'You can't do that!' Matthew burst out.
'Oh, but I can,' Ross assured him. 'From now on, you are going to work for your allowance.'
'Work?' The word seemed unfamiliar to Matthew. 'Doingwhat ? I'm not qualified to work--I am a gentleman!'
'I will find something appropriate for you,' Ross promised grimly. 'I am going to teach you responsibility, Matthew, no matter what it takes.'
'If Father were still alive, this would never happen!'
'If Father were still alive, this would have happened years ago,' Ross muttered. 'Unfortunately, much of the blame is mine. I've been too busy at Bow Street to pay attention to your activities. That is going to change, however.' A string of curses issued from Matthew's lips as he moved to a cabinet and rummaged for a glass and a decanter. Pouring himself a brandy, he tossed it down as if it were medicine, then refilled the glass. The liquor appeared to brace him. Taking a few long breaths, he glared into Ross's implacable countenance. 'Are you going to tell Iona?'
'No. But neither will I lie to her if she ever comes to me with questions about your fidelity.'
'Good, then. My wife will never ask--she does not want to hear the answers.'
'God help her,' Ross muttered.
After taking another swallow of brandy, Matthew swirled the liquid in his glass and gave a moody sigh. 'Is that all?'
'No,' Ross said. 'We have one more issue to address--your behavior toward Miss Sydney.'
'I've already apologized for that. I can't do any more than that...unless you would like me to open a vein?'
'That won't be necessary. What I wish to emphasize is that you are to treat her with absolute respect from now on.'
'There is only so much respect I am going to show a servant, brother.'
'She isn't going to be a servant for much longer.'
Matthew raised an eyebrow in mild interest. 'You're going to dismiss her, then?'
Ross gave him a hard, purposeful stare. 'I'm going to marry her. If she will have me.'
Matthew stared back with total incomprehension. 'Holy Mother of God,' he said raspily, and stumbled to the nearest chair. He sat down heavily, the whites of his eyes on full display as he regarded Ross. 'You're serious. But that is madness. You would be a laughingstock. A Cannon marrying a servant! For the sake of the family, find someone else. She is only a woman--there are a hundred others who could easily take her place.'
It took all of Ross's will to keep from doing his brother bodily harm. Instead he braced his hands on the desk, closed his eyes for a moment, and battened down his temper. Then he turned and sent Matthew a gaze filled with black fire. 'After all the years I've spent alone, you ask me to reject the one woman who makes me complete?'
Matthew seized on his words. 'That is my point. After so many celibate years, you're half mad from deprivation. Any woman would seem desirable. Believe me, that creature is not worthy of your affection. She has no sophistication, no style, no family. Take her as a mistress, if you fancy her. But I advise you not to marry her, because I guarantee that you will soon tire of her, and then you'll be well and truly shackled.'
Abruptly Ross's anger died. He felt nothing for his brother except pity. Matthew would never find true love or passion, only hollow imitations. He would spend the rest of his life feeling dissatisfied, never knowing how to fill the emptiness inside. And so he would turn to artificial pleasures, and try to convince himself that he was content.
'I will not attempt to persuade you of Sophia's worth,' Ross said quietly. 'However, if you say one word to her that could be construed as critical or condescending, I will castrate you. Slowly.'
CHAPTER 11
Simple black or white silk masks were provided for the guests who had not brought one for the Saturday evening ball. But most of the company were wearing beautiful creations that had been designed especially for the event. Sophia wasdazzled by the array of masks adorned with feathers, jewels, embroidery, and hand-painted motifs. People mingled and flirted audaciously, enjoying the anonymity that their disguises afforded. The unmasking would occur at midnight, after which a lavish supper would be served.
Peeking around the doorway of the drawing room, Sophia smiled in satisfaction at the splendid sight of guests dancing a formal minuet, executing bows and curtsies with practiced grace. The ladies all wore gowns in fashionably rich colors, while most of the gentlemen were striking in their schemes of black-and-white evening wear. Freshly waxed and polished floors reflected the sparkling light of the chandeliers, bathing the assemblage in an almost magical glow. The air was thick with flowers and perfume, relieved by the evening breeze that drifted in from the conservatories and anterooms.
The series of rooms beyond the drawing room were filled with guests who played cards or billiards, drank champagne, and partook of small delicacies such as oyster pate, lobster tarts, and cakes soaked in rum. Thinking of the meal to come, Sophia decided to return to the kitchen and make certain that everything was going according to schedule. Discreetly she slipped outside to a walk that skirted the side of the house. The night air was cool and springlike, and she sighed in relief, pulling at the snug collar of her dark gown.
Passing an open conservatory lined with columns, Sophia was surprised to note that it was occupied by the elderly Mr. Cannon, positioned in his wheeled chair to view the ball through a large window. A footman waited nearby, evidently having been recruited to attend the crusty old gentleman.
Sophia approached him with a hesitant smile. 'Good evening, Mr. Cannon. May I ask why you are sitting out here alone?'
'Too much noise and bother in there,' he replied. 'Moreover, the fireworks will start at midnight, and this is the best place from which to view them.' He eyed her speculatively. 'In fact, you shall watch them with me.' Turning to the footman, he said brusquely, 'Go fetch some champagne. Two glasses.'
'Sir,' Sophia said, 'I'm afraid I cannot--'
'Yes, I know. You have responsibilities. But this is my birthday, and therefore I must be humored.'
Sophia smiled wryly as she sat on the stone bench beside his chair. 'If I am seen drinking champagne and watching fireworks with you, I will probably be dismissed.'
'Then I will hire you as my companion.'
Still smiling, Sophia folded her hands in her lap. 'Are you not going to wear a mask, sir?' 'Why would I wear a mask? I'm hardly going to deceive anyone, sitting in this contraption.' Viewing the dancers through the window, Cannon snorted derisively. 'I didn't like masked balls when they were in fashion forty years ago, and I like them even less now.'
'I wish I had a mask,' she mused with a thoughtful smile. 'I could do or say whatever I liked, and no one would know me.'
The old gentleman's gaze moved over her. 'Why are you wearing plain broadcloth on such an evening?' he asked abruptly.
'There is no need for me to wear a fine gown.'
He made a scoffing sound. 'Nonsense. Even Mrs. Bridgewell wore a good black satin on special occasions.'
'I have no gowns more elegant than this, sir.'
'Why not? Isn't my grandson providing a decent salary?'
Their conversation was interrupted as the footman reappeared with a tray of champagne. 'Ah, good,' Cannon said. 'Is that the Rheims? Leave the bottle here, and go be of use to someone inside. Miss Sydney will keep me company.'
The footman complied with a submissive bow. Sophia accepted the glass of champagne from Mr. Cannon, holding it by the stem and regarding the light amber liquid curiously.
'Have you drunk champagne before?' the old man asked.
'Once,' Sophia admitted. 'When I lived with my cousin in Shropshire, a neighbor gave me a bottle of champagne that was not quite finished. It had gone flat by then, and I was disappointed by the taste. I expected it to be sweet.'
'This is French champagne--you will like it. See how the bubbles rise in vertical lines? That is the sign of a good vintage.'
