Lady Sophia's Lover (Bow Street Runners #2)(40)

Sophia was impressed by the beauty of the land, which featured groves of oak and beech, and an artificial lake that sparkled beneath the cool blue sky. Finally the outlines of a Jacobean mansion rose before her, its roofline arching in a profusion of turrets and gables. The rubbed-brick facade of the home was so magnificent that Sophia felt a painful jab of anxiety in her stomach.

“Oh, Lord,” she whispered. The towering entrance of Silverhill Park Manor was fronted by fifteen-foot-high hedges and bordered by a terraced walk featuring huge beds of primrose and rhododendron. A row of immense Oriental plane trees led the way to an orangery on the south verge of the walk. In Sophia’s most extravagant dreams, she had never expected the Cannons’ country estate to be so imposing.

Two thoughts assailed her at once. First, why would a man with this kind of wealth consign himself to live in the Spartan quarters at Bow Street? And second, how was she going to survive the next seven days? Clearly, she was wholly inadequate to the task that lay before her. She was too inexperienced to direct an entire regiment of servants. They would not respect her. They would not listen to her.

Sophia clasped her hands over her stomach, feeling sick.

The carriage stopped before the central entrance. White-faced but resolute, Sophia accepted the footman’s assistance from the carriage and accompanied him to the door. A few knocks of his gloved hand, and the oak-paneled door opened in well-oiled silence.

The stone-floored entrance hall was immense, with a grand central staircase that split on the second landing and led to the east and west wings of the mansion. The walls were covered with gigantic tapestries woven in apricot, dark gold, and faded blue. Sophia was interested to see that two sets of receiving rooms flanked the entrance hall. The set on the left was decorated in a masculine style, with elegant dark furniture and blue tones, whereas the set on the right was predominantly feminine, the walls covered with peach silk, the furniture delicate and gilded.

A butler showed Sophia to the peach receiving room, where Sir Ross’s mother awaited.

Mrs. Catherine Cannon was a tall and elegant woman, dressed in a simple day gown, with shimmering amethyst combs in her upswept gray hair. Her face was angular, but her green eyes were kind. “Miss Sydney,” she exclaimed, coming forward. “Welcome to Silverhill Park. Thank you for rescuing me from a terrible disaster.”

“I hope I may be of some use,” Sophia said as the older woman took her hands and pressed them warmly. “I explained to Sir Ross, however, that I have little experience in these matters—”

“Oh, I have every faith in you, Miss Sydney! You strike me as a very capable young woman.”

“Yes, but I—”

“Now, one of the maids will show you to your room so that you may freshen up after that long carriage ride. Then we will walk through the house, and I shall introduce you to the servants.”

Sophia was shown to a small but serviceable room that had belonged to the former housekeeper of Silverhill Park. She exchanged the white collar of her dark dress for a fresh one, brushed her skirts and shook the dust from them, and washed her face with cool water. As she returned downstairs, she marveled at the loveliness of her surroundings; the ceilings of interlaced ribs and painted panels, the galleries filled with sculpture, and the endless rows of windows providing lush views of the gardens outside.

Rejoining Catherine Cannon, Sophia accompanied her on a tour of the house, doing her best to commit every detail of the place to memory. She was vaguely puzzled by the way Ross’s mother treated her, which was with far more solicitude than a servant merited. As they strolled through the house, Mrs. Cannon told her stories about Ross—that as a boy, he had been given to playing pranks on the butler and wheeling his friends about on the gardener’s flat-barrow.

“It seems that Sir Ross was not always serious and solemn, then,” Sophia commented.

“Heavens, no! That came only after his wife passed away.” Mrs. Cannon’s mood changed suddenly, her lips taking on a regretful softness. “Such a tragedy. Devastating to all of us.”

“Yes,” Sophia said softly. “Sir Ross told me about it.”

“He did?” Catherine came to a halt in the middle of a huge drawing room papered in a white-and-gold French-flocked design. She regarded Sophia with an arrested stare.

Sophia returned her gaze uneasily, wondering if she had said something wrong.

“Well,” Mrs. Cannon murmured with a faint smile. “I have never known my son to mention a word about Eleanor to anyone. Ross is an unusually private man.”

Feeling that Mrs. Cannon was perhaps drawing some conclusion that should not be drawn, Sophia tried to remedy the woman’s misunderstanding. “Sir Ross mentioned a few things about his past during his fever. It was only because he was weary and ill—”

“No, my dear,” came Catherine’s gentle reply. “My son obviously trusts you, and values your company.” She paused and added cryptically, “And any woman who is able to draw my son away from that sordid world of Bow Street will have my blessing.”

“You are not pleased by his position as Chief Magistrate, Mrs. Cannon?”

They resumed their stroll through the drawing room as Ross’s mother replied, “My son has given ten years of his life to public service and been remarkably successful. Naturally I am quite proud of him. But I feel the time has come when Ross should turn his attention to other matters. He must marry again, and sire children. Oh, I am aware of the impression Ross gives that he is somewhat cold-natured, but I assure you, he has the same needs as any man. To be loved. To have a family of his own.”