Sapphire

“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!”

“Yes,” Lady Carlisle insisted. “That’s what Lord Carlisle said. Well, at least practically so.”

“Shocking,” Lady Morrow said. “And to think poor Monsieur Fabergine has this to deal with while still in mourning.”

“That and the dark-skinned girl. Can you believe she sits at the dining table as if she’s one of them?”

“Dark-skinned? Whatever do you mean? I thought she was a French relation or something.…”

Dismissing the frog, Sapphire raised her chin a notch and strode over to the two women whose heads were bowed as they gossiped. “Excuse me, ladies, but I couldn’t help but overhear that last of your exchange,” she said, looking one directly in the eyes and then the other.

“How rude of you to listen to a conversation you were not invited to be a part of. Have you no manners whatsoever, young lady?” Lady Carlisle demanded. At least Lady Morrow had the decency to avert her gaze in embarrassment.

Sapphire took a step closer to the countess, her eyes flashing with anger. “You speak of manners? My mother always taught me that if one has nothing nice to say, one should not speak at all.”

“What did she know?” Lady Carlisle hissed. “She was a common trollop!”

Stunned by the countess’s comment, Sapphire stared, eyes wide. “My mother was no such thing!”

Lady Carlisle moved closer to Sapphire. “Your mother was nothing but a New Orleans whore, the same as your precious aunt. That is how your father found her!”

“How dare you!” Sapphire shouted.

“Sapphire.” Aunt Lucia appeared at her side, laying her hand gently on her arm. “Please—your father’s guests…”

Sapphire pulled her arm away. “No! Did you…did you hear what she just said about my mother? What she accused you of being?”

“Ask Lady Morrow,” Lady Carlisle said as she drew herself up in her gray flowered gown, her hideous headdress with its bird bobbing as if it were pecking a hole in her head. “Her cousin’s brother knew them in New Orleans. He and Armand were business associates.”

“Edith, that will be quite enough,” Aunt Lucia said sharply.

“It’s not true! It’s a lie! Aunt Lucia, tell them, tell them my mother was not—” But when Sapphire looked at her aunt, she realized something was amiss. Did these women know something she didn’t? “Non,” she whispered in shock.

“Sapphire, ma petite…” Aunt Lucia reached for her hand.

Suddenly the whole garden seemed to spin around Sapphire, the bright torches, the heavy scent of jasmine, the sound of the countess’s sour voices. “It’s not true. None of it is true. It’s all lies!”