Page 39 of Lady Sophia’s Lover (Bow Street #2)

F ollowing a simple wedding ceremony in the private chapel on the Silverhill Park estate, Ross’s mother hosted a ball that was attended by guests from at least three counties.

Sophia tried not to be overwhelmed by the surfeit of attention.

Countless newspapers and magazines had published information concerning Sir Ross Cannon’s bride, where and when the wedding would take place, and even where they were to live.

Gossip raged in salons, coffeehouses, and taverns.

The revelation that Sir Ross’s new wife was the daughter of a viscount added more spice to the story, for it was also known that she had worked for him at Bow Street.

Sophia was gratified by the Cannons’ ready acceptance of her, and especially by the warmth that his mother displayed.

“My friends have asked me to describe you,” Catherine had told her the day before the wedding.

Assorted guests sat in the parlor, some playing games at the card table, some strolling arm in arm through the circuit of family rooms. A few women were engaged in needlework, while gentlemen sat with newspapers and conferred on the day’s events.

“Naturally,” Catherine continued, “they are all exceedingly curious about what kind of woman would manage to capture Ross’s heart. ”

“His heart isn’t the part of his anatomy that she’s captured,” Matthew muttered nearby.

Catherine turned toward him inquiringly. “What did you say, darling?”

He managed to produce an insincere smile.

“I said my brother has indeed been captured. One can hardly recognize him for that witless grin he has taken to wearing.” A few guests laughed upon overhearing the comment, as the change in Sir Ross’s usually remote demeanor had been generally remarked upon.

Many had agreed that it had been a very long while since Sir Ross had seemed so lighthearted and relaxed.

As Matthew spoke, Ross entered the parlor and went over to Sophia. Picking up her hand, which was resting on the curved back of the settee, he lifted it to his lips and whispered, “Shall I tell them why I’m smiling?”

The wicked gleam in his eyes reminded Sophia of the passionate interlude they had shared the previous night, when he had sneaked into her room and joined her in bed.

She frowned at him while her cheeks colored.

Laughing at her discomfiture, Ross seated himself beside her on the settee.

“And how do you describe my fiancée to your friends, Mother?” he asked Catherine, picking up the threads of the conversation.

“I tell them that she is the most delightful young woman I have ever met. Not to mention lovely.” Catherine glanced at Sophia’s peach-colored gown with an approving eye. “Is that a new dress, dear? The color is most becoming.”

Sophia did not dare glance at Ross. The subject of her clothes had provoked a heated argument between them just a few days earlier.

Because Ross had insisted on marrying her so quickly, there had been no time for Sophia to have new gowns made.

And since he was a man, he had not given a single thought to her trousseau.

The only clothes Sophia possessed were the dark dresses she had worn at Bow Street, all of them made with coarse fabric and no embellishments.

She had cringed at the thought of being wed in one of those drab garments and then attending a ball in it.

Therefore she had approached Ross with some trepidation and asked for the return of the lavender-silver gown.

“As you no longer require it for an investigation,” she had told him in his office, “I would like to have it back, please.”

Ross had received the request with disgruntled surprise. “What do you need it for?”

“It is the only suitable gown I have to get married in,” she said calmly.

A scowl settled on his face. “You are not going to wear that at our wedding.”

“It is a perfectly lovely gown,” she persisted. “There is no reason why I can’t wear it.”

“Yes, there is,” he countered in outrage. “It came from Nick Gentry.”

Sophia returned his scowl. “No one will know that.”

“ I’ll know it. And I’ll be damned if I will allow you to wear it.”

“Fine, then. What will you have me wear?”

“Choose a dressmaker—I will take you anywhere you wish this afternoon.”

“No dressmaker will be able to make a suitable gown in three days. In fact, there is barely enough time to alter the lavender one. And I will not marry you in front of all your friends and family looking like a beggar!”

“You can borrow a gown from my mother. Or Iona.”

“Your mother is nearly six feet tall and as thin as a rail,” Sophia pointed out. “And I’ll be damned if I will wear a gown of Iona’s and then endure snide comments from your brother about it. Now, where have you put the lavender gown?”

Glowering, Ross leaned back in his chair and propped the heel of his boot against the side of the desk. “It’s in the evidence room,” he muttered.

“My gown, in the evidence room?” she exclaimed indignantly. “No doubt it has been shoved onto some filthy shelf!”

As she hurried out of the office, his curses could be heard down the hallway.

Rather than allow Sophia to wear the lavender silk, Ross had actually sent three runners out to investigate various dressmakers.

Somehow they managed to find one who was willing to sell a gown that was part of another order.

It would cost a fortune, the dressmaker warned, as she would probably lose one of her most valued clients as a result.

Ross paid the hefty sum without a word of protest.

To Sophia’s private relief, the dressmaker presented her with an exquisite pale blue gown with a flattering square-cut bodice and a fashionably low waistband.

The full skirts were adorned with glittering beadwork flowers, as were the full, elbow-length sleeves.

It was a magnificent creation that fitted her almost perfectly and required very few adjustments.

In a display of generosity, the dressmaker had also allowed Ross to purchase two other gowns from her other client’s order, so that Sophia would have day dresses to wear at Silverhill Park.

On their wedding day, Sophia wore her hair pinned in curls atop her head, with silver ribbons woven throughout.

A necklace of pearls and diamonds was clasped around her neck, a gift that Ross had sent to her that very morning.

She felt like a princess in the shimmering gown, the clicking weight of pearls around her neck, the heeled satin shoes on her feet.

The wedding ceremony was a transcendent dream, anchored only by the warm grip of Ross’s hands and the silver intensity of his eyes.

At the conclusion of the vows, he bent to brand her with the possessive heat of his lips, a brief caress that contained the promise of much more.

Champagne flowed freely at the wedding banquet, an eight-course feast that was followed by a lavish ball.

Sophia was introduced to hundreds of people, and before long she was weary of smiling and her ears were ringing.

It was impossible for her to remember more than a few of the multitude of new faces.

Some people did stand out in her memory, one of them being Sir Grant Morgan’s wife, Lady Victoria.

Having long been curious about what kind of woman would wed the intimidating giant, Sophia was surprised to discover that his wife was quite small of stature.

Lady Victoria was also one of the most spectacularly beautiful women Sophia had ever seen, with a voluptuous figure, a profusion of vivid red hair, and a vivacious smile.

“Lady Sophia,” the petite red-haired woman said warmly, “no words can express how thrilled we are that Sir Ross has finally married. Only a remarkable woman could have enticed him away from widowerhood.”

Sophia returned her smile. “The advantage of the match is entirely mine, I assure you.”

Sir Grant interceded, his green eyes twinkling warmly.

He seemed far different from when he was at Bow Street, and Sophia observed that he basked in the presence of his wife as a cat would in sunshine.

“I beg to disagree, my lady,” he told Sophia.

“The match holds many advantages for Sir Ross—which is obvious to all who know him.”

“Indeed,” Lady Victoria added thoughtfully, her gaze finding Ross’s dark form as he stood in a separate receiving line. “I’ve never seen him look so well. In fact, this may be the first time I’ve ever seen him smile.”

“And his face didn’t even crack,” Morgan commented.

“Grant,” his wife scolded beneath her breath. Sophia laughed. Morgan winked at her and drew his wife away.

As the musicians played a piece by Bach, Sophia searched the crowd for a glimpse of Ross.

Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be seen now.

The sweet melody provided by strings and a transverse flute made her feel curiously wistful.

Glancing at the glittering skirts of her gown, Sophia smoothed them with a gloved hand.

She imagined the pleasure her parents might have felt if they had known she would marry a man like Sir Ross.

And she had no doubt of the grief they would have suffered to learn what had become of their only son.

Suddenly feeling very much alone, Sophia wished that her brother could have attended her wedding, although that was obviously impossible.

He and she lived in different worlds, and there would never be a way to close the distance between them.

“Lady Sophia.” A voice intruded on her thoughts, and she was confronted with the last face she would ever have expected to see.

“Anthony,” she whispered, her heart dropping in a sickening plunge.

Anthony Lyndhurst was just as she had remembered, handsome and blond, wearing a self-important smile. Sophia could not believe that he had the gall to approach her. Stricken, she did not curtsy in response to his bow.

“My congratulations on your marriage,” he said softly.