After much fussing and demanding that she be wrapped warmly under coach blankets and pouting when a footman carried out the wrapping rather than John, they finally set out with Miss Beckwith squeezed next to Lady Sophie and another lady with John on the back-facing bench next to Walter Davis, a cheerful gentleman who seemed to be a friend of Peter and who quite looked forward to skating. John wished he had stayed in bed.
The pale sun glistened off the lake when they arrived, however, and his mood lifted. Footmen arranged skates on a table set up for that purpose and tended fires placed in barrels around the nearer banks of the lake. John helped the ladies from the coach and escorted them to benches set near the fires.
Miss Beckwith tossed him a coy look. “Please find me a small pair of skates,” she demanded “I have very tiny feet.” He couldn’t politely refuse.
When he found lady Sophie examining the skates carefully and selecting a pair, he rather admired her independence. “MayI request that we take at least one turn around the lake?” he asked.
“Perhaps after Miss Beckwith tires out, “she responded, gazing at him sympathetically, amusement bright in her eyes.
John sighed. “I’ll count on it,” he said.
It didn’t take long. He had no sooner escorted Miss Beckwith out and gone a few feet, before she slipped artfully to the ice. “Oh! my ankle, “she moaned. “Please take me back to the bench”
The bench, of course, was inadequate for her terrible agony, or so she said. “I simply can’t do this. I’ll have to go back to the house. Please take me back to the house.” She batted her eyes at him.
John turned away and looked around. The coach had returned with more guests. “You there,” he called to one of the footmen. “Run and stop the coach from returning. Miss Beckwith has injured herself and needs to go back to the house.” She beamed up at him with a triumphant gleam in her eye.
Triumph faded once John asked one of the stronger footmen to carry her to the coach, and he bid her farewell. “Oh no, I—” The footman looked at John who nodded, and the boy kept going to deposit her in the coach.
She glowered back, saw him watching, attempted a pathetic expression, and fell back against the seat.
“Not heroic of you, my lord.” Sophie stood at his side. She peered up with a hint of mischief. “But very effective,” she said.
Neither of them voiced what they were thinking. Dinah Beckwith was no more hurt than Sophie. “May I help you with your skates Lady Sophie?”
She lifted a foot already fixed with a skate. “I’m quite capable of doing it myself. I’ve been skating on Uncle Hartwell’s lake since I could walk.”
They did two turns on the lake before she called to her friends. Peter Hartley and Walter Davis joined them and soon the young people were laughing and chasing one another.
A half-hour later, John did a circle around Lady Sophie and came to a stop in front of her, quite admiring the color in her cheeks and the fun in her expression.
“It appears sustenance has arrived,” he said, nodding at the footmen carrying baskets to the table on the shore. “Shall we see what is on offer?”
They skated to the edge, where ginger cakes and various biscuits could be had. Tall crockery jugs with spouts were wrapped in towels to keep tea and chocolate hot. Sophie peered over the choices.
Before John could ask her if she wanted tea or chocolate, George the footman reached under the table and pulled out a thick flagon with a stopper. “We have a stronger chocolate for gentlemen,” he said. He poured out a mug and handed it to John.
Laced with spirits, no doubt.
Sophie shook her head in irritation. “They always treat ladies as if we were fragile!”
It wasn’t an unfair complaint. When he offered her the mug, her head bobbed up, and she searched his face. Seeing approval, she took the mug and took a quick sip. Her brows drew together, and she stared into the drink. She took another sip. “Sweet. Different. Good, I think,” she said and proceeded to down the chocolate.
John saw George give her a wide-eyed stare.Who is a footman to approve or disapprove?
Sophie raised her shoulders sheepishly. “I must have been made hungry by all this exercise,” she said. She reached for a ginger cake.
“One for you, my lord?” George handed another mug from the flagon toward John.
John considered for a moment. If there were spirits in Sophie’s mug, he’d best keep a clear head. “I believe I’ll have tea,” he said.
George frowned and dumped the chocolate on the ground before he fetched a clean mug, pouring tea for John.
Others crowded around the table, and John led Sophie aside. He didn’t offer her a second mug, and she didn’t ask. They nibbled ginger cake in silence while he drank his tea. “Something warm hit the spot,” he said.
“I agree. It was a treat. Shall we take a loop of the lake while the ice is relatively empty?” Sophie asked, rising to her feet and stepping on the ice. She glided away, taking a graceful spin and moving out. He followed her, relieved to see that she appeared to be fine.
Within minutes, everything changed.
