Sapphire. Rosemary Rogers
his dark head back and laughed.
“How dare you laugh at me! I am not through with you, Mr. Thixton,” she threw at him as she turned and rushed for the door.
“I hope not,” he called after her, still laughing.
Sapphire stormed out of the billiards room, slamming the door behind her. As she pushed her hair from her eyes and hurried up the hallway toward the music, she looked up to see guests lining both sides of the wall, staring at her.
Sapphire strode past them, down the hall and directly into the entrance hall. Without even looking for Aunt Lucia or Angelique, she continued out the front door.
“There you are.”
Lucia couldn’t resist a smile as she looked up to see Jessup Stowe hurrying toward her. He was quite handsome for a middle-aged man, bald pate and all, and they had shared a turn on the dance floor as well as a very engaging conversation earlier in the evening.
“Please tell me you weren’t going to run off without saying good-night, my dear Cinderella. I don’t believe I could have slept tonight without bidding you a fond farewell.”
She offered her hand and watched as he bowed formally and brushed his lips across the back of it. She giggled. “Mr. Stowe, you’re certainly smooth with les dames.”
“Only with ladies as beautiful and charming as you, my Cinderella.”
She smiled, genuinely flattered. “Now I know you’re being insincere. There are plenty of women in this house tonight more appealing to the eye and certainly younger than I am.”
“But it is you, Mademoiselle Toulouse, who has caught my fancy. I don’t often meet women as interesting as you.”
“I must go, Mr. Stowe.” With everyone at the ball gossiping about Sapphire and Lord Wessex, she needed to be certain Sapphire was all right.
“I wish you wouldn’t. One more dance? A walk in the garden, perhaps? “Stowe’s broad brow furrowed. “Or if you’re tired, we could—”
“Tired?” Lucia scoffed as she thrust one slippered foot from beneath her new gown. “I could dance all night on these feet. I could dance most of these young women in their silly heeled shoes right off the dance floor.”
“I bet you could, couldn’t you, Mademoiselle Toulouse?” He grinned.
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you certain you are unmarried, Mr. Stowe?”
“I am afraid I am. A widow, these past three years.”
“Did you love your wife?”
“I did. A great deal and I miss her.”
“Good answer. Now, I must be on my way, but because you have passed the test, you may come for me Sunday afternoon and take me for a ride in Hyde Park.” She walked toward the door and the footman opened it.
“To think I didn’t even know I was taking an examination and I’ve apparently not only passed it, but won the prize,” the barrister called after her, his face red with glee.
“Good night, Mr. Stowe.” Lucia walked out the door, feeling lighter on her feet than she had in years.
“Sapphire. Sapphire? Puss, I’m coming in.”
The door opened and Lucia entered, but Sapphire didn’t sit up. She just lay there staring at the ceiling. She’d managed to get out of her shoes and gown, petticoats and stays without any assistance, but she was still wearing her drawers and new chemise.
“Are you asleep?”
“How could I be?” Sapphire asked miserably. “It’s a scandal. I’m sure you heard. I’m sure all of London has heard by now.”
“Ah, they have nothing better to do with their lives than gossip.”
Sapphire groaned in frustration. “And now everyone in London will speak poorly of me and call me terrible names. My reputation is ruined. I came to London for my mother’s sake and look how I’ve shamed her, how I’ve shamed my father.”
Lucia sat on the edge of the bed. “Poppycock,” she said softly. “I have to ask, though, puss—were you a…participant, or did Lord Wessex take unfair advantage of you?”
Sapphire felt heat rise in her face. “It was only a kiss. He didn’t…didn’t—”
“I know this is delicate, but I must know, puss. I of all people would never judge you. Participant or victim?”
“He didn’t hurt me, Aunt Lucia.”
Lucia was quiet for a moment while she smoothed Sapphire’s hand in hers. “Did you speak to him of your father?”
“I tried, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He…he—”
Aunt Lucia patted Sapphire’s hand and released it. “The new Lord Wessex is quite handsome. Unmarried.”
“He was abominable again.”
“Was he, now?” Lucia asked. “The party was rife with tittle-tattle, everyone was speaking of how handsome he is. They say his interest may lie with the dowager’s eldest daughter. Were he to marry her, the money would stay in the family.”
“Well, her interest might lie in his direction, but I can warrant you he’d not be interested in a shrew like her!”
“Really?” Aunt Lucia rose from the bed. “Well, dear, it’s late. I just wanted to be sure you were all right and to say good-night.” She glanced at the empty side of the bed. “I suppose you’ve seen no sign of our Angel.”
“No.”
Lucia sighed. “Certainly not surprising. She had several suitors tonight.” She walked toward the door. “I’m going to turn in, if you’re certain you’re all right.”
“I’m fine.”
“We’ll talk more tomorrow when you’re rested, puss. Good night.”
“Good night,” Sapphire called, knowing full well it would not be a good night because memories of Blake Thixton’s kiss would keep her awake until the early hours.
“Good morning, Lucia.” Lady Carlisle sat at the head of the dining table set for breakfast, dressed for an outing in a striped gray and white taffeta morning gown, her hair pulled tightly in a matronly chignon.
Lucia noted that Lady Carlisle didn’t look at her when she spoke. “Good morning, Edith,” she replied cheerfully, moving to the buffet table that had been set up along the wall of the dining room so that one could dine at one’s leisure. “Did you sleep well?” She accepted a plate from a maid standing as inconspicuously as possible beside the serving table, gaze fixed on the polished floor.
“I did not.”
Lucia took her time placing several lamb sausages on her plate, knowing exactly the direction this conversation was headed.
Lady Carlisle cleared her throat.
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