During the day, Sophia was so busy that she had little time to think about Ross. However, there was no escape from the longing and desolation that filled the quiet evening hours. Utterly defeated, she admitted to herself that she had fallen in love with the man she had wanted to ruin. She had been vanquished by her own heart. There was nothing to do but abandon her plans for revenge. There would be no seduction… no tainted victory. She would leave her position at Bow Street as soon as possible and try to go on with the rest of her life.

Her new resolve left her feeling drained but peaceful, and she concentrated on the coming weekend party with wan determination.

Twenty-five bedrooms in the main house would be occupied with guests, as well as another dozen in the nearby gatehouse reserved for the use of bachelors. Families from Windsor, Reading, and surrounding towns would attend the masked ball on Saturday night, bringing the number of guests to three hundred and fifty.

Unfortunately, the written notes and plans left by the former housekeeper, Mrs. Bridgewell, left much to be desired. Wryly Sophia reflected that the absent Mrs. Bridgewell had probably been far more concerned with her own romantic affairs than with the upcoming weekend party. Sophia busied herself with taking inventory of the china and flatware, the contents of the butler’s pantry and wine cellar, the larders and linen closets. Consulting with both the cook and Mrs. Cannon, Sophia made notes on menu suggestions, and the proper china for each course. She met with the butler and the master gardener, and laid out plans for a score of housemaids. The village butcher, grocer, and milkman came to call and took Sophia’s written orders for the approaching celebration.

In the midst of this activity, Sophia made the acquaintance of Mr. Robert Cannon, the elderly gentleman whose ninetieth birthday was the cause of all the excitement. Ross’s mother had tried to prepare Sophia for his outspokenness. “When you meet my father-in-law, I should not wish you to be disconcerted by his manner. As he has aged, he has become quite blunt. Do not be put off by anything he says. He is a dear man, if a trifle lacking in discretion.”

Walking back from the icehouse, set apart from the main house, Sophia saw an old man sitting beneath a canvas awning in the rose garden. A small table laden with refreshments had been placed beside him. His chair had been fitted with a leg rest, and Sophia recalled Mrs. Cannon mentioning that her father-in-law was often troubled by gout.

“You, girl,” he said imperiously. “Come here. I have not seen you before.”

Sophia obeyed. “Good morning, Mr. Cannon,” she said, dipping into a respectful curtsy.

Robert Cannon was a handsome old man with a ruff of silver hair and a craggy but distinguished face. His eyes were a steely blue-gray. “I suppose you are the girl my daughter-in-law told me about. The one from Bow Street.”

“Yes, sir. I hope very much that I may help to make your birthday celebration satisfactory—”

“Yes, yes,” he cut in impatiently, waving his hand to indicate that the event was trivial nonsense. “My daughter-in-law will seize on any excuse for a party. Now, you will tell me exactly how things stand between you and my grandson.”

Caught completely off guard, Sophia stared at him openmouthed. “Sir,” she said cautiously, “I am afraid I do not understand your question.”

“Catherine says that he has taken an interest in you—which is a welcome piece of news. I want to see my family line continue, and Ross and his brother are the last of the Cannon males. Has he come up to scratch yet?”

Sophia was too shocked to reply quickly. How in the world had he arrived at such a conclusion? “Mr. Cannon, you are entirely mistaken! I—I have no intention of… of… and Sir Ross would not…” Her voice trailed into silence as her mind searched futilely for words.

Cannon regarded her with a skeptical smile. “Catherine says you are a Sydney,” he commented. “I knew your grandfather Frederick quite well.”

The revelation astonished her further. “You did? You were friends with my grandfather?”

“I didn’t say that we were friends,” Cannon replied crustily. “I only said that I knew him well. The reason we did not get on was that we both fell in love with the same woman. Miss Sophia Jane Lawrence.”

“My grandmother,” Sophia managed to say. She shook her head in wonder at the unexpected connection to her family’s past. “I was named after her.”

“A lovely and accomplished woman. You resemble her, although she was a bit more refined in appearance. She had a regal quality that you lack.”

Sophia smiled suddenly. “It is difficult to be regal when one is a servant, sir.”

His blue eyes remained on her, and his rugged face seemed to soften. “You have her way of smiling. Sophia Jane’s granddaughter, a servant! The Sydneys have fallen on hard times, eh? Your grandmother would have done better to marry me.”

“Why didn’t she?”

He gestured to a nearby chair. “Come sit by me, and I will tell you.”

Sophia cast an anxious glance at the main house, thinking of the work that had to be done.

The old man made a surly sound. “That can wait, my girl. After all, the weekend is supposed to be in my honor, and here I am, set out to pasture. I wish for a few minutes of your company—is that too much to ask?”

Sophia promptly sat.

Cannon settled back in his chair. “Your grandmother Sophia Jane was the loveliest girl I had ever seen. Her family was not wealthy, but they were of good blood, and they desired their only daughter to marry well. After Sophia’s come-out, I dedicated myself to winning her hand. Her lack of a substantial dowry was no obstacle, as the Cannons are a family of means. But before I could persuade the Lawrences to agree to a betrothal, your grandfather Lord Sydney made an offer for her. I could not compete against the allure of his title. Although the Cannon name is distinguished, I am not a peer. And so Sophia Jane went to Lord Sydney.”

“Which of you did my grandmother love?” Sophia asked, fascinated by the piece of family history that she had never been aware of.

“I am not quite certain,” Cannon replied thoughtfully, surprising her. “Perhaps neither of us. But I suspect that in time, Sophia Jane may have come to regret her choice. Lord Sydney was a pleasant enough fellow, but there never seemed to be much depth below the surface. I was a far better catch.”

“And modest, too,” Sophia said, laughing suddenly.

Cannon seemed to enjoy her impudence. “Tell me, child, were your grandparents content in their marriage?”

“I think so,” Sophia said slowly. “Although I do not recall seeing them together very often. They seem to have led separate lives.” She fell silent, reflecting on the past. In retrospect, her grandparents had not seemed especially affectionate with each other. “Fortunately, you found another love,” she remarked, trying to put a happy end to the story.

“No, I didn’t,” Cannon returned bluntly. “I admired my wife, but my heart was always with Sophia Jane.” His eyes glimmered suddenly. “I love her still, though she is long gone.”

Sophia felt a surge of melancholy as she reflected on the statement. No doubt that was how Sir Ross would always feel about his wife, Eleanor.

She did not realize that she had spoken the words aloud until Robert Cannon replied with a snort of irritation. “That fragile flower! I never understood my grandson’s attraction to her. Eleanor was a winsome girl, but my grandson needs a vital woman who will bear him strong sons.” He gave Sophia a measuring gaze. “You look as though you’re up to the task.”

Alarmed by the turn the conversation was taking, Sophia stood hastily. “Well, Mr. Cannon, it has been a pleasure to meet you. However, if I do not attend to my responsibilities, I fear for the outcome of your party.” She added a flirtatious note to her voice. “To my regret, I am not being paid to converse with handsome gentlemen, but rather to work.”

It was evident that Cannon tried to maintain his scowl, but he let out a chuckle. “You do favor your grandmother,” he commented. “Very few women are able to say no to a man in a way that flatters his vanity.”

Sophia curtsied to him once more. “I bid you a very happy day, sir. But I must tell you again, you are mistaken about Sir Ross. There is absolutely no possibility of a marriage proposal, nor would I accept one from him.”

“We shall see,” he murmured, and lifted his glass of lemonade as she hurried away.

Chapter 9

Sophia rubbed her weary eyes as she looked at her book of notes. It was Friday morning, and soon the guests would arrive. Servants from various households had already come ahead with trunks and valises to make things ready for their masters and mistresses. She sat at the large wooden table in the stillroom, which was adjacent to the kitchen. The stillroom had long ago been used to brew medicines for the household, but now it served to store dried herbs, marchpanes, spice-breads, and conserves.“Now, Lottie,” Sophia said to the head housemaid, who was responsible for disseminating her instructions to the other housemaids, “I’ve told you the schedule for when and how the rooms should be cleaned after the guests arise each morning.”

“Yes, miss.”

“Just remember that when you go to the bachelors’ lodgings at the gatehouse, do not let any of the maids venture into a room alone. They must work in pairs.”

“Why, miss?”

“Because one of the bachelors might be overcome by what was once described to me as ‘early-morning passion.’ They are likely to take advantage of a female servant and make unwanted advances, or even worse. That will be far less likely if the girls work together.”

“Yes, miss.”

“Now, as some guests will arrive this morning, you must lay out fresh cards in the card room. I suppose a few gentlemen may want to visit the fishing pavilion at the lake—would you please ask Hordle to set out chairs, tables, and some wine?”

“Miss Sydney…” Lottie began, then looked over Sophia’s shoulder and giggled. “Oh, lor!” Placing a hand over her mouth, she tittered in abashed amusement.

“What is it?” Sophia asked. She turned in her chair, then sprang to her feet when she saw Sir Ross’s tall form in the doorway of the stillroom. Her heart pounded at the sight. He looked virile and stunningly handsome in a rich blue coat and fawn-colored trousers.

“I will go speak wi‘ Mr. ’Ordle,” the housemaid said, still giggling as she rushed from the room.

Staring into Ross’s smiling gray eyes, Sophia moistened her lips. He could not have been at Silverhill Park for long—he must have come to find her as soon as he had arrived. The weeklong separation had only intensified her feelings for him, and she had to stiffen her spine to keep from throwing herself at him. “Good morning, ”Sir Ross,“ she said breathlessly. ”You… you look well.“

Ross approached her, one large hand lifting to the side of her face. His fingertips rested briefly on the curve of her cheek. “You are even lovelier than I remembered,” he murmured. “How have you been, Sophia?”

“Quite well,” she managed to say.

“My mother cannot speak highly enough of you. She is very pleased with your efforts.”

“Thank you, sir.” Sophia lowered her lashes, afraid that her violent longing was all too easy to read. Feeling miserable, she drew away and wrapped her arms around herself. “Have you learned anything about the dress?” she asked, hoping to restore her self-control.

He understood at once that she was referring to the lavender ballgown. “Not yet. Judging from the make and fabric, Sayer has narrowed the possibilities to three dressmakers. I am going to question each of them personally when I return to London.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a small smile. “I must offer you some recompense. You must garnish my wages, or—”

“Sophia,” he interrupted with a scowl, as if she had insulted him. “I would not accept any payment from you. It’s my responsibility to protect you and the others who work for me.”

Sophia was nearly undone by his words. “I must return to my work,” she said gravely. “Before I do, is there something you want, Sir Ross? Some refreshments, or perhaps coffee?”

“Just you.”

The quiet statement made her knees weak. Sophia struggled to keep her voice calm. As if her mouth were not dry with longing. As if her body were not thumping with desire. She strove to change the direction of the conversation. “How is your shoulder, sir?”

“It’s healing well. Would you like to have a look?” His fingers went to the knot of his cravat, as if he were willing to undress for her right there. Sophia shot a startled glance at him, and saw from the glint in his eyes that he was teasing.

If she was ever going to put a stop to the attraction that had developed between them, it would have to be now. “Sir Ross, now that you are well again, and I have had a few days to consider our… our…”

“Relationship?” he supplied helpfully.

“Yes. I have reached a conclusion.”

“What conclusion is that?”

“A… an intimate association would not be wise for either of us. I am content to be your servant, nothing more.” She faltered only a little as she finished her recitation. “From now on, I will not welcome any advances from you.”

His smoky gaze held hers. Finally he spoke in a gentle murmur. “We’ll discuss the matter later. After the weekend. And then you and I are going to come to an understanding.”

Breathing in shallow gulps, Sophia turned to busy herself with the articles on a nearby shelf. Her fingers encountered a sheaf of dried herbs, and her fingers fumbled with the crackling leaves, inadvertently crumbling them. “I will not change my mind.”

“I think you will,” he said softly, and left.

Noblemen, politicians, and professional men moved through the circuit of common rooms and out to the gardens in back. Groups of ladies played cards, gossiped over needlework or magazines, or went on walks along the neat graveled pathways outside. The gentlemen gathered in the billiards room, read newspapers in the library, or strolled to the pavilion at the lake. It was a warm June day, the breeze insufficient to atone for the unseasonable strength of the sun.

Behind the scenes, the servants were busy cleaning, preparing food, and pressing and airing the many changes of clothes that would be needed for each day of the house party. The kitchen was steaming and fragrant, the bread ovens filled with baking dough, the spit-jacks turning roast fowls, joints of beef, and large hams. Under the direction of the cook, kitchen maids wrapped trussed quails with vine leaves and bacon, then threaded them on skewers. The quail would be offered as a late-afternoon luncheon to satisfy the guests’ appetites until supper was served at ten o’clock.