A Lady of Expectations and Other Stories (Regencies 6)

She glanced up, expecting to see him smiling, laughing with her at the prospect of so many matrons busily scheming on her behalf. Instead, his face remained stony, devoid of expression. Jack felt her glance. His emotions straining at the leash, he looked down.

Sophie met his dark gaze, and felt a vice slowly close about her heart. Avid, eager to find the reason, for that and the force that held them in a curious hiatus, out of time, she searched his face and his deeply glowing eyes. Jack watched as her smile slowly faded, to be replaced with puzzlement—and a clear query.

“Sophie—” He drew in a deep breath and glanced ahead, just in time to avoid colliding with a natty trilby, swung through the gates far too fast.

Jack swore. In the ensuing chaos as he calmed his own horses, then received the shrill and abject apologies of the trilby’s owner, a young sprig barely old enough to shave and, in Jack’s pithily offered opinion, of insufficient experience to be entrusted with the reins, the purport of Lucilla’s words returned to him.

As the trilby crept away, Jack turned to Sophie, his expression carefully blank. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Sophie smiled brightly up at him, while inwardly she wondered if that was strictly true. The instant before the trilby’s advent had left her nerves stretched and quivering.

Jack forced his lips into an easy smile. “I’d better get you back to Mount Street forthwith, or your aunt will doubtless forbid me your company. It’s well past our allotted hour.”

Sophie kept her own smile light. “My aunt is very understanding.”

That, Jack thought, as he eased into the traffic, was undoubtedly the greatest understatement he had ever heard. He made no effort to break the silence until they reached Mount Street. Even then, relinquishing the reins to Jigson, whom he had left awaiting his return, he eschewed comment, reaching up to lift Sophie down to the pavement in what was rapidly becoming a charged silence.

As he expected, she showed no signs of fluster. Instead, she stood before him, her face turned up to his, her query contained in the gentle lift of her delicate brows.

Despite himself, Jack smiled—his slow, sensuous smile, the one he was usually careful to hide from well-bred young ladies.

Sophie didn’t disappoint him; she

studied his face, openly gauging his smile, then, lifting her eyes to his, merely raised her brows higher.

Jack laughed softly but shook his head. “The time is not yet,” was all he dared say. Holding her eyes with his, he raised her gloved hand and, most reprehensibly, placed a kiss on her bare wrist. Then, placing her hand on his sleeve, he covered it with his and strolled with her up the steps. As the door opened to admit her, he bowed. “Once again, my dear—until next we meet.”

CHAPTER SIX

FOR SOPHIE, THE rest of Tuesday and all of Wednesday passed in a rosy-hued blur. As expected, Lady Cowper called, promising vouchers for Almack’s and her most earnest endeavours. Lucilla and her ladyship spent a full hour with their heads close together; Sophie stared absent-mindedly at the window, her expression distant. Recalled to the present when her ladyship rose, she flashed a bright smile and bade Lady Cowper farewell. The smile lingered, muted but nevertheless present, long after her ladyship’s carriage rattled away down the street.

“Well then, my dears.” Lucilla swept back into the drawing-room. Clarissa followed with Sophie trailing in the rear. “In the light of Lady Cowper’s remarks, we had best reconsider our strategy.”

Closing the door, Sophie made for the chaise, a slight blush tinting her cheeks. “How so, aunt?” She could not, in truth, recall all that much of Lady Cowper’s conversation.

With a long-suffering air, Lucilla raised her brows. “Because, my dear, if the ton is already in town then there’s no reason not to steal a march on those who have planned their entertainments to coincide with the usual start of festivities and already sent out their invitations.” Reclaiming her seat, she gestured to the pile of white cards upon the mantelshelf. “The list grows every day. I have it in mind to make our mark with a tactical manoeuvre, if I have the phrase correctly.”

Sophie tried to concentrate on her aunt’s meaning. Yet at every pause, her mind slid sideways, to ponder the subtleties in a certain deep voice, and the light that had glowed in his eyes. Frowning, she struggled to banish her distracting fascination. “So you mean to bring Clarissa’s come-out forward?”

Deep in thought, Lucilla nodded. “It seems strategically imperative—if she’s not out, she cannot be present at the rush of balls and parties which, as dear Emily pointed out, are this year going to precede the usual commencement.” Lucilla pulled a face. “Yet it’s not the sort of decision one takes lightly.” She pondered a moment, one elegant fingernail tapping on the chair arm. Then she straightened. “We have Lady Allingcott’s at-home this afternoon and Lady Chessington’s little party tonight, then Almack’s tomorrow—even they have started early this year. I pray you both to keep your ears open. Depending on what we all hear, I think we might start with an impromptu party, just for the younger folk, next week. And plan Clarissa’s ball for the week after that. My ideas are already well advanced; it will simply be a matter of bringing them forward a trifle.” Nodding to herself, Lucilla turned to Clarissa. “What say you to that, my dear?”

“It sounds wonderful!” Clarissa’s eyes radiated excited relief. “Indeed, I wasn’t looking forward to missing the balls in the next weeks.”

“And why should you?” Lucilla spread her hands wide. “This is your Season, my love; you’re here to enjoy it.” She smiled her subtlest smile. “As Madame Jorge said; we will contrive.”

Sophie had nothing to say against her aunt’s plans. Mr. Lester, of course, would not be present at the small, informal parties and dances held by the families with young girls making their come-out, to help the young ladies gain their social feet. Until Clarissa was officially out, the Webb ladies would be restricted to such tame affairs, which were all very well if there was nothing else on offer. But this year, this Season, was going to be different—and it wasn’t only the weather that would make it so for her.

They attended Lady Allingcott’s and Lady Chessington’s entertainments, and on Wednesday called on Lady Hartford and the Misses Smythe, then danced at Almack’s, all the while listening to what their peers had to say of projected entertainments.

Over breakfast the next morning, Lucilla called a council of war. “Now pay attention, Sophie.”

Thus adjured, Sophie blinked. And endeavored to obey the injunction.

“I’ve consulted with your father, Clarissa, and he’s in full agreement. We will hold your come-out ball at the end of the week after next.”

Clarissa crowed. Her younger brothers pulled faces and taunted.

“In the meantime, however,” Lucilla raised her voice only slightly; as her eagle eye swept the table the din subsided. “We’ll hold a dance at the end of next week—on Friday. An informal affair—but we need not restrict the guest list solely to those making their come-out. I see no reason not to invite some of those amongst the ton with whom you are already acquainted.”