant, too, is it not?”

Sophie tried a scowl. “Clarissa…”

“Is it not?” Clarissa was almost laughing, her natural exuberance bubbling through her recently acquired veneer of sophistication.

In spite of herself, Sophie could not restrain her smile. “Very well,” she capitulated, holding up one hand. “I will admit that Mr. Lester is a paragon of manly graces. There—are you satisfied?”

“And you did enjoy your waltz with him, didn’t you? Susan Elderbridge was in transports, and she had only a country dance.”



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