Sapphire. Rosemary Rogers
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Sapphire, I don’t know why you care about all this. The city is full of handsome men like Mr. Krum. Surely you could find a husband to suit you.”
“Angel, this isn’t about finding a husband,” Sapphire snapped. “Haven’t you been listening to what I’ve been saying all these weeks? It’s about who I am!”
“And not about Blake Thixton?”
“Certainly not!” Sapphire turned her back to them, feeling her cheeks grow warm. “I would appreciate it if you would refrain from mentioning him in my presence.”
“We were just saying that we need to go elsewhere to make Sapphire’s plea,” Lucia explained as she added two pastries to a tiny china plate rimmed with lavender blossoms.
“Elsewhere?” Angelique licked the sweet icing from her fingers. “Is this your idea, Sapphire?”
“Actually, it was Lady Carlisle’s suggestion.”
“I want no part of anything she has to say,” Sapphire declared, turning to face them, her arms crossed obstinately. “She insulted us both, me by suggesting I had done something illicit and you by suggesting you were somehow responsible.”
“Now, now, smooth your feathers. I’ll warn you, this is not a conventional approach.”
“We adore unconventional, don’t we, Sapphire?”
Sapphire sat in one of the upholstered chairs at the tea table. “I’m listening.”
“The question is, exactly what is it you want from Lord Wessex?”
“All I want from Mr. Thixton is for him to acknowledge that my father was married to my mother and that I am his legitimate daughter.”
“Which makes the Dowager Lady Wessex what?” Angelique giggled. “A kept woman?”
“I don’t care.” Sapphire leaned forward in her chair, threading her fingers. “I want all of London to know I am Sapphire Thixton, daughter of the late Edward Thixton, Earl of Wessex.”
“Even if the American is willing to admit you could be Edward’s daughter, the dowager is going to want proof.” Angelique reached for another cake.
“But we don’t even know where to start looking for this proof. Aunt Lucia has had no luck so far finding any record of a marriage of anyone in the Wessex family in Devonshire in the past one hundred years. She’s been told such records would have been destroyed,” Sapphire said.
“But perhaps we would not need the physical proof,” Lucia said, “not if we stir up enough trouble.” She sipped her coffee.
“Trouble?” Sapphire repeated.
“Well…” Lucia’s gaze flitted from one girl to the other as her voice rose with excitement. “You see, when I said you had nowhere to go, Lady Carlisle suggested that you set yourself up in search of a protector.”
“Oh!” Sapphire cried. “That despicable woman!”
“Now listen.” Lucia held up a finger. “I understand that the eldest daughter—the one with the bad complexion—is hoping to wed soon. What if we were to initiate a scandal that the dowager would be eager to squelch?”
“Like the late Earl of Wessex’s daughter being put out on the street and forced to seek a protector in order to survive!” Angelique said.
“I don’t know,” Sapphire said, stalling.
“Oh, come now, it would be so much fun!” Angelique continued. “Can you imagine? The men would be lined up on the street outside the dress shop just waiting to leave those silly calling cards. We could go to a ball or the theater every night, and during the day there would be horse races, picnics—”
“It sounds so outrageous!”
“So outrageous, it just might work.” Lucia winked. “I heard at the cook shop down the street that the dowager’s middle girl—what is her name? Polly, Porridge, Petunia?”
Sapphire couldn’t help but laugh. “Portia.”
“Yes, that’s it.” Lucia reached for another cake. “I understand her mother is expecting a particular gentleman caller to ask for her hand any day now.”
“Lord Carter?” Angelique asked, turning back to Lucia. “You mustn’t be serious.”
“You know him?” Sapphire asked.
She smiled. “I would think so. He was the one who took me riding this morning, with his brother and a cousin.”
“You were riding in a carriage with three men, unescorted?”
Angelique rolled her eyes. “One of them brought a little sister along. Of course, I’m not sure how that would matter if we’re talking about setting ourselves up as courtesans.”
“Women in need of protection,” Lucia corrected.
“You know,” Sapphire said, looking to her godmother, “I couldn’t really—”
“I could.” Angelique grinned.
Lucia met Sapphire’s gaze. “I don’t expect you to sacrifice your virtue, sweet. What kind of woman do you think I am? I’m only suggesting that you allow others to think you might consider it, under the right circumstances. First we let it be known that you ladies are both in need of protectors because Lady Carlisle has put you out and I’m too old and feeble to care for you.” She drew the back of her hand dramatically across her forehead. “And then—” she popped up “—once you are the toast of London, people will hear the tragic truth—that you are a Thixton, forced to set yourself up as a kept woman because your family is unwilling to take you into their loving bosom…”
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