Rosemary Rogers - Sapphire

Sapphire’s breath caught in her throat as she lifted the jewel toward the window and the sunlight struck it, lighting it with a blue brilliance that was almost blinding. After all these years, she was going to meet her father….

“But I think our meeting will not be what you imagined, Mama,” she said, pressing a kiss to the glittering jewel. “I’ve a thing or two to say to this man, I’ll warrant you.” She eased the sapphire into the black velvet bag, tightened the string and returned it beneath the casket’s worn burgundy velvet lining, so that even if a nosy servant did open the box, she would never suspect the treasure hidden inside. To the unknowing eye, the old, battered leather casket looked simply like a box of worthless female keepsakes.

Sapphire pushed the trunk back under the bed and got to her feet, her fingers untying the ribbons of her dressing gown. Confident Lucia was in Lady Carlisle’s carriage by now, she stripped off the gown to reveal the dress she’d bought as soon as they’d arrived in London, the dress she would wear when she confronted her father.

Sapphire placed the dressing gown on the bed and turned toward the floor-length oval mirror. The dress was actually of two pieces, a skirt and a front-buttoning jacket with a short basque in a brilliant jewel-blue challis. The sleeves were narrow, as was the latest fashion, and dainty new square-toed black leather boots peeked from beneath her petticoats.

She smiled at her reflection, knowing that the moment her father saw her eyes—one blue, one green like his—he would know who she was.

But she realized she had no time to waste if she was going to escape the house undetected, meet Lord Wessex, and then be back before Lucia and Lady Carlisle returned. She went in search of the bonnet she wanted to wear. It was her plan not to tell Lucia what she had done, and then, when they were formally introduced according to the plans Lady Carlisle and Lucia were making, there would be no scene. Once she had given him a piece of her mind privately—out of respect for her mother and Armand—she would be cordial, if not remote, publicly.

The door opened as Sapphire lowered her bonnet over her auburn curls, and she whipped around to see Angelique walk in, her dark hair mussed and the bodice of her peach-colored day gown slightly rumpled.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Angelique demanded.

Sapphire turned to the mirror, adjusting the hat before drawing the ribbons under her neck. “Me? What about you? What do you think you’ve been doing? Though why I bother to ask, I don’t know.”

Angelique sighed and threw herself on the bed. “His name is Robert and he’s the stable master’s eldest son. He thinks I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.”

Sapphire glanced doubtfully at her companion, then back at the mirror, attempting to achieve just the right tilt of her bonnet. “We spoke of this before we left Martinique, Angel,” she chastised. “You cannot kiss every young man you run into.”

“And why not? I won’t be in nearly as much trouble for kissing Robert if I get caught as you will be for sneaking off to Lord Wessex’s.”

“I’m not sneaking.” Sapphire spun around. “I’m walking right out the front hall, out the front door and hiring a hackney to take me to Mayfair.”

“Does Aunt Lucia know you’re going?”

Sapphire frowned as she opened the drawer of a chifforobe to retrieve a pair of scented travel gloves.

“Are you going to tell her where you’ve been when you return?”

Sapphire didn’t answer.

“Then you’re sneaking.”

“He’s my father, Angel. I will not have our first encounter in front of hundreds of people at some formal ball or another.”

“Let me go with you, then.”

“You’re not going with me.” Sapphire traversed the bedchamber to the door, tucking a stray pincurl beneath her bonnet. “You’re going to stay here and cover for me in case my father and I fall into a lengthy conversation and lose track of the time.” She glanced back at Angel. “Although I think that is highly unlikely, considering what I have to say to him.”

“Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. Aunt Lucia is going to be furious.” Angelique followed her into the hallway. “Are you nervous?”

Sapphire shook her head, biting down on the soft flesh of her inner lip. It was a lie, of course, even Angel knew it, but saying she wasn’t nervous somehow made her feel stronger, bolder. “Cover for me if you must, but don’t get yourself in trouble. I wouldn’t ask that you lie for me.” Sapphire gave her friend a quick peck on the cheek and, seeing the third-story hall was empty, hurried for the staircase, raising a gloved hand in farewell. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

London was noisy, smelly, dirty and deafening. There were so many sights to see—churches, elegant town houses, narrow shops, public buildings—that she couldn’t decide where to look next. Throngs crowded the streets: butchers’ boys carrying huge sections of beef, mutton and pork; ladies’ maids hurrying by on errands; beggars; plump merchants’ wives; clergymen; farmers in wooden clogs and straw hats; bewigged judges and uniformed soldiers, all threading their way past riders on horseback, hackneys, carriages, ale wagons and wicker carts, not to mention the stray dogs, pigs and occasional chicken. The carriage ride from Charing Cross to the fashionable West End of London was not nearly as long as Sapphire would have liked, and before she knew it her coachman reined in his horse in front of the marble steps of an elegant town house—one she had discreetly discovered was her father’s home when he was in the city.

“Would you like me to wait, miss?” the driver called from the high seat of his hackney.

Sapphire put on a false smile, lifted her chin a notch and tried to imagine how an earl’s daughter would behave around common working men. “No, thank you, sir. Good day.” She passed him what she hoped was the correct fee for his service.

He grinned, tugged at his forelock and nodded. “Thank’ee, miss.” Then he cracked his whip over the horse’s back and the hired carriage rolled away, leaving her no choice but to lift the ornate lion’s-head knocker on the paneled walnut door that was wide enough for two broad-shouldered men to pass through side by side.

The door was opened almost at once, startling her.

“May I help you?” a slender, middle-aged footman in a spotless black coat inquired, looking down at her through the lenses of his eyeglasses.

“Yes, thank you, sir.” Sapphire felt as if she couldn’t breathe as she stepped into the front hall without waiting to be asked. “I’m here to see Lord Wessex.” She was amazed how true and clear her voice sounded; it was without a hint of waver.

“And may I ask who is calling?”

Sapphire could tell by his tone of voice that he did not approve of her arrival without a proper invitation. In the day they had been in London, she had learned that English society life was quite different from the laissez-faire existence in Martinique among the wealthy French and English landowners. Here, there were rules concerning proper etiquette for visiting involving calling cards, morning invitations and evening invitations and even the length of sleeve appropriate. It was her lack of a proper calling card, presently at the printers, that probably made the footman suspicious of her.

“His daughter.” She smiled sweetly.

The footman could not hide his surprise. “Miss?”

“You ask who calls on Lord Wessex. I am his daughter.” She plucked off a glove, amazed at how easily she could fall into the role of Lady Sapphire Thixton. “Please tell him that I’m here. I haven’t but a moment.”