Sapphire

“From Sapphire?”

Again she nodded as she slipped her hand into the fold of her dress and drew out the paper addressed in handwriting he knew at once.

“What does it say?”

“Foolish old man,” she teased. “I do not read your letter.”

He took it from her hand and grabbed his spectacles off the book, then pushed them onto his nose. His hands trembled as he opened the letter and smoothed it out on the linen sheet that covered his thin legs.

“What does it say?” Tarasai asked. “She is well, yes?”

The letter was short, but Armand read it through twice. “She has gone to America,” he exclaimed, feeling better than he had in days, perhaps weeks. “With a man she says I would like.”

“She has married. You see, I told you your Sapphire would be well.”

He shook his head. “No, no, it does not exactly say she married him.” He looked up, absently refolding the letter. “Actually, the note is quite odd. She usually rambles on. This was written quickly.”

“But it says you are not to worry, yes?”

“Yes, but—” He looked at Tarasai. “Bring me my writing box. I must send a letter to Lucia at once. Sapphire says nothing of her godmother or Angelique. They must still be in London. I have to know if she’s all right, if this man is a good man.”

Tarasai reached out and covered his hand with hers. “Mon chèr, with the winter coming and the mail so unreliable, it could take many months for letters to cross the ocean.”

He looked into her eyes, understanding what she said. He might not have months left. But he smiled and placed his hand on her expanding abdomen. “My letter box please, Tarasai.”

“You look tired.” She stroked his cheek. “You should rest first.”

He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them, rallying his strength. “First I will write Lucia a letter and you will take it down to the wharfs,” he said firmly. “Then I will be able to rest.”

She lowered her head to kiss his hand and then rose, walking away from his bed, wiping the tears from her eyes.

24

Sapphire knocked on Blake’s door, truly feeling foolish about this entire farce they had created out of their own stubbornness. For three nights in a row, he had ordered that he be served dinner on the balcony off his bedchamber and that she serve him. No one, not even the staunch housekeeper, questioned the master’s orders or his intentions with the new maid. Three nights in a row she had come to his private rooms, shared a meal with him, made love with him and then had redressed in the ridiculous maid’s clothes and had taken the dishes back to the kitchen before retiring to the attic to sleep alone under the eaves.

When Blake didn’t answer the door tonight, she knocked again, this time with the toe of her shoe as she shifted the weight of the tray in her arms. The smell of fresh bread wafted from beneath the domed silver lids and her stomach grumbled.

Myra had said nothing more to her about Blake or the time she was missing between serving him dinner and midnight, but as Sapphire crawled into bed on her hard pallet each night, she could feel her friend’s eyes on her through the darkness.

The door opened and Blake appeared barefoot, wearing only dark trousers and a white linen shirt half unbuttoned. He’d cut his hair shorter after their arrival in Boston, but tonight it looked pleasantly unkempt. He must have been reading on the windy balcony before she arrived.

It was all he seemed to do these days whenever he had a free moment. Books on geology were stacked everywhere in his bedchamber, as well as in his office. Last night, the entire household had searched for half an hour for a particular book on mechanical pumps he was certain someone had moved while cleaning, only to find it in the carriage.

“I carried this all the way up the stairs,” she told him. “Then I had to knock twice.” She was perturbed with him tonight and she didn’t know why.

Perhaps she was annoyed with herself for allowing this stalemate to continue. As it was now, Blake was getting much of what he wanted. He had dinner companionship and a good roll each night. She was even supplying first-rate maid service. Why would he ever want to change anything between them now?

“I’m sorry,” he said, taking the tray from her. “I must not have heard you. It’s windy on the balcony tonight.”

“Reading?” she asked, softening her tone, not meaning to be such a shrew. She hadn’t seen him all day and she missed him.

“Yes, and there’s something I want you to hear. I think we should go to Pennsylvania to see this. I’ll read it to you over dinner.”

He carried the tray out onto the balcony, and she halted in the doorway, pulling her mobcap off her head and letting the breeze ripple through her hair. She breathed deeply, filling her lungs with the tangy, evening air that blew off the bay. “What a relief. It’s cooler tonight than it’s been.”

“Weather’s finally turned.” He set down the serving tray and began to lift the silver covers off the dishes. “A few weeks of nice weather and then the chill will set in. Wait until you see how much snow falls.”

“I’ve never seen snow,” she said wistfully. “Not a lot of it in Martinique.”