Sapphire

by Rosemary Rogers

  Lucia lifted the lid of a pottery serving bowl but rejected the dish of sardines. “I’m sorry to hear that you didn’t sleep well, Edith. Were you feeling poorly?” She took several corners of toast and heaped blackberry jam on the side of her plate.

  “You could say that.” Lady Carlisle set her fork down firmly on the table. “Lucia…Mademoiselle Toulouse,” she said, taking on a more formal tone. “I must speak frankly with you.”

  “So early in the morning?”

  “Pardon me?”

  Lucia turned from the buffet, a smile placed strategically on her lips. “I said, ‘a moment, darling.’” She took a seat at the dining table.

  “Coffee, mum?” the servant asked Lucia, eyes downcast.

  “Thank you.” Lucia smiled sweetly and then picked up her napkin and tucked it into the neckline of her brightly colored caftan. “Now, what were you saying, dear?” She lifted her gaze, batting her lashes.

  “You heard what they were saying last night? The rumor?”

  “Which one? I heard that Lady Thorngrove had lost three thousand pounds sterling at whist, that Baron Birdsley’s wife had run off with the Italian he’d hired to paint her portrait, and that eighty-year-old Lord Einestower’s son and heir had been born with hair as red as his Scots gardener’s when both Einestower and his nineteen-year-old bride had hair as black as any chimney sweep.”

  “You know very well which one,” Lady Carlisle said haughtily. “Your goddaughter, Miss Fabergine, was seen in a compromising situation with Lord Wessex.”

  Lucia shrugged, spreading jam on one of her toast points. “She kissed Lord Wessex. Rather, he kissed her. I’ll guess you did as much when you were nineteen, Edith. I wouldn’t put it past you to have done so since.”

  “How dare you!”

  Lucia took a bite of her toast. “It was a kiss, nothing more.”

  “She was seen, alone, in the billiards room with a man.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Edith, if you want to evoke these preposterous unwritten rules of London society, one could say Lord Wessex is a distant cousin.”

  Lady Carlisle patted the corners of her lips with her napkin. “We have absolutely no proof of that. I never heard a word last night at the party about your goddaughter having any connection whatsoever to the Wessex family.”

  Lucia tossed her toast on her plate. “Edith Carlisle, are you calling me a liar?”

  “I am Lady Carlisle to you and I would not presume to say who speaks the truth and who does not. I’m simply stating that there is no proof that Sapphire Fabergine is related to the Thixton family in any way, and now that she has been caught in an unfortunate situation that could reflect badly on Lord Carlisle and me…”

  Lucia could feel her face beginning to burn with anger. “Because we’re staying here?”

  “I have no issue with you or Miss Angelique. She’s quite sweet, but…”

  “But what, Edith?” Lucia demanded. “What are you trying to say? That Sapphire is no longer welcome in your household?”

  “I asked Lord Carlisle to handle this unfortunate situation, but he was unable to—” she gulped water from a crystal glass “—remain here this morning to discuss the matter with you.”

  “So you are putting us out, then?” Lucia exclaimed. “Simply come out and say it why don’t you.”

  “As I said, I have no issue with you or—”

  “So you would put out a girl not yet twenty years old?” Lucia leaned forward, pressing her hands on the polished table. “And where would you have Sapphire go? What would you have her do?”

  Lady Carlisle leaned back in her chair as if unsure what her houseguest might do. “That really isn’t my concern. I suppose if she needs finances, she could set herself up as a woman in need of a protector. Obviously she’s that kind of young woman, as I suspected when we first met in Martinique.”

  Lucia shoved her chair under the table. Armand hadn’t sent them with enough money to live on their own; such a need hadn’t been anticipated. But she didn’t care about the money. She’d prostituted herself once and she could do it again if she had to. She’d do that before she would allow Sapphire to be treated this way. “How dare you! We shall leave by noon.”

  “You understand, she left us with no other recourse,” Lady Carlisle said.

  “What I understand is that you, Edith, are not fit to wash Sapphire Thixton’s underclothing.” She whipped around to walk out, and then thinking better of her exit on an empty stomach, turned back, grabbed a toast point covered with jam and walked out of the dining room.

  8

  “What else can I do for you, Auntie?” Sapphire asked, a leather valise in her arms. “This is the last of our belongings from the Carlisles’.”

  “You can’t do a thing but sit here and have a cup of coffee with me and some of these divine pastries from Mrs. Partridge’s shop on the corner, ma chère.” Lucia patted the floral settee.

  The apartments Lucia had located to rent were in Charing Cross, only a few blocks from the Carlisles’ town house. Though located on the second floor, which forced them to walk up a narrow flight of stairs, the residence was large. It had two bedrooms, a parlor, small drawing room, kitchen and dining room and it came with kitchen staff. Set as it was over a dressmaker’s shop, the soft hum of voices could be heard from below during business hours, but Sapphire adored the large casement windows that ran the length of the apartments and opened up onto the street where she could see the activity of the day. They’d only been here four days, after staying in a rooming house for two nights, but it already felt like home to her.

  “Just let me put this away and I’ll join you,” Sapphire said.

  “Put it down, you’ve done enough—too much,” Lucia insisted, waving her arm. “We must have a personal maid and I intend to see to it directly. I won’t see you running up and down those stairs as if you’re one of the servants.”

  Sapphire lowered the valise to the floor. “I blame myself for everything.”

  “Pish!” Lucia tapped the seat beside her again. “I was sick to death of that Edith Carlisle. You simply provided the perfect excuse to get us out of that house.”

  Sapphire lowered herself onto the soft piece of furniture and made herself more comfortable. “No coffee for me, but I’ll sit while you have yours. Did you send Papa a note informing him we’ve moved?”

  “I did.”

  “Do you think he’ll be angry? He arranged for us to stay with Lord and Lady Carlisle thinking it would be the best for us. I hate to disappoint him.”

  “Armand has a good heart but he’s still a man, dove.” Lucia sipped her coffee served in a tiny china cup. “How was he to know Edith was such a poor hostess and a gossip to top it off? No, he would never want you to remain in that household.”

  Sapphire’s eyes flashed. “That horrible man—”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” Lucia interrupted, sweeping one graceful hand. “Coffee beans already on the floor. What we need to do now is decide how to proceed from here.” She glanced at her goddaughter. “What you need to decide, dear, is if you would still like to pursue the matter of your birth.”

  “Of course I would! Just because that man was rude, and coarse—” Sapphire rose and began to pace in front of the table set out with the coffee service “—that doesn’t mean he’s frightened me off. I am not about to be bested by some…some American upstart! Mr. Blake Thixton may be the legal heir to my father’s title and possessions, but he has no authority over me, and if he won’t listen to me then I’ll…I’ll take my cause elsewhere. I will be heard and I will be acknowledged!”

  Lucia smiled slyly. “Which was my thinking precisely. I just wanted to hear you say it.”

  The door opened at that moment and Angelique blew in like a fluttering leaf from the park. “What in heaven’s name are you two doing sitting here like two old spinsters?” she demanded, sweeping off her bonnet and patting her wind-blown hair. “I’ve just had the most pleasant carriage ride through
the park.”

  “With whom?” Sapphire rested her hands on her hips.

  “Just a gentleman.” Tossing her bonnet on a chair, Angelique sashayed to the table and picked up a small, round cherry-topped cake from the china platter. “What have you two been up to?” She glanced around. “Settling in, I see.”

  “You could have stayed and helped,” Sapphire offered.

  “And you could have gone to the park with me. There’s a Mr. Krum who’s been inquiring of you all about town.”

  “Me?” Sapphire brushed the bodice of her pale blue morning gown. “Why ever would someone want to inquire about me?”

  “He saw you at the ’Change, in the park, somewhere. I suspect he’s wife-shopping.”

  Sapphire shook her head, choosing not to continue the subject. “We were discussing what I’m to do now that Mr. Thixton will not listen to me in person. He refused to accept the letter I sent to him yesterday.”

  “Really, Sapphire, I don’t know why you care about all this. The city is full of handsome men like Mr. Krum. Surely you could find a husband to suit you.”

  “Angel, this isn’t about finding a husband,” Sapphire snapped. “Haven’t you been listening to what I’ve been saying all these weeks? It’s about who I am!”

  “And not about Blake Thixton?”

  “Certainly not!” Sapphire turned her back to them, feeling her cheeks grow warm. “I would appreciate it if you would refrain from mentioning him in my presence.”

  “We were just saying that we need to go elsewhere to make Sapphire’s plea,” Lucia explained as she added two pastries to a tiny china plate rimmed with lavender blossoms.

  “Elsewhere?” Angelique licked the sweet icing from her fingers. “Is this your idea, Sapphire?”

  “Actually, it was Lady Carlisle’s suggestion.”

  “I want no part of anything she has to say,” Sapphire declared, turning to face them, her arms crossed obstinately. “She insulted us both, me by suggesting I had done something illicit and you by suggesting you were somehow responsible.”

  “Now, now, smooth your feathers. I’ll warn you, this is not a conventional approach.”

  “We adore unconventional, don’t we, Sapphire?”

  Sapphire sat in one of the upholstered chairs at the tea table. “I’m listening.”

  “The question is, exactly what is it you want from Lord Wessex?”

  “All I want from Mr. Thixton is for him to acknowledge that my father was married to my mother and that I am his legitimate daughter.”

  “Which makes the Dowager Lady Wessex what?” Angelique giggled. “A kept woman?”

  “I don’t care.” Sapphire leaned forward in her chair, threading her fingers. “I want all of London to know I am Sapphire Thixton, daughter of the late Edward Thixton, Earl of Wessex.”

  “Even if the American is willing to admit you could be Edward’s daughter, the dowager is going to want proof.” Angelique reached for another cake.

  “But we don’t even know where to start looking for this proof. Aunt Lucia has had no luck so far finding any record of a marriage of anyone in the Wessex family in Devonshire in the past one hundred years. She’s been told such records would have been destroyed,” Sapphire said.

  “But perhaps we would not need the physical proof,” Lucia said, “not if we stir up enough trouble.” She sipped her coffee.

  “Trouble?” Sapphire repeated.

  “Well…” Lucia’s gaze flitted from one girl to the other as her voice rose with excitement. “You see, when I said you had nowhere to go, Lady Carlisle suggested that you set yourself up in search of a protector.”

  “Oh!” Sapphire cried. “That despicable woman!”

  “Now listen.” Lucia held up a finger. “I understand that the eldest daughter—the one with the bad complexion—is hoping to wed soon. What if we were to initiate a scandal that the dowager would be eager to squelch?”

  “Like the late Earl of Wessex’s daughter being put out on the street and forced to seek a protector in order to survive!” Angelique said.

  “I don’t know,” Sapphire said, stalling.

  “Oh, come now, it would be so much fun!” Angelique continued. “Can you imagine? The men would be lined up on the street outside the dress shop just waiting to leave those silly calling cards. We could go to a ball or the theater every night, and during the day there would be horse races, picnics—”

  “It sounds so outrageous!”

  “So outrageous, it just might work.” Lucia winked. “I heard at the cook shop down the street that the dowager’s middle girl—what is her name? Polly, Porridge, Petunia?”

  Sapphire couldn’t help but laugh. “Portia.”

  “Yes, that’s it.” Lucia reached for another cake. “I understand her mother is expecting a particular gentleman caller to ask for her hand any day now.”

  “Lord Carter?” Angelique asked, turning back to Lucia. “You mustn’t be serious.”

  “You know him?” Sapphire asked.

  She smiled. “I would think so. He was the one who took me riding this morning, with his brother and a cousin.”

  “You were riding in a carriage with three men, unescorted?”

  Angelique rolled her eyes. “One of them brought a little sister along. Of course, I’m not sure how that would matter if we’re talking about setting ourselves up as courtesans.”

  “Women in need of protection,” Lucia corrected.

  “You know,” Sapphire said, looking to her godmother, “I couldn’t really—”

  “I could.” Angelique grinned.

  Lucia met Sapphire’s gaze. “I don’t expect you to sacrifice your virtue, sweet. What kind of woman do you think I am? I’m only suggesting that you allow others to think you might consider it, under the right circumstances. First we let it be known that you ladies are both in need of protectors because Lady Carlisle has put you out and I’m too old and feeble to care for you.” She drew the back of her hand dramatically across her forehead. “And then—” she popped up “—once you are the toast of London, people will hear the tragic truth—that you are a Thixton, forced to set yourself up as a kept woman because your family is unwilling to take you into their loving bosom…”

  “Lady Wessex wouldn’t want that hanging over her head. It could prevent her daughters from making proper alliances.” Angelique smiled. “It’s a perfect plan!”

  “A perfectly outrageous plan,” Sapphire agreed, sitting back. “Just outrageous enough to work.”

  “Here, driver,” Lucia called, tapping the seat of the open hackney with the new walnut and copper walking stick she’d purchased at the ’Change. The late spring sun shone warm on her face and she resisted the notion that she should turn the brim of her hat down to prevent freckling. What did she care at her age? The sun felt divinely good; it made her feel alive and full of hope. “Down this street, closer to the wharves.”

  “Missus.” The tiny man perched high on the driver’s seat glanced over a hunched shoulder. “Ye sure, missus? Rough lot down Water Street.”

  “I know,” she said merrily. “I was once employed there.” She rapped on the seat with the cane again. “Onward, man. Look at these wrinkles! Can you not see I grow older by the minute?”

  “Aye, missus.” The driver clucked between his teeth and urged the two-seater carriage down a narrow street.

  The stench of fish and brackish water filled Lucia’s nostrils and she breathed deeply, letting memories return to her. Never for a moment had she missed this place, but she’d always thought it was good for the soul to revisit old haunts. It made a woman who had come as far as she had better appreciate her good fortune.

  The street narrowed even further and antiquated frame buildings rose up on both sides, partially blocking the sunlight. Sewage ran in an open gutter along the rutted street, adding to the stench of the Thames. This portion of London that ran along the public docks was like its own city, swarming with the noonday crowd of black-toothed women bar
tering their wares. “Cream, fresh cream,” someone called. Tarred pigtailed sailors wound their way around fish carts, wagons and a herd of goats being driven down the center of the street. Lucia realized she hadn’t been here in twenty-five years, yet nothing seemed different.

  “Here, missus?” the driver called.

  “A little farther,” Lucia encouraged, waving the walking stick. Ahead were the taverns and alehouses of the working class, filled with patrons, even at midday. Spotting a decrepit wooden sign marked with a hare wearing a top hat, she rapped the stick excitedly. “Here,” she called. “Let me off here.”

  “Missus?”

  Lucia rose and grabbed the side of the carriage, even before it rolled to a halt. “I want to get off here.”

  The driver pulled the brake, wrapped the leather reins and scrambled down from his seat to offer his hand to assist her.

  “I won’t be but a minute,” she said, dropping a coin into his dirty palm. “Wait for me and there’ll be two more like it.”

  “Aye, missus.” He tugged on the torn brim of his wool hat. “’Course, missus.”

  Smiling, Lucia walked up the street to the corner of Water and Front. As if she were stepping back in time she approached the Hare of the Hat tavern and the women who loitered at the door.

  Lucia walked up to the woman closest to her, the one wearing a pink silk chemise, her thin shoulders bared, her small breasts spilling out over the garment that would have been more appropriate beneath a dress, had she been wearing one. She appeared to be close to forty years old but could have been as young as twenty; it was hard to tell under the mop of tangled hair.

  The woman looked Lucia up and down and spat a stream of chewing tobacco. “Can I ’elp ya, mum?”

  Two women behind her cackled. Another stared, but didn’t seem to see the well-dressed lady standing before her or hear her cohorts.

  “Perhaps.” Lucia moved closer to inspect the other women, taking care not to step in the stream of tobacco juice on the wooden walk. The one with the vacant stare was out of the question. Lucia knew that stare—the woman was too far gone. The other two women were possibilities, but she liked the redhead immediately.