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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.
The doors behind Sapphire slid open and she turned.
For a moment, Blake found himself speechless. Preston had said it was a girl come to call, claiming to be the daughter of the Earl of Wessex, but he had fully expected a malnourished chit with bad teeth, dressed in a cheap gown and ugly hat.
But standing before him was a full woman with glossy dark red hair, an expensive, fashionable gown and eyes he would fantasize about for many nights to come. She had the creamiest, most luscious skin, with a sprinkling of freckles across her straight nose and a charming chin with the slightest cleft. But it was her mouth, even more than her shocking eyes or lustrous hair, that mesmerized him most. Hers was the mouth of a courtesan—perfectly shaped with a thin upper lip and a full, sensuous lower lip, a mouth his own suddenly ached to taste.
Only when she blinked was Blake jolted back to reality.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“Pardon me?” she replied angrily, her mind racing in confusion. He was young, certainly too young to be her father, who would be close to fifty. Who was this rude man and what was he doing in her father’s house?
“You heard me,” he said as he strode in. He was a shockingly handsome man, perhaps ten or twelve years older than she was, with a shock of ebony hair and the most intense brown eyes she had ever seen.
“I suppose I should ask you the same thing.” She took a step toward him, lifting her chin as she crossed her arms over her fitted jacket.
“I don’t know who you are or what you want but I will not tolerate any false claims from fortune hunters or thieves. Now, whatever you might believe is owed to you will be paid, if it is indeed owed to you,” he said. “I will provide you with the name and location of my barrister and all bills will be submitted to him and only him. I’ll not pay a pence until your claim is investigated.”
Sapphire stepped back. The man’s words didn’t make sense. Who was he calling a fortune hunter and what bills was he talking about?
“What have you to say for yourself, young lady?”
The stranger strode across the room. He was so close, she could smell his shaving lotion and the masculine scent of his skin.
“Who are you?” she asked. “I’m looking for Lord Wessex, the Earl of Wessex who owns this house.”
“I am Lord Wessex, and I am the owner of the property, young lady. Now I suggest you remove yourself from said property before I call the constable.”
Sapphire made a sound of protest but it caught in her throat. “No, you can’t be the Earl of Wessex! My father is the Earl of Wessex, Edward Thixton.”
He scowled. “The late Edward Thixton, Earl of Wessex, had no issue.”
She stared at Blake. “Where is he?” she heard herself whisper.
“The graveyard, I suppose. Now go,” he said coldly as he stepped aside. “Make haste and I won’t call the constable, but if you attempt to appropriate money from me or this estate again, it will be off to Newgate Prison with you.”
Sapphire looked up once more at Blake and her eyes became cloudy with tears. Confused, hurt beyond reason, she stumbled forward and ran for the door. She rushed down the hallway and out the broad front door, ignoring the footman as he tried to call a carriage for her.
She rounded the corner, halting to grasp the pole of a gas lamp on the stone-paved walk. “He’s dead,” she murmured as she squeezed her eyes shut in disbelief. “Oh, Mama, he’s dead.”
6
“There, there,” Lucia said, sitting on the edge of the four-poster bed, smoothing back Sapphire’s hair. “Would you like me to get you a cup of tea, perhaps even a little sherry?”
“No, I’m fine, really.” Sapphire dabbed at her tear-swollen eyes with a sodden handkerchief. “I’m sorry, Auntie. I’ve behaved badly.” She sniffed. “You shouldn’t sit here with me any longer. You should go to the theater with Lady Carlisle as you’d planned.”
“Nonsense. What reason does an old woman like me have to go to the theater? It’s nothing but a place to see and be seen.” She pushed a dry handkerchief into Sapphire’s hand. “And what’s even more nonsensical is you thinking there’s anything wrong with having a good cry. You’ve just been told that your father passed away. I’d think something ailed you if you didn’t cry. I’m only sorry that Lord Carlisle didn’t hear at his men’s club until this afternoon after I’d left the house.”
Sapphire dabbed at her eyes again and stared up at the painted white ceiling above the bed. It was almost dark outside and Angelique had pulled the pale blue damask draperies across the windows and lit two oil lamps, which now cast shadows on the ceiling.
“Remember what it was like when your mother died?” Angelique sat on the other side of the bed. “We cried for days.”
“I know, but that was Mama. I…don’t know why I’m so upset when I didn’t even know my father. I’d never even seen his face and it’s not as if I was looking forward to it. I was so angry at him for what he did to my mother that mostly I think I just wanted to tell him how much I despised him.”
“Non, ma petite! How many times do I have to remind you that your mother was very clear that she didn’t think Edward ever knew what happened to her.”
“I don’t care. He should have known. If only that…that man in my father’s house had not been so hateful to me,” she said, her anger rising. “He was simply abominable.”
“Abominable or not, it seems he is the heir to your father’s estate. He is Blake Thixton, an American and a distant cousin of your father’s, Lord Carlisle has learned.” Lucia, dressed in elegant evening clothes, rose from the bed to walk to the table where she’d placed the bottle of sherry.
“An American?” Sapphire spat. “Why didn’t Lord Carlisle know sooner?”
“Now, now, puss.” Lucia poured herself a healthy dose of the sherry meant for her charge. “You cannot blame the messenger. We only arrived yesterday. How was Lord Carlisle to know? Edward passed away six months ago of natural causes, but Lord and Lady Carlisle have been out of the country seven months, escorting the baron and baroness on their honeymoon tour of Europe. And, truth be told, you would have heard of your father’s passing in a far gentler manner had you not stubbornly gone against my wishes and set out on your own to meet him.”
Sapphire sat up on the bed and pushed her long hair out of her face. “Why do you always say I’m stubborn with that tone in your voice? After all, had Mama not been stubborn, she might have met her demise those first lonely days in New Orleans—alone, with child and nowhere to live.”
“Still, you don’t want to go back to Martinique, do you?” Angelique asked.
Sapphire glanced at her.
“I…I don’t mean to sound selfish,” Angelique went on quickly. “And I’ll fully admit I prefer to stay because I like the excitement of London, but really, Sapphire, what has changed? Yes, the Earl of Wessex has passed on, but you’re still his daughter.”
“You’re right, Angel. That fact hasn’t changed, and that detestable man cannot alter that.”
“No, he cannot.” Lucia lifted her cordial of sherry in toast and took a sip.
“Of course, I have no legal right to my father’s entailed property. I’m female. English law doesn’t allow me to inherit from my father unless I am specifically named in his will. Since he was unaware of my existence, it isn’t possible that I have been.”
“Why did you come, ma chère? Did you come to England for land or money?”
“I came because Mama—”
“That wasn’t what I asked,” Lucia interrupted as she approached the bed, the cut-crystal glass still in her hand. “I loved your mother as dearly as anyone, but you are Sophie’s daughter and I know very well you did not come just to satisfy her dream.”
Sapphire rested her hand on her forehead for a moment, taking time to think before she responded. Yesterday she had felt like a young woman, barely more than a child, and yet today…this evening, she felt years older. “I came because it was my mother’s wish,” she said evenly, “but I also came to satisfy my own desire to be acknowledged.”
“And…”
She met Lucia’s gaze. “I wanted him to acknowledge that my mother was indeed his legal wife, not for him to accept me as his daughter.” She hesitated. “So I suppose, in a way, I did come for her, but not for the reasons she thought I would.”
Lucia tipped her glass and smiled over the rim. “Now, there is the Sapphire I know.”
“He’s dead, I know, but I am still Lord Edward Wessex’s daughter and Sophie Barkley was still his wife,” Sapphire said, throwing her legs over the side of the bed. “And heir or not, that man must recognize me as such. He must make an announcement to London society and formally acknowledge me. Even upon my father’s death and the passing of his title, I do possess the right to retain his name.” Sapphire set her jaw with the stubbornness her aunt accused her of possessing. “Aunt Lucia, did Lord Carlisle not tell you that my father left a widow who is hosting a reception Saturday evening for her husband’s American heir?”
“That he did!”
“How improper would it be for us to attend this reception?”
“I’m certain Lady Carlisle could acquire an invitation for us. It seems all of London society has received one since the dowager is apparently quite eager to show off the new heir. They say he is not only handsome, but quite wealthy.”
“Why on earth would you want to attend a reception in honor of the man who has insulted you?” Angelique asked in surprise.
Sapphire turned to her companion, a furtive smile on her lips. “How else can I demand my title due me, but to see the knave again in person?”
“Are you certain you want to do this?” Aunt Lucia asked Sapphire, placing her ringed hand on her goddaughter’s forearm as she emerged from the Carlisles’ carriage.
Sapphire stared up at the doorway she’d run from less than a week earlier and swallowed hard. For days she’d been rehearsing what she would say to Mr. Blake Thixton, but all those words escaped her and she was left with nothing but her determination.
The great front doors opened and the same footman Sapphire had encountered previously appeared.
“Say the word and we’ll go,” Lucia whispered in Sapphire’s ear. “Say the word and we’ll be on the next steamer to Martinique, to Hong Kong, to California in America. You name the place, my dove, and we shall leave all this poppycock behind and go on the adventure of a lifetime.”
Sapphire looked down at Lucia, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt that something was about to change, something that would alter her life forever. “I can never thank you enough for all you’ve done for me, but no, I have to do this. For Mama, for me.”
Lucia gave her an understanding pat on the arm and turned toward the steps. Lord and Lady Carlisle had already entered the residence and the butler was now staring down at Sapphire and Lucia with great interest.
“Are we going in?” Angelique murmured, so excited she could barely contain herself.
Sapphire grasped the skirting of her new shoulder-baring apple-green silk gown and started up the steps. “Of course we’re going in,” she said confidently. “I haven’t come this far to turn back now.”
“The Viscount Carlisle,” announced the footman stiffly. “Lady Carlisle.”
Sapphire handed the footman her newly printed calling card so that she could be announced.
“Miss Fabergine.”
Sapphire glided across the glittering hall and entered the receiving line behind Lord and Lady Carlisle, who were speaking with a painfully thin woman—the dowager Lady Wessex, her father’s wife, she surmised. Sapphire smiled. The dowager had never legally been his wife because he had, until her death, still been married to Sophie.
“Miss Fabergine.” The butler announced Angelique and then took Lucia’s card. “Mademoiselle Toulouse.”
Sapphire met Lucia’s gaze over her shoulder one last time, smiled and turned to be introduced formally to her father’s so-called widow.
“And this is Miss Fabergine,” Lady Carlisle said. “The young girl you and I spoke of, Lady Wessex. Her stepfather was such a dear, a handsome Frenchman. It would have been impossible for me to deny his request to escort his stepdaughter to London.”
Sapphire curtsied. “Lady Wessex, thank you so kindly for the invitation.”
The widow barely acknowledged her.
“And Lady Wessex’s daughters,” Lady Carlisle continued, moving down the receiving line. “The eldest, Miss Camille Stillmore.”
Sapphire curtsied and smiled at the daughter who appeared to be a year or two older than herself and looked a great deal like her mother. She was most certainly not an attractive woman, and her pale ivory gown overrun with ruffles did not improve her appearance. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
Miss Stillmore glanced at Sapphire with the look she knew too well after being in London for two weeks. It was the look, Aunt Lucia had explained, that ugly English girls gave the pretty ones as they realized they were no match.
“Miss Portia and Miss Alma,” Lady Carlisle said, completing the introductions.
The two younger girls, who were more comely than their elder sister, bobbed curtsies, seemingly more interested to meet the new arrival. Portia appeared to be the same age as Sapphire, and Alma only a year or two younger.
“It’s very nice to make your acquaintance,” Sapphire said, returning their smiles.
“Is he here?” Lady Carlisle asked the youngest daughter, leaning closer so as not to be overheard by those passing in the hall.
“He, my lady?”
“Why, Lord Wessex, of course,” the older woman hissed under her breath. “I expected to meet him in the receiving line. That is why we were invited, was it not? To formally meet the new Earl of Wessex?”
Alma snatched a quick look at her sister, then returned her attention to Lady Carlisle. “He’s here, my lady, only…he says he prefers not to stand in the receiving line.”
