Sapphire

“Is that right?” He cleared his throat. “That’s interesting because that’s not what I heard. I heard that the Fabergine ladies are in search of protectors, and those gentlemen upstairs were all vying for a chance to be the fortunate fellow to take one of them into keeping.” When she didn’t respond, he went on. “What is your price, my dear? I know—lavish apartments, an account with a dressmaker, the hatter, the usual female requirements—but how much are you asking a month in stipend?”

He still held her against the wall, allowing her no chance to escape. “It doesn’t matter because the offer is not open to you, Mr. Thixton!”

He laughed aloud and his laughter startled, then angered her.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Miss Fabergine.” He let go of her so suddenly that she fell back and her head hit the wall. “I’m not interested personally.” He grabbed his hat off the landing where it had fallen and started down the steps. “Just asked out of curiosity,” he called over his shoulder as he lowered the top hat to his head and disappeared around the bend of the narrow staircase.

“Sapphire? Dear?” Lucia called from upstairs.

Sapphire took a deep breath, forced a smile on her face and, grabbing handfuls of skirt, hurried up the stairs. “Coming!”

Lucia and her Mr. Stowe were waiting for Sapphire at the top of the steps. “Where have you been?” she asked, frowning with

concern. “You’re flushed.” She reached out, placing her cool hand on Sapphire’s forehead. “Are you feeling all right, dear?”

Sapphire pulled back. “I just went downstairs to the ladies’.” She glanced at Mr. Stowe and gave Lucia a quick smile, laying her hand on her forehead. “I’m getting a bit of a headache, though. Do you think it’s time we go?”

“I’ve been telling Angelique that for half an hour. She wants me to leave her here, but I told her it was out of the question. We must, after all, keep up some appearances.”

“I’ll call the carriage if you two lovely ladies will excuse me,” Mr. Stowe announced, skirting around them and starting down the stairs.

“Are you certain you’re all right?” Lucia asked Sapphire again. “The young men who escorted you tonight all seemed pleasant enough, but you never know with men.”

“Aunt Lucia.” Sapphire turned to her. “I’m fine. Just tired, I’ve a headache and…” She hesitated. “I ran into Mr. Thixton when I was coming up the stairs.”

“Dear me.” Lucia sighed. “I wondered if you might. He was in the dining room next to yours, with the actors and actresses from the play tonight.”

Sapphire lifted a brow, knowing that actors and actresses had a reputation that was not always tolerated by polite society, though she didn’t know why it should surprise her that Blake Thixton would be comfortable in those surroundings. Nothing about that abominable man would surprise her.

“I don’t suppose you had a chance to ask him if he might reconsider addressing your claim?” Lucia asked, watching her carefully.

Sapphire didn’t meet her gaze. “No. No, I didn’t. He had his chance. I’ll not approach him again on the matter. Next time it will have to be him coming to me.” She rested her hand on Lucia’s shoulder and walked past her. “Let me go and find Angelique. Mr. Stowe will be waiting with the carriage. I’ll drag her out by her hair if I must.”

Lucia laughed. “You might just have to, puss.”

11

Lady Wessex drew the veil down over her new broad-brimmed Parisian hat and entered the church, her three daughters in tow directly behind her. The crowd in the elaborate marble vestibule parted to allow her, a woman of obvious of high status, to pass through so that she could take one of the better seats in the chapel.

“Hurry,” Lady Wessex said without turning to her daughters, “or we’ll be late again. No man likes a woman who is perpetually late.”

“How can I possibly hurry?” Camille whined, taking little trotting steps in an attempt to catch up with her mother. “This new gown is too small and I can’t get my breath. I told you it was too small when the dressmaker came last week for the fitting.”

“I’ll take it back if it’s too small,” Portia whispered loudly, catching up to Camille and leaving the youngest sister to trail behind them. “I’ve been asking for a new gown for weeks, Mother. I’m certain Lord Carter—”

“Oh, who cares about Lord Carter?” Camille snapped, turning to look at Portia as she walked beside her. The organist had already begun to play the introit. They were officially late. “I’m to be married first. Mother has already promised.”

“And precisely who do you intend to marry?” Portia asked. “You scare off every man who comes to call with your constant complaints.”

They entered the chapel by the broad center aisle as organ music filled the cavernous room. “It’s not true—is it, Mother?” Camille demanded in her high-pitched voice. “I don’t scare off the gentlemen—it’s only that we’re being so particular, isn’t it?”

“That’s enough, young ladies.” Lady Wessex lifted her thin nose beneath the broad brim of her hat and marched directly to the front, despite their tardiness. “We are in the house of the Lord where you should be reckoning your hearts and finding the proper attitude of humility required for the Sabbath.” She slid into the third pew from the front on the left. While there were no family pews per se, this had been the Wessex pew at St. George’s for more than a hundred years, according to her late husband.

Just as Lady Wessex and her daughters sat, the priest entered and the congregation rose to sing. Refusing to appear flustered, she took her time to find the proper page in the hymnal she carried under her arm before turning to her dear friend Lady Wellington.

“I feared you were ill,” Lady Wellington whispered, staring straight ahead as if her full attention was on the first hymn selection.

“Late, I know. So much to do now that there’s a man in the household again,” Lady Wessex explained.