French Jade: A dazzling Regency love story

by Janet Louise Roberts

  “But how will I get her here — when she has an appointment with Mr Seymour?” mused François.

  “It is simple — I hope,” said Minna. “Oliver Seymour is very polite — and always early. If he should come early, I shall be outside ready to hop into his carriage, and not permit him to come in and speak to Mother. And you keep Gabrielle here as long as you can — and pray —”

  “I think I shall pray first, and get that out of the way,” he said soberly. “When I have Gabrielle here, I shall need all my wits and tongue about me.”

  She did not even smile, she felt so anxious about their plan. “Yes, yes, however you will. I’ll change her clock in the room, about fifteen minutes, and she will come down about quarter till eleven. You remind her of the right time, and ask her to come to speak to you here. Then it is up to you —”

  “Um. Well, I shall try. But do not blame me if it fails, and she accepts him! It may be that it is fate —”

  “Nonsense! You must work for what you want, François! A strong man manages his own fates,” she said with a frown at him. “Have courage, take what you want! Be sure of what you want, then take it! You love Gabrielle, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but I do not always like her,” he said, meditatively. “However, life with her would be exciting, it has always been.”

  “I can imagine,” she murmured. “Well, come back now, and tell Mother how much you like her roses, and she will give you more tea!”

  François and Minna paused long enough at the flower beds to be able to comment on them, then returned to the house. Mrs Redmond was in the hall, and gave Minna a very sharp look.

  “Minna, you are quite red, why are you dashing about so rapidly this morning?”

  “I want to wake Percy,” said Minna quickly. “He has an appointment with Mr Lavery this morning at ten.”

  As a red herring, it was a winner. Mrs Redmond promptly forgot Minna.

  “Good heavens, he is going to ask for —”

  “Yes, I think so! It is wonderful, isn’t it?”

  “But I must go with him! I mean, it would be proper — and I must speak with Mrs Lavery — dear me — dear Denise — are you quite sure, Minna?”

  “Fairly sure,” said Minna, not betraying confidences. “I do know Percy is to go there this morning —”

  Percy’s valet came through the hall. Mrs Redmond stopped him. “Is my son up yet? Does he shave? What does he wear?”

  “Yes, madam, yes, he shaves, and he wears the blue silk suit with the silver tie and his sapphires, madam.” And the valet beamed over the silver pot of shaving water.

  “Go on, then, go on. Dear me, I must go with him. What shall I wear? Order the carriage for nine-thirty, Minna, that’s a dear.” And she started up the steps.

  “Wear your new lavender morning gown, Mother!” Minna called after her. “No grey or black today, if you will!”

  “Of course, darling, the very thing.” Mrs Redmond smiled happily down on her daughter. “Dear me, how happy I am, can it be true? — I must speak to Percy!”

  “If you are making this up, all will be trouble for you, Miss Minna,” said François idly.

  “Making it up? Oh, no. They spoke to me last night,” she blurted out. “But it will be perfect — Mother and Percy will be out calling on the Laverys while I —”

  “While you get into more trouble.” He sighed. “Dear me, I think you and Gabrielle are more alike than I had thought!” But he smiled down at her, and patted her shoulder kindly. “I shall prepare myself. Do you think I might have a bit more of the muffins?”

  “Of course — do go in and sit down, François. I should not have dragged you away before you ate,” she said, and sped up the stairs. How could he think of his stomach now?

  She went through her wardrobe, muttering feverishly under her breath, then called Jessie. She had out the yellow silk gown with the brown Spanish braid, a fine cream bonnet she had just trimmed with artificial flowers and veiling, and French-heeled shoes of cream silk.

  “What in the world is going on this morning, miss?” said Jessie, with the blunt curiosity of a long-time servant. She helped fasten up Minna, and began to brush her hair. “Your mother calling for her lavender gown, dashing in to see Mr Percy with only his dressing gown on —

  “She is going with him to propose to Denise Lavery,” interrupted Minna. “Of course, it is a secret yet, Jessie!” She knew Jessie adored being in on secrets before others knew. “You must not say a word until they return.”

  “And you’re going with them — to help propose?” asked Jessie disapprovingly.

  “No, no, I must be hostess here with Mother gone!” said Minna, improvising. “What is Gabrielle doing?”

  “She called for her bright blue gown, her blue bonnet and matching parasol — she said she is going out riding this morning,” said Jessie. “I’ll have to go back and do her hair, you know that.”

  “Yes, do that, Jessie. I’ll finish mine,” said Minna, with unexpected generosity, and Jessie looked at her suspiciously.

  When the maid had left, Minna carefully brushed out her hair in the old Gabrielle style, though for her it was not so extreme as Gabrielle Dubois wore. She worked tenderly with the curls and tendrils, admired her image, mused and dreamed, until it was late. She had heard Percy and her mother departing excitedly at about nine-thirty. Now to get Gabrielle taken care of by François. “Courage, François,” she muttered.

  At ten forty-five, she stole down the front steps furtively, to the immense curiosity of the footman near the front doors. Things were going on indeedy, he said to himself. All this dashing about this morning, and now Miss Minna being sly.

  His face showed nothing of his feelings. She peered out the window near the front door, then hesitated.

  “Has Madame Dubois come down?”

  “Yes, miss, she went out with Mr Claudel, into the rose garden.”

  “Oh, good!”

  That settled, she hovered, on one foot then another, until the footman’s curiosity drove her into the drawing room. At the first sound of the carriage outside, she dashed to the door. It was Oliver, in a dashing black carriage with a hood and the two magnificent blacks.

  “Open the door, quick!”

  The footman did so. Minna held her breath, then went outdoors smiling.

  “Good morning, Oliver!” She had almost forgotten her French accent. “How beautiful zis day is!”

  “Good morning, Gabrielle!” He was about to hand the reins to the footman and get down.

  “No, no, don’t get down! The horses should not stand!”

  Oliver gave her a long strange look. Minna or Gabrielle had never before presumed to advise him about his horses!

  “They should not?” he enquired, too gently.

  She knew her face was red as a beet. “And Mother is not home — I mean Tante Betsy —” she said, in a mutter she hoped he had not heard. “No one is home but me — and I am ready to go!”

  “Most interesting,” he said, and held out his hand. “Come up, then. Yes, right here — that’s it!”

  She landed almost in his lap, and straightened herself with an effort. He clucked to the large handsome horses, and they set off.

  “Well, well, what a glorious day!” he said merrily. “So you are ready to go, are you? And no one is home? Where has everyone gone?”

  “Oh, dear, it is a secret,” she said, in some confusion. But perhaps it would distract him. “I mean — well — all shall know soon.”

  “May I know soon?” He peered under her bonnet and smiled devastatingly at her. “How beautiful you are today — Gabrielle!”

  “Thank you — very much! You see — Percy is proposing to Mother — I mean — and his mother is — I mean — Percy goes to Mr Lavery to propose —”

  He waited patiently until she got her tongue untwisted. He bowed and smiled to someone on the pavement, and she did also, without knowing in the least who was there.

  “My cousin — Percy — hopes to marry
Denise Lavery,” she finally told him slowly. “And his — mother — goes with him —”

  “Ah. Splendid. So that little matter is straightened out,” said Oliver. “And where is Minna?”

  Ah, indeed. Where was Minna? Her mind sought frantically.

  “Out with Monsieur Claudel,” she said brightly.

  “Really? I am shocked,” he said sternly. “I don’t believe he is fit company for a young girl!”

  Oh, dear.

  “But François is a darling man!” cried “Gabrielle” to her escort. “He is very sweet — very nice —”

  “I am sure of it. I just explained that he was not fit company for Minna,” explained Oliver patiently. “I think we should go after them. Where did they go?”

  Minna could have wept. “I have no idea,” she said sullenly. “I thought we were going for a drive in the country?”

  “You do not care what happens to your little innocent cousin?”

  “Of course I care, very much. François does care also, I am sure, and will take every care of her!”

  “I see. Thank you for your assurances.”

  He was silent, then, driving the carriage deftly through the London streets, avoiding a dray with inches to spare, avoiding a stagecoach and its merry passengers hanging from windows and the roof. Finally the traffic cleared, and he turned into a country road, away from the turmoil and bustle of the roads to and from London-town.

  “Ah, this is better, much prettier. We are headed for a pretty country inn,” he explained, smiling down at her. “I have bespoke a good luncheon there, and we can rest and drink some fine French wines, they have promised.”

  Minna drew a great breath of relief. That was much better. “I shall enjoy it immensely. It is a lovely day for May —”

  “May is a pretty month. All the flowers,” and with his whip he indicated the tangle of primroses on a country lane, a welter of bright Queen Anne’s lace and chicory along the road.

  “I don’t care if they are weeds,” she said happily. “I glory in the colours and shapes of them. Would it not be sad if all that was gone, and only gravel and sand lay there?”

  “It would indeed.” He seemed to relax, and began to hum as the horses clopped steadily along. They came in about another hour to a country inn, and he drove into the stable yard.

  A big beaming landlord in an immense white apron came rolling out to greet them and help Minna down. Stableboys came also, to take the horses and wipe them down.

  Oliver followed Minna into the inn, and they found a little room set aside for them. The crude wooden table in the centre had been set with immaculate white cloths, and in the centre were some yellow primroses like those along the lane.

  Minna exclaimed over them. The landlord beamed. “Me datter picked ’em fer ye,” he explained. “Said as gentry always likes them things.”

  He bustled out to order the food brought in. Minna removed her velvet cloak, and Oliver set it aside. They sat down at the table, and he poured out some white wine for her that sparkled and bubbled.

  It was delicious, though it tickled her nose. She wrinkled it. “Oh, what is this?” she said. “Can it be champagne? I have only had it twice!”

  “Yes, it is champagne,” he said, and gave her that odd look again, that long thoughtful look. But he smiled, and teased her, “Do drink up! I know you will want more than that to satisfy your thirst!”

  She knew better; wine went straight to her head. She shook her head, and set down the glass after a couple of sips. Oliver drank his down, and poured more. The landlord brought in puff pastries and snails and a plate of pâté.

  Minna had never liked snails, no matter how prepared in melted butter nor broiled in juice, nor in puff pastries. Percy had put one down her neck when she was small, before he became more considerate a brother.

  “I cannot eat these,” she muttered, apologetically.

  “But you told me last night you adored them!” he exclaimed. “I asked you especially!”

  She was mortified, and terrified. So he and Gabrielle had discussed this! And what else?

  “You are teasing me.” He smiled. He put one to her lips. “Come ahead, eat it!”

  She closed her eyes, and swallowed, shuddering. What must she do for love?

  “There, is it not delicious?” he cried. “Come ahead, another one!”

  “No, no, I will have pâté,” she said, and reached quickly and rudely for that dish. She spread pâté on thick brown bread, and ate it eagerly. It was oyster pâté, her favourite. “Umm, delicious.”

  “You are certainly changeable, Gabrielle!” he said, smilingly, and sat down opposite her. “Only last night you told me you are deathly sick on oysters! What am I to think of you?”

  Minna raised her gaze slowly, and began to study Oliver’s brown, cheerful face. What made her feel suspicious? What twinge made her fear him? Did he suspect she was not Gabrielle? Should she confess?

  No, no, no, she wanted his proposal! She wanted him on his knees to her. She wanted to tell him how he had been mistaken in poor plain dowdy dull Minna. Then she would accept him! The game was almost played out, she could not call a halt now. Only one more hand, and it was done!

  So she swallowed, answered somehow, drank more champagne, which made her feel very warm, and ate snails and pâté both.

  The landlord returned with chicken, and she ate some of that, though her appetite seemed to have fled. Oliver plied her with champagne, she begged for a cup of tea.

  “She is only teasing,” Oliver told the landlord, shaking his head. “She is French, and detests tea, she told me so only last evening. Bring another bottle of champagne!”

  Minna could have chopped off Gabrielle’s head without resorting to a guillotine. She was parched. Oliver finally allowed the landlord to bring hot black coffee, which helped a little.

  She could not eat a single almond pastry, and Oliver mourned aloud. Minna was certain by now there was a twinkle in his grey eyes.

  Oliver leaned back and surveyed the girl opposite him. Did he look more ominous now? She could not meet his gaze.

  “Well, Gabrielle,” he drawled. “We must drive on, it grows late. Almost five. Tell me, is there not something you wished to tell me?”

  She stiffened. Had he guessed? What did he mean?

  “I am sorry?” She faltered. “Tell you — what?”

  “Isn’t there something? You were going to tell me about your life — your lovers. You were going to confess that of all the men in your life, you had never loved a one before me. Wasn’t that it?”

  Minna stared. What had Gabrielle said last night? Her mind whirled in confusion. “L-lovers? But I have not — I mean — only my ’usband — my dear Gaspar —”

  Oliver gazed at her thoughtfully, and now he did look grim. “Come, we must depart, it grows dark soon,” he said. He paid the landlord and picked up Minna’s cloak. He wrapped her in it, and hustled her out to the carriage waiting for them.

  When he drove out of the inn yard, he turned into another road.

  “This is not the road back to London,” Minna said quickly. She pointed to a signpost. “See, there? London, eighteen — it is that way.”

  “I always prefer to take a road I have not taken before,” he said oddly, and slapped the reins so briskly the blacks started into a brisk trot, fairly racing along the dusty country lane.

  It was darker, much darker, she thought. She glanced at the sky. The sun had not set, but the trees were so thick she thought it was late under the trees. Very late. Dark. Ominous.

  “I wish to return home,” she said, her voice trembling.

  “My dear Gabrielle! We have all the day!” he said, reassuringly, but his voice was cold. “You came quite willingly!”

  “For a drive in the country,” she said. “I have enjoyed it immensely! Th-thank you! But I should like — t-to go-go home now, p-please!”

  “Not quite yet,” he said, gazing straight ahead into the dim thicket of trees ahead. “Gabrielle, y
ou have been a little tease! But the reckoning always comes! You have told me, and I have guessed, that you had many lovers. Do you not wish to add an English one to your list — before you return to your gay bright Paris?”

  Minna could have fainted on the spot. “L-lovers. Oh, no,” she moaned. “You do not mean —”

  “I can promise you I shall be a very gentle lover,” he said, but he did not sound gentle. “Before we return home, I mean to taste to the full the promise of your lips — and your supple silky body! I have held you in the waltz, and in an embrace — but there were too many clothes in our way, dearest Gabrielle! Tonight, nothing shall be between us, there shall be nothing to separate us!”

  “No.” Minna was quite sure of that. “No, no, no! You must turn back! Please — I beg you — do not tease me —”

  “You beg me not to tease you, when you have teased me madly since the first meeting? You have flirted with your eyes, you have promised with your kisses. You cannot now deny me, Gabrielle!”

  She wanted to scream, but there was no one to hear except the mettlesome horses, the silent dark trees that skimmed the top of the carriage, the sky that brooded over them. The sun had disappeared behind a dark cloud. So had her hopes, her bright spirits, and the warmth from the champagne. She shivered violently from fear.

  “You would not do this to me, Oliver,” she quavered. “I beg you — for the friendship you bear to — to my dearest tante — Tante Betsy — and to M-Minna —”

  Oliver easily transferred the reins from both hands to one, and slipped his free arm about her waist. He pulled her to him, quite crushing her bonnet against his shoulder. He took a quick glance at the quiet road, then bent to her face.

  “I’ll have a taste of what you’ll be giving me soon,” he said thickly. And his mouth came down hard on hers, pressing urgently. His tongue went into her open surprised mouth . “Ahhh —” he said.

  “No,” squeaked Minerva, when he raised up for a moment. “Oh, no, no, no —”

  “Why not?” He breathed in her ear, and kissed the lobe.

  “You’ll fright — the horses!”