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.”
The butler gave a half bow, still looking as if he did not believe her. “Would you care to sit down while I see if his lordship is available?” He indicated a row of white and gold brocade chairs along one wall of the large, ornate receiving hall.
“No, thank you.” She hoped he would interpret her smile to mean he should hurry along.
“One moment, miss.”
He bowed again and disappeared through an arched doorway. The town house did not appear especially large from the outside, but she could now see that it was immense. Her father was not only titled, but obviously quite a wealthy man.
Sapphire exhaled slowly, pressing her hand to the knot in her abdomen, staring at the huge formal portraits of balding men that lined the walls.
Only a moment more, she told herself, and we’ll meet face-to-face.
Blake heard the first knock at the door to the study but ignored it. The knock came again and he peered up irritably from behind the desk that had belonged to the late Lord Wessex. “Yes, what is it that is so urgent?” he barked. “Did I not say less than half an hour ago that I did not wish to be disturbed unless the house was aflame? I don’t care what color livery the footmen wear today and I don’t care if we have the eel pie or the tripe soup because I will not be dining in this house tonight! Not if it were the last table of food on God’s earth,” he finished.
The paneled study door opened and the butler, Preston, stood at attention, his eyes downcast, until Blake completed his string of insults. “My lord.”
“Yes?” Blake groaned.
“There is someone to see you here, my lord.”
“Who?” He half rose from the chair, pressing the heels of his hands into the polished wood of the desk.
“A young lady, my lord, who says…”
“She says what, Preston? Come, now, I grow old before your eyes.”
“She says she is your daughter, my lord.”
“My daughter?” Blake exploded. “I haven’t got a damn daughter. What in God’s name—” He broke off before completing the sentence when he realized what was going on.
Word apparently spread fast in London when it came to inheritances, and people had been pouring out of the woodwork all week, claiming the previous earl owed them money. Perhaps a few were owed, considering the state of Edward Thixton IV’s accounts, but mostly these scavengers were on his doorstep hoping to take advantage of a grieving widow or an aged, addlepated heir. “Would you like me to turn her away, sir?”
Blake thought for a moment as he tightened the tie of the silk dressing gown he wore over a pair of silk trousers. The earl’s daughter? At least this claim was more inventive than an unpaid receipt for a wig or an evening coat. “No, no, Preston, I’ll take care of this one myself.” He wasn’t properly clothed to receive a caller, but he didn’t care.
“Right this way, miss,” the footman said as he led Sapphire down a hall and into a receiving parlor.
She couldn’t help but take in the room, the walls painted a pale green, the heavy drapes in stripes of a complementary hue. The furniture was old but well kept and far more attractive and elegant than some of the newer styles she had seen in the Carlisles’ home. She sighed, then whispered to herself, “I’m here, Mama, at last.”
“His lordship will be in directly,” the footman said, backing through the doorway and closing the double pocketed mahogany doors behind him.
Sapphire turned toward one wall to study a large seascape hung in a gilt frame. She could just make out the name E. Thixton scrawled in the bottom right corner of the painting. It was really quite good. Had her father painted it? Taking a step closer, she admired the bold strokes of blue and green that seemed to bring the sea pounding against the rocky shore to life.