Star Sapphire: Love and wild adventure in Regency England

by Janet Louise Roberts

  He drew up the hem of her nightdress and stroked his hand over her thighs. His lips continued to tease at her breasts, pulling at the small pink rosebuds of the nipples. She caught her breath and her arms went more closely about his body, pulling him down to her. He moved his hand to her slim back, down to her hips, stroking up and down, rousing her. Then to her thighs again, and she was ready for him, moving under his body.

  He swung over her more fully. He caught his breath, said, “If it is too much for you, I will stop, my darling.”

  “No — no, don’t stop — oh, don’t stop —” She was moving under his body, showing her rising passion, her hands clutching at his waist, one hand went to his hips. He brought the two of them together, as carefully as he could, feeling a surge of delicious pleasure at the long-awaited meeting.

  He lingered long over her, drawing it out, with wonderful results, for she met his passion with her own shy longings. They came together, again, again, and he knew the delight of having her cry out with pleasure at the end. When he could, he slid off her naked body, and drew her into his arms. Their nightgowns had been discarded, flung wildly over his head to the floor. Now he was able to enjoy the feel of her warm slim body against his own, length to length.

  “Oh, you are my darling,” he whispered. “You are so beautiful, my dove, my dear.”

  She was weary, and soon slept on his shoulder. He lay awake, worrying a little that it might have been too much for her. However, in the morning, she seemed radiant and full of energy. He felt satisfied, and was pleased with their relationship. He loved her now, he knew. He had never before known what love was.

  But he loved Sonia. Loving her, he had discovered the meaning of love. Love was when one desired the good of the loved one more than one’s own. Love was a total meeting of mind and body, of heart and soul, drawing so close there was no room between them for dissension. Love was a craving when the beloved was away, a delight when she returned. Love was a quick defence, being hurt when the other was hurt, being happy when the other was happy.

  He blinked at the morning light, amazed at his thoughts. He had married for money, thinking bitterly never to find happiness in this life. But not seeking his own happiness had brought him more joy than he had ever believed possible to find. What a paradox that was!

  The days went on, and the nights, and they slept together often. There was but one flaw in his paradise. Sonia would not tell him where she had been those three months. He became angry at times. She grew pale, but shook her head, her mouth drooping in sadness.

  “I cannot tell you, Alastair. I beg you, do not ask again.”

  He could not refrain from asking. He knew he hurt her, as he would not allow anyone else to hurt her. Yet he must ask, again and again, for her trust and her belief in him. It seemed to violate everything they felt, that she should not trust him in this matter.

  His passion vied with his anger, and he took her again and again in those cold December nights. She met his passion with her own. In this she gave freely.

  And the days went on to Christmas. Alastair had gone out shopping with Edwina and Maurice, trying to find something appropriate for Sonia. She was not ready yet for the long drive to Fairley. Her strength did not equal her will. Often she had to lie down on the couch in the afternoon when no visitors came. So they would have to spend Christmas in London, though Sonia spoke wistfully of Fairley.

  She had completed the jewellery commissions. He had taken Edwina into his confidence, and she had gone daily with Sonia whenever she had to go to her own house to work on jewellery or meet with customers.

  Sonia had not agreed to set up a workroom in his townhouse. That also made him uneasy. She had not broken all her ties with her old life. She still spoke of it as “my own townhouse,” not seeming aware that she hurt him. When he was gone all the day she did not ask where he went. He was not sure if she was not interested, or if she did not care.

  He sighed sometimes in the dull sessions of the House of Lords. Sometimes the speakers did drone on so. He would think about Sonia and their problems, and wonder what might happen to their marriage.

  Christmas came. The house was decorated beautifully on the ground and the first floors. They had two trees, one in the huge drawing room and one in the servants’ quarters. He had the pleasure of giving his gifts to Sonia, and seeing her eyes sparkle with pleasure.

  His gifts were simple, but had taken much thought. Edwina had led him to a fine dressmaker, newly fled from France. The clever modiste had made up a beautiful dress of English wool in a wheat colour, trimmed in gold braid. Matching it was a thick woollen cloak of the same colours and a beautiful bonnet. Sonia simply had to put on the cloak and the bonnet at once, parading for them, her cheeks pink with pleasure.

  Alastair had seen that the jewellery she liked best was simple yet well-designed. He had gone also to a jeweller and ordered gold bracelets in Greek design, with a matching pendant and slim gold chain. These, too, she liked very much.

  Sonia had designed and had made up several dresses for the girls — in feminine fragile shades of blue for Edwina, flashing gold and touches of scarlet for Henrietta, and one gown of fragile violet for Henrietta in which she would look like a fairy. Maurice was the proud recipient of a stunning set of rubies — studs and cufflinks of Sonia’s design.

  For Alastair, she had made more studs and cufflinks of star sapphires, which matched his ring.

  “My dear, you must have been working too hard,” he rebuked her gently, coming over to thank her with a kiss.

  Her face glowed and her eyes were luminous as when she was very happy. “I enjoyed it so much, Alastair,” she said simply. “You are all my family now.”

  He liked it that the girls had exchanged loving gifts. Edwina had given Sonia a charming sewing basket of wicker covered with rose silk frills, fitted out with all sorts of golden thimbles, measures, pins and needles and a box of coloured silk threads. Henrietta’s gift to her sister-in-law was a glittering jewel box, of tortoiseshell trimmed in gold.

  It was altogether a happy occasion. Alastair went with Sonia to visit her uncle and take some gifts to him. Meyer had some uncut gems for her — and a bundle of extravagant lengths of silk fabrics for “the girls,” as Meyer said with a twinkle in his eye. Alastair lingered to talk with the old gentleman, discussing philosophy and the differences in holidays between religions, while Sonia took gifts to the servants and transient guests in her house. They still took in Jewish emigrants — peddlers, old women with bewildered eyes, young women in head scarves, and little children with sober looks and thin legs and arms. They seem to come and go. Alastair was sure he never saw the same ones twice.

  He had a lingering wonder — perhaps this was where she had gone on the mysterious “holiday”. Could she have gone back to her old country, to Vienna, to get some relatives or friends out and to safety? But surely, if that was so, she would admit it.

  So the pinprick of doubt that was larger by the week still bothered him; it remained to remind him that though he and Sonia had grown close in many ways, there was still this lack of trust between them.

  It did boil down to that. She wanted him to believe blindly in her, and he could not. Not when he thought of the fond looks she gave Jacob and the way Jacob kissed her cheek when they met. He had to know the truth about that one day, as soon as he could. Their marriage could not be complete without trust.

  CHAPTER 18

  Sonia hugged her secret to herself, one that made a little dreamy smile come to her lips often. She was going to have a baby — Alastair’s child! How happy she was! She hoped so much that he would be happy also.

  Did he want her child? He came to her often, without reluctance. He was fond of her, she knew that. He was anxious for her comfort, and his family liked and confided in her.

  But a child? Did he want her child? The heir to his estates? If she had a son, would a half-Jewish child be accepted?

  She put off telling him for a time, until she was certain. S
he had thought by Christmas that the child was on the way. Now she was fairly sure of it.

  Leah knew also, instinctively. Sonia knew that her abigail realized it by her extra anxious care of her. She must not reach high in the wardrobe for a bonnet — Leah jumped to do it for her. Sonia must not work long during the day — Leah scolded her into coming home by mid-afternoon.

  Yet she put off telling Alastair. She was not sure of his reaction. Some little warning, some fear troubled her. She scolded herself, but could not be calm about it.

  Everything seemed to happen at once. It was towards the end of January — a bitterly cold January, with fogs and mists that enveloped London and with ice on the cobblestones that made Sonia afraid to go out.

  Sir Frederick Toland gave a dinner party in his townhouse. Alastair insisted on their going. When Sonia tried to refuse, fearing to be out in the cold and ice, Alastair looked hurt.

  “I want you to know my friends better, and come to like them as I do,” he said sternly. “You have avoided them, I know. They ask after you. No one could have been kinder than Lady Barnstable in your illness last autumn. She often sent flowers and fruit from her greenhouses.”

  “I know — I have written —” Sonia hesitated anxiously. “She is to come on Saturday?”

  “Yes, she will be there, and many others whom you have met. Do say you will come, Sonia. Wear the new rose gown with the gold braid — that is so charming.”

  When he coaxed, she could not resist, and she smiled, and let herself be persuaded. She dressed for the evening, as he had asked, in the new rose velvet dress with the gold braid about the hem and sleeves. She wore Alastair’s gifts of gold bracelets and earrings, and he was pleased.

  They arrived when the party was in full swing. Sonia hated to be early, and to endure long empty conversations with looks darted at her. She kept her chin up, and her eyes wary as they entered the large drawing room.

  Lady Barnstable swept up to them, trim as a pocket ship in full purple sail. “My dearest Sonia, you are looking beautiful tonight!” she said, and kissed her on both cheeks. Sonia smiled with restraint. Alastair had probably asked her to be kind.

  “Good evening, Lady Barnstable, how pleasant to see you again.”

  “I longed to call on you, but Alastair refused me. He said you must become fully well again. You look blooming!” The keen eyes took in her appearance, lingered on her breast and waist, then back significantly to her eyes. But she said nothing, for which Sonia was thankful.

  “Thank you, you are very kind. May I express again my appreciation for your gifts of fruit and flowers. I especially enjoyed the violets — how fragrant they were!”

  Lady Barnstable looked gratified, though she waved the thanks away with her diamond-ringed hands. Her purple turban tossed. She took Sonia by the arm and led her about the room, introducing her, clinging to her, as though determined to launch her into Society. Whatever had Alastair said to her, Sonia wondered, even as she smiled into faces, shook hands, said the polite things required.

  As some other latecomers arrived, there was laughter in the hallway. Sonia stiffened. Could that voice be…? She managed to turn around casually, just in time to see her husband greet the couple that had just come in.

  The gentleman was Sir Philip Ryan, red-haired and dashing in a green suit and violently golden waistcoat, and the lady with him was Mrs Daphne Porter. Mrs Porter’s hair was more red than before, with golden lights in it, and she wore a crimson velvet gown cut very low, and a strand of huge emeralds set in gold about her throat.

  Lady Barnstable’s hand tightened on Sonia’s. “That — that female,” she growled under her breath. “How dare she! She becomes more arrogant by the minute!”

  Alastair’s smile seemed stiff. He greeted Sir Philip, raised Daphne’s hand to his lips. Everyone was staring at them and whispering. Sonia felt overcome with fury. How dare Alastair parade his mistress before her? Was this why he wanted her to be there? How could he be so cruel? It was not like him — if she knew him. She wondered if she did know him.

  They went in to dinner. Sonia was on the arm of a gentleman she knew by sight. He was elderly and polite — an earl. She was supposed to be honoured by that, she told herself bitterly. Alastair had taken in Lady Barnstable, but he was seated where he could see and talk with Daphne Porter across the table from him, and admire her stunning beauty.

  The earl rambled on about hunting and shooting, then on to politics. Sonia listened politely, contributed enough words to encourage him to go on, then turned to her partner on the other side. She knew him only slightly, and they did not have much in common. He devoted himself to his dinner, as though his stout frame had to be heavily stoked for him to continue with this life.

  The dinner seemed never-ending. She was nauseated by the huge servings and the heavy starches. Sir Frederick was a bachelor, and a widowed sister was his hostess. She was lively, judging by the sound of laughter coming from her end of the table. Sir Frederick was exchanging animated talk with Sir Philip and the others around him. There must be fully twenty at the table, thought Sonia, and counted — yes, twenty. She was about in the centre, and could not see Alastair’s face, for he was near the hostess on Sonia’s side of the table.

  To her relief, the hostess finally rose. The ladies went with her to the green drawing room. The gentlemen lingered over brandy and port, and some were the worse for it when they joined the ladies. Sonia was relieved that Alastair stood upright, moving under his own steam. She wondered when they might be able to leave.

  But Daphne Porter soon had him by the arm, and was whispering to him. Sonia turned from the sight, and talked to Lady Barnstable and the hostess about fashions, the latest play, the possibility that a Regency Bill would soon be passed, giving Prince George command of the government.

  “I understand that Lord Fairley has been talking in the House of Lords for passage of the bill,” said Lady Barnstable approvingly.

  Sonia stared. “He has?” she murmured. She had not known that Alastair ever took his seat there.

  “Yes, does he not say so? I thought he must confide everything in you, my dear — you are so intelligent, and so knowledgeable about events,” said Lady Barnstable encouragingly. She waited for a reply.

  Sonia’s gaze sought Alastair’s, but he was bending to hear what Mrs Porter said. Her mouth tightened and she turned back. “Not everything, my lady,” she said, unable to conceal her bitterness.

  The lady’s hand caught her arm and she squeezed it comfortingly — then changed the subject. She knew also, thought Sonia. The evening was becoming interminable. If only she might go home — if only she had remained at home! It was bitter enough, imagining Alastair with his mistress. To see them, side by side, his blond head bent to her reddish-blonde hair, his face laughing down into her charming one… Sonia felt suddenly ill, and put her handkerchief to her face. The spasm finally passed. She breathed deeply and it went.

  Alastair returned to Sonia’s side, looking a little uneasily at her. She seemed stiff, her face drained of colour. “Are you feeling weary, my dear?” he murmured anxiously.

  “Yes, I thought I might go home in the carriage. It can return for you,” she said curtly.

  He felt chilled. She did not look at him; she seemed bored and ill at ease, not like the way she was with her cousins. Well, she must learn to like his friends, he thought testily. They were not all her weight intellectually, but they were good fellows, and the ladies were splendid, some of them.

  “Only another hour, and we will both depart,” he said, as curtly as she had spoken. “It would be insulting to be the first to leave.”

  He straightened abruptly, and stood with his hands behind his back. Daphne came up to them, moving alluringly in the crimson velvet, her great green eyes fixed on him.

  “Alastair,” she said, and slid her hand into his arm. Unwillingly, he recalled how infatuated he had been with her, the nights and days she had lain in his arms. He had been unable to leave her at times,
for she had been so willing, so passionate…

  But greedy and difficult, also, he reminded himself.

  “Daphne, you do look splendid,” he said, for something to say.

  She gave a sly downward look towards his wife, sitting so primly on the sofa next to Lady Barnstable. She laughed a little, whispered loudly enough for them both to hear, “Darling, Sir Philip is having a party at his hunting lodge in Scotland. He has invited us both. It would be such fun… Do say you will come!”

  “Hunting? At this time of year?” he asked, amused.

  “Who said anything about hunting animals?” she murmured, and giggled up at him, her green eyes sparkling. “There are several of us going. Do say you can get away. You need a holiday, darling, you have stuck so close to home and work!” And she gave a little malicious side-swing of her body, pressing it against his.

  Alastair caught Lady Barnstable’s frosted look. He felt rebellious. Sonia was cold and haughty tonight. At least Daphne was friendly…

  “I don’t see how I can get away,” he said mildly. “Much work to do —”

  “Leave it to Maurice! You have before!” she urged. She pressed her fingers on his hand, the great emerald gleaming. He thought, Sir Philip is coming up to scratch — or does she have yet another lover? She was becoming very promiscuous.

  But no, he loved Sonia. He did not want to leave her.

  “Impossible at this time,” he said suavely.

  “Oh, dear!” she pouted. Sir Philip came up to them, swaying on his feet, his face almost as red as his carrot-coloured hair.

  “Daphne, did you t-tell him our p-plan?” he stuttered. “Great idea, eh? Hunting lodge out of season?” He began to laugh. “Should be cosy and happy, eh? Lots of hunting going on!”