“Thank you. I’ll be waiting in the carriage for you two love doves.” She left the room. “Don’t be long, and please do keep in mind your age and the fact that it is broad daylight.”
Lucia laughed as Angelique sailed out of the office and Jessup leaned over to kiss her. “If I didn’t know better, I would think that was a challenge,” she said against his lips.
“A challenge? Whatever do you mean?”
Lucia rose out of the chair. “Does your door lock, Jessup, mon amour?”
“It does.” He looked at her, his brows knitted quizzically. Then he realized why she had asked. “Oh my,” he said. “Oh my.”
“Please tell me that you and your wife did not only exercise your marital rights in that bed, Jessup?” She looked over her shoulder as she made her way to the door and turned the key to lock it. “No offense to the dearly departed, but how dull.”
“Oh my,” Jessup repeated, just standing there, his arms akimbo.
Lucia came back to him, and standing directly in front of him, she lifted on her toes, kissed him and took his hand. “Let us go visit this settee, shall we, Jessup dear?” She led him toward the piece of furniture in the corner of the room. “It doesn’t look like it’s been used in a decade.” She smiled mischievously at him. “But we can resolve that, can’t we?”
“Molly, wake up.”
From a deep sleep, Sapphire heard a name being called, but she was in a far-off place and resisted the voice. Her head danced with thoughts of Blake, memories of his touch, of the taste of him and of the words they had exchanged the previous night, the most serious, probably most telling conversation they had ever shared.
She remembered the cool, refreshing water of the bath. Lying in that tub of sweet-scented water had reminded her of the pools in Martinique, of the laughter she and Angel had shared, swimming and diving. Then she thought of the crisp, smooth, linen sheets of Blake’s bed, the softness of the down tick beneath them, the plumpness of the pillows and the comfort of his arm around her as they finally drifted off to sleep, exhausted but content. Nothing had been resolved, but there had been something different between them last night. She had been able to hear it in Blake’s voice, almost feel it.
But this was not Blake’s voice calling her, and she was no longer in his bed. As she slowly woke, she became aware of the sound of Myra’s insistent voice and the feel of the lumpy pallet beneath her.
“I tried to let ya sleep,” Myra said as she tugged on the sheet that was hot and sticky against Sapphire’s skin. “You looked plain worn out this morning. I didn’t have the heart to wake you, but Mrs. Dedrick is lookin’ for you. Somethin’ about you not bringin’ down Mr. Thixton’s sheets last night.”
Sapphire opened her eyes and blinked. The windows under the eaves of the attic were small but a blinding light poured through them.
“Molly,” Myra said again.
“All right. I’m awake, I’m awake.” She threw off the sheet and sat up. “What time is it?”
“Nearly eight. Mr. Thixton’s gone, but he asked that he have dinner tonight on his upstairs balcony. Apparently, he’s expectin’ someone.” She rested both hands on her hips, looking down at Sapphire. “He wants you to serve. He gave Mrs. Dedrick ’plicit instructions.”
Sapphire reached for her gray skirt and blouse. It was the same clothing she wore every day, but at least she’d been able to wash them out yesterday after she’d donned Felicity’s black uniform. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Sapphire asked, stepping into her skirt.
“Where were you last night?”
“Where was I? Here.” She turned her back to Myra as she donned the dingy blouse. She didn’t want to lie to Myra but she certainly couldn’t tell her the truth. She had no idea after her conversation with Blake last night where their relationship was going. Now that she had finally admitted to herself that she loved him, she didn’t even know what to do about it. He hadn’t said he loved her. He’d only asked if that was what she wanted.
Myra tapped her leather shoe on the rough, wide floorboards. “When I fell asleep, you weren’t here.”
“When you woke I was.”
Myra just stood there, and when Sapphire turned back around, Myra’s pretty mouth was frowning. “If you want my advice, you’ll stay ’way from the master.”
Sapphire stuffed her blouse into the waistband of the hateful gray skirt and began to rake her fingers through her hair, tying it back as best she could without a mirror. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do. The two of you come over together on that ship. You was grateful for what he offered, a new life. Maybe escape from an old one, a bad papa, a bad marriage, debt. A girl does what she has to do sometimes to get along in this world,” Myra said philosophically. “But you’re here now and you got to guard your heart.” She hesitated. “’Cause I’ve known men like Mr. Thixton before. You’re not one of his kind, no matter what you think. No matter what sweet nuthin’s he might be whisperin’ in your ear. But in the end, you’ll have nuthin’ but a broken heart. He’ll break your heart, Molly, and maybe leave you ruined with a little stranger to raise. No decent house would have you as a parlor maid, then. I can tell you that fer nothin’.”
Sapphire grabbed her mobcap off the peg on the wall, stuffed her auburn hair beneath it and stepped into her shoes. “I don’t mean to be unkind, but this is complicated, more complicated than I can possibly explain to you, which I cannot.”
Myra just stood there and stared at her. “A broken heart ain’t that complicated, no matter who you are.” She turned for the door and walked out.
Blake left the house early for his offices, located in a brick building on the street facing the harbor. It was one of the oldest buildings in Boston, having been occupied for a hundred years by businessmen such as himself. Since the founding of the colonies and the arrival of his mother’s people in the seventeenth century, Boston Harbor had been an important one, first to the colonies and Mother England, now to the world.
Manford had been urging Blake for years to take office space in one of the newer Greek Revival-style buildings downtown, offices that offered less drafty winters and pubs and fine eating establishments close at hand. But Blake’s father had purchased the building when he was a young man, and though he had never been fond of his father, there was something comforting to Blake about passing through the same redbrick doorway his father had once used, so that he could be reminded each day what a bastard the man had been. It helped Blake check his words more times than he cared to admit. Of course, no man wished to acknowledge he had more of his father in him than he led others to believe, especially when his father had been such a man.
Blake had a busy day planned, which was why he had left the house early, without breakfast or taking time to bathe. He also did not want to run into Sapphire.