Rosemary Rogers - Sapphire

Armand walked behind her chair and eased it out for her. “You look lovely, my dear,” he said. “The color of your new gown becomes you.”

She was still angry with him but her smile turned genuine as she sat and peered up at him over her bare shoulder. “Thank you for the gown, Papa. It is lovely.” She smoothed the skirt as she slid her chair forward.

“A lovely gown for a lovely woman,” he whispered in her ear. “Even if she is a hoyden.”

She looked into his eyes and had to cover her mouth with her hand to avoid giggling aloud. Apparently he had heard about Lady Carlisle’s comment concerning her behavior.

“Merci tellement,” Armand said grandly to his guests, helping Aunt Lucia into her chair before taking his place at the head of the table.

One of the married male guests aided Angelique, Sapphire noticed. All men adored Angelique because she was never argumentative and there was something about her dark beauty that men seemed unable to resist.

“Please,” Armand continued, taking his chair and opening his arms grandly. “Here at Manoir D’orchidée, Orchid Manor as you would say, we are quite informal.”

He waved to one of the new servants, a girl from the village that Sapphire suspected had caught her father’s roving eye. It was a vice of his that her mother had always overlooked; an innate male weakness, Mama called it. Be that as it may, when rumors circulated years ago that Angelique was actually Armand’s daughter by one of the native women, Sapphire had decided that the man she would marry would not have this innate male weakness. She would not stand for it.

The servant girl, Tarasai, who was no older than Sapphire, approached the table, eyes downcast, carrying a large white porcelain soup tureen with gilded handles. With the serving of the tortoise soup, the two-hour-long event of dinner commenced, and as course after course was served and carried out, Sapphire found herself sinking further into her chair.

Since her father’s English guests had arrived a week earlier, dinner conversations had been incredibly dull. The middle-aged men spoke of nothing but crops and their health, and as boring as that was, Sapphire found their talk of gout and the price of cane presses more interesting than the Englishwomen’s tedious conversations concerning London society. Aunt Lucia was quite adept at smiling and nodding and adding a oui or a yes in all the right places, and Angelique occupied herself by flirting with the men in the room, servants and guests, old and young. But Sapphire simply could not feign interest.

Waiting for the next course to be served, Sapphire lifted her gaze upward with a sigh of boredom and focused on the giant crystal chandelier hanging over the dining table. Orchid Manor was quite modern in many ways; the rooms were lit by efficient oil lamps, but her father insisted on using only candlelight in the dining room.

Sapphire heard a quiet whine beneath the table and felt a cold nose push against her hand. She made sure that no one was watching, then tore a piece of bread from her plate and eased it under the table. One of her father’s hounds licked it greedily from her fingers and nuzzled her hand for more.

Lady Morrow, who was the same age and temperament as the fifty-ish Lady Carlisle, was telling Aunt Lucia about a lady who had to dismiss her maid for pilfering soap from the larder. Sapphire rolled her eyes at the pettiness of the conversation and reached for another piece of bread to feed the dog.

Baroness Wells, seated beside Sapphire, met her gaze and smiled. Sapphire liked Patricia. Patricia was a newlywed and she could be quite fun, but she was Lady Carlisle’s niece and, therefore, well under the wretched woman’s thumb. Sapphire had tried several times to convince Patricia to go riding or swimming with her, but each time Lady Carlisle had rejected the idea on the grounds that a white woman was unsafe in the jungles of Martinique. The fact that many aristocratic French families lived quite safely in the area did not seem to be a consideration.

Sapphire offered another piece of bread to the hound, and this time he drew his nose just far enough from beneath the white linen tablecloth for Patricia to see him. Patricia spotted the black nose and lifted her napkin to her mouth to hide her amusement.

Lady Carlisle cleared her throat and Sapphire suddenly realized that the women at the table were all looking at her. Apparently someone had asked her a question, but she’d been too preoccupied with the dog to listen.

“Sapphire, dear,” Aunt Lucia said smoothly, “tell Lady Carlisle about the altar cloths you and Angelique recently embroidered for Father Richmond. I was just telling the countesses how well schooled you were by the nuns.”

“The truth?” Sapphire asked, knowing very well that was not what her aunt was seeking. “Angelique’s cloths were quite lovely, her stitching perfect. Mine were bloodstained from continually pricking my fingers with the damn needle and had to be thrown into the rag bag.”

Lady Morrow and Lady Carlisle gasped simultaneously. Sapphire smiled sweetly while Aunt Lucia tipped her wineglass, draining it in one gulp. After that, the conversation moved to the difficulties the ladies had had shopping for Patricia’s trousseau in Paris before she was married last fall. Sapphire was left to feed the dog the rest of her bread, and Patricia’s, as well.

At last, the final porcelain dish was cleared, and Sapphire rose hoping to slip out of the dining room unseen.

“Dames, would you care to take a turn in my garden?” Armand asked, pointing to the floor-to-ceiling doors left open to the stone patio. “The gentlemen and I thought we would retire to my study for a cigar and then join you for drinks, if it isn’t too cool outside.”

“Cool?” Sapphire groaned, dabbing at her neckline with her napkin before placing it on her plate. “Heavens, Papa. It’s a warm enough night. I doubt we’ll catch a chill.”

He rested his hand on her elbow, smiled and leaned forward. “Please, Sapphire,” he said quietly. “I understand your anger with me, but these are my guests. I do a great deal of business with these gentlemen and it will not harm you to be pleasant to their wives.”

She sighed. “Yes, Papa. I understand. I’m sorry. I’ll send Tarasai for wraps if anyone is chilled.”

“Merci.” He walked away, leading the men through the dining room toward his study, leaving her with no choice but to escort the women out onto the patio.

“Please, ladies, join us for a cordial on the patio. We have some rare orchids I think you’ll find quite beautiful.”

“I’m sorry,” Angelique said sweetly, standing behind her chair. “But I’m not feeling very well. A bit of headache. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Certainly. Yes, of course,” the women murmured at once, full of concern for Angelique.

Sapphire groaned inwardly and called Tarasai to bring refreshments to the orchid garden.

By the time Sapphire walked outside, Aunt Lucia was showing Patricia one of Armand’s hybrids, a stunning pale pink orchid with a deep black center, and the two countesses had their heads together, whispering. In no hurry to join either conversation, Sapphire walked toward a small pond stocked with bright orange goldfish. Gathering her skirts, she crouched and stared into the pool to see if she could catch a flash of orange tail illuminated by the light of the torches placed around the perimeter of the garden that separated it from the vast rain forest.

She didn’t find any fish, but she saw a shiny green frog with orange speckles, and when it hopped off a rock onto the patio, she followed it. As she approached the far side of the garden, she caught part of the countesses’ conversation.

“Naked?” she heard Lady Morrow whisper harshly. “No!”