Twice he caught her glancing at him. On both occasions, she quickly looked away. Jack suppressed his smile and patiently endured yet another round of introductions to some local squire’s lady.

Finally, Lady Asfordby turned towards the crucial chaise. “And, of course, you must meet Mrs. Webb. I dare say you’re acquainted with her husband, Horatio Webb of Webb Park. A financier, you know.”

The name rang a bell in Jack’s mind-something to do with horses and hunting. But they were rapidly approaching the chaise on which an elegant matron sat, benignly watching over a very young girl, unquestionably her daughter, as well as his golden head. Mrs. Webb turned as they approached. Lady Asfordby made the introduction; Jack found himself bowing over a delicate hand, his eyes trapped in a searching, ice-blue stare.

“Good evening, Mr. Lester. Are you here for the hunting?”

“Indeed yes, ma’am.” Jack blinked, then smiled, careful not to overdo the gesture. To him, Mrs. Webb was instantly recognizable; his golden head was protected by a very shrewd dragon.

A lifted finger drew the younger girl forward.

“Allow me to present my daughter, Clarissa.” Lucilla looked on as Clarissa, blushing furiously, performed the regulation curtsy with her customary grace. Speech, however, seemed beyond her. Lifting one sceptical brow, Lucilla spared a glance for the magnificence before her, then slanted a quick look at Sophie. Her niece was studiously absorbed with her friends.

An imperious gesture, however, succeeded in attracting her attention.

Her smile restrained, Lucilla beckoned Sophie forward. “And, of course,” she continued, rescuing Jack from Clarissa’s tongue-tied stare, “you must let me introduce my niece, Miss Sophia Winterton.” Lucilla halted, then raised her fine brows. “But perhaps you’ve met before-in London? Sophie was presented some years ago, but her Season was cut short by the untimely death of her mother.” Switching her regal regard to Sophie, Lucilla continued, “Mr. Jack Lester, my dear.”