Jack’s smile was equally brilliant. “Miss Amy.” He swept her an elegant bow, and Amy’s expression suggested he had made a friend for life. As he straightened, Jack shot Sophie a victorious grin.
She returned it with as much indignation as she could muster, which, unfortunately, was not much. The prospect of being driven in his curricle was infinitely more attractive than walking. And, after his conquest of Amy, nothing would suffice but that they should travel thus. The decision was taken out of her hands, though Sophie wasn’t sure she approved.
His groom had already taken charge of old Dobbin. The man nodded respectfully. “I’ll see the blacksmith takes good care of him, miss.”
There was nothing to do but incline her head. “Thank you.” Sophie turned and followed as Jack led Amy, skipping beside him, to the curricle. Abruptly, Sophie quickened her stride. “If you’ll hand me up first, Mr. Lester, Amy can sit between us.”
Jack turned, one brow slowly lifting. The quizzical laughter in his eyes brought a blush to Sophie’s cheeks. “Indeed, Miss Winterton. A capital notion.”
Relieved but determined not to show it, Sophie held out her hand. He looked at it. An instant later, she was lifted, as if she weighed no more than a feather, and deposited on the curricle’s padded seat. Sophie sucked in a quick breath. He held her firmly, his fingers spread about her waist, long and strong. In the instant before his hands left her, his eyes locked with hers. Sophie gazed into the deep blue and trembled. Then blushed rosy red. She looked down, fussing with her skirts, shuffling along to make room for Amy.
He had taken up the reins and half turned the curricle before she recalled the purpose of her trip.
“The basket.” Sophie looked back at the gig. “For Mildred. It’s under the seat.”
Jack smiled reassuringly. In a trice, Jigson had the basket out and transferred to the curricle’s boot. “Now,” Jack said, “whither away?”
Sophie bestowed a smile of thanks on Jigson. “The other side of the village and out along the road to Asfordby, a mile or so. Mildred lives very quietly; she’s quite old.”
Jack gave his horses the office. “Your mother’s nurse, you said. Did your mother’s family come from hereabouts?”
“No, from Sussex. Mildred came to Webb Park with Aunt Lucilla on her marriage. My aunt was the younger, so Mildred stayed with her.”
Jack slanted a glance at the pure profile beside him—Amy’s head was too low to interfere with his view. “Do you often do the duty visits for your aunt?”
Sophie considered the question. “I’ve often done so whenever I’ve stayed.” She shrugged. “Aunt Lucilla is frequently very busy. She has twins younger than Amy—they’re just six.”
Jack grinned. “And quite a handful?”
“That,” declared Sophie, “is a description insufficient to adequately convey the full glory of the twins.”
Jack chuckled. “So you help out by taking on the role of the lady of the manor?”
“It’s hardly an arduous task,” Sophie disclaimed. “I’ve been doing much the same on my father’s estate ever since my mother died.”
“Ah, yes. I recall you mentioned helping your father.”
Sophie threw him a quick frown. “That’s not what I meant. Performing one’s duty is hardly doing anything out of the ordinary.” There had been something in his tone, a note of dismissal, which compelled her to explain. “I acted as his amanuensis in all matters concerning the estate and also for his studies. And, of course, since my mother’s death, I’ve had charge of the house.” It sounded like a catalogue of her talents, yet she couldn’t help adding, “House parties, naturally, were impossible, but even living retired as we did, my father could not escape some degree of local entertaining. And the house, being so old and rambling, was a nightmare to run with the small staff we kept on.” Sophie frowned at the memory.
Jack hid his keen interest behind an easy expression. “Who’s running the house now?”
“It’s closed up,” Sophie informed him, her tone indicating her satisfaction. As the curricle rounded a corner, she swayed closer. “My father would have left it open—but for what? I finally managed to persuade him to leave just a caretaker and his agent and let the others go on leave. He may be away for years—who can tell?”
Jack slanted a curious glance at her. “If you’ll forgive the impertinence, you don’t seem overly troubled by the prospect.”
Sophie grinned. “I’m not. Indeed, I’m truly glad Papa has gone back to his ‘old bones.’ He was so abjectly unhappy after my mother’s death that I’d be a truly ungrateful wretch were I to begrudge him his only chance at contentment. I think his work carries him away from his memories, both physically and mentally.” Her lips curved wryly; her gaze swung to meet Jack’s. “Besides, even though I managed affairs for his own good, he could be a crusty old devil at times.”
Jack’s answering smile was broad. “I know exactly what you mean. My own father’s in much the same case.”
Sophie grasped the opportunity to turn the conversation from herself. “Are you his only son?”
“Oh, no.” Jack turned his head to glance at her. “There are three of us.” He was forced to look to his horses but continued, “I’m the eldest, then Harry. My sister, Lenore, came next; she’s now married to Eversleigh. And the baby of the family is Gerald. Our mother died years ago but m’father’s held on pretty well. Our Aunt Harriet used to watch over us, but Lenore did most of the work.” He threw another glance at Sophie. “My sister is one of those women who shuns the bright lights of the ton; she was perfectly content to remain at home in Berkshire and keep the Hall going and the estates functioning. I’m ashamed to confess that, when she married two years ago, I was totally unprepared to take on the burden.”
Noting the wry grimace that twisted his lips, Sophie ventured, “But you’ve managed, have you not?”
Jack’s lips lifted. “I learn quickly.” After a moment, he went on, his gaze still on the road, “Unfortunately, Aunt Harriet died last year. The estate I can manage—the house … that’s something else altogether. Like your father’s, it’s a rambling old mansion—heaps of rooms, corridors everywhere.”
To Jack’s surprise, he heard a soft sigh.
“They’re terribly inconvenient, but they feel like home, don’t they?”
Jack turned his head to look at Sophie. “Exactly.”
For a long moment, Sophie held his gaze, then, suddenly breathless, looked ahead. The first houses of the village appeared on their right. “The fork to the left just ahead leads to Asfordby.”
Their passage through the small hamlet demanded Jack’s full attention, his bays taking well-bred exception to the flock of geese flapping on the green, the alehouse’s dray drawn up by the side of the road and the creak of the tavern’s weatherbeaten sign.
By the time they were passing the last straggling cottages, Sophie had herself in hand. “Mildred’s cottage is just beyond the next corner on the right.”
Jack reined in the bays by the neat hedge, behind which a small garden lay slumbering in the sunshine. A gate gave on to a narrow path. He turned to smile ruefully at Sophie. “I’d come and lift you down, but these brutes are presently too nervy to be trusted on loose reins. Can you manage?”
Sophie favoured him with a superior look. “Of course.” Gathering her skirts, she jumped down to the lane. Collecting her basket from the boot, she turned to Amy.
“I’ll stay here with Mr.