French Jade: A dazzling Regency love story

by Janet Louise Roberts

  So Minna caught her breath and said bravely, “The music is so charming tonight!”

  “You are so charming tonight.”

  “You are too — very gallant!”

  “I am not gallant. I am overcome.”

  “Really,” said Minna faintly. She felt rather overcome herself, warm and too close to him. How — how delicious it was to be held so in the dancing! She had never felt so before. But she rather enjoyed the fever of his touch, the hard clasp of his big bronzed hand holding her hand so tightly.

  “Why do you not wear a wedding ring?” he asked abruptly.

  Oh. Why? Why? Minna’s mind, rather faint and feverish, groped wildly for the answer. “I — I am so reminded — of my dear Gaspar — I thought I would leave it off — for a time,” she managed to say, and peeped up at him to see if he would accept that as a good answer. Grey eyes burned down into hers.

  “I think,” he said deliberately, “that you are trying to forget him — and your marriage. It was not happy, was it?”

  She gasped. “How c-can you s-say that —”

  “You stammer when you are not sure of yourself,” he said, quietly. “You are an odd mixture — sophistication and a rather sweet uncertainty —”

  Uh-oh. She was letting Minerva show through Gabrielle’s façade. Minna was silent through the rest of the dance, gathering her resources. At the end, she drew away from him firmly.

  “You ’ave danced too much wiz me this evening, Monsieur Seymour, people will talk!” she scolded him brightly. “Now, you go off and dance — with zat one!” and she pointed to Astrid Faversham, who was gazing hungrily in Oliver’s direction.

  He grimaced, but went obediently to Astrid, and asked her to dance. Yet he kept glancing over her shoulder towards Minerva and amber-eyed Ross Harmsworth. Ross had been recently discharged from the military, and was telling Minerva all sorts of wild adventures he had had in the wars. She knew him; Minna had once scolded him for making up his stories! But Gabrielle did not know that, of course!

  Teddy Bailey danced with her next, and she was glad to dance with him. He was red-faced and stammered badly, but he was a kindly soul and good-hearted, and she liked him. She encouraged him brightly. “Yes, you did? How splendid. Is it very difficult to jump over ze fences with ze stallions?”

  Over Teddy’s sturdy shoulder she spied one of Denise’s younger sisters, Amelia, looking anxious and forlorn. She sat on a straight chair in a corner, and had obviously dragged the chair from a set of several in one drawing room to its place by itself.

  “Dear me, the poor child,” said “Gabrielle,” while Minna thought, She looks just like I always felt! “Do steer me in that direction, Teddy, if you will! I must speak to the child.”

  “Nice girl,” said Teddy, blushing fire. He had an honest, open face, with a rough complexion, and turned bright red when embarrassed. “Always liked her. But she turned me down, said she can’t dance well.”

  “Come back in ten minutes, will you, and be a dear?” said Minna confidingly, and pressed his arm and smiled up at him alluringly.

  “Oh, yes, like a shot!” cried Teddy, and left her there in the corner, after dragging over a chair for her and giving Amelia a nod.

  “My dear young one,” said Minna, using her accent carefully. “How are you? What a pretty gown, is it from Paris?”

  Amelia brightened a little. “Oh, no, it is from Papa’s warehouse, and made up by me and our maid!” She blushed, fingering the blue fabric deprecatingly.

  “But you are so clevair-r-r,” murmured Minna. “It does look French! And the silk fabric — from Lyon, yes?”

  “Oh, I do believe it is, you are very smart, madam!”

  “It is nothing. Well, well, why are you in a corner, Miss Lavery?”

  “I’m not Miss Lavery,” she said seriously. “That is my eldest sister, Mary. I’m just Amelia.”

  “Well, just Amelia, why are you in a corner, instead of dancing with one of these so-nice young men?” Minna smiled sweetly at the blushing girl, and tapped her hand with the Spanish fan. “Don’t tell me — you are secretly in love with some impossible handsome guardsman, and cannot endure to dance with any nice ordinary young man, eh?”

  Amelia giggled. “Oh, no, Madame Dubois. It’s just that I cannot dance very well — and I am embarrassed —”

  “And how do you expect to dance better — if you do not dance, eh?” asked Minna with French practicality. An echo of Gabrielle’s brisk voice came to her, she could just hear the girl scolding her cousin! And yes, she had, in the old days. She had scolded Minna for not trying to dance, for not talking up, for not finding topics of conversation with which to amuse young beaux.

  “Well — you may be right — but I stumbled over Mr Seymour’s feet,” she said in a rush. “And I knocked an ice from Lady Olive’s hand, and it fell on the floor — and I just rushed away. I wish I could go home.” And her pretty face crumpled up at the memory.

  “Oh, tush, tush. The footman got it up at once, I am sure. What a tragedy,” scolded Minna softly. It was a tragedy to a sensitive young girl, she knew by experience. But one must make light of it. “Do you suppose you are the only one who has done that? I remember when I was fifteen, Mother asked me to serve tea for her, and I was so shaky I spilled a cup all over the trousers of a professor! I could have died!”

  “Oh, what did you do?”

  “I wanted to rush away. But Mother rang for a maid, we mopped it up, the professor forgave me nicely when I quoted some German scholar to him on my father’s urging. He said one could forgive a girl who used her mind, and I would learn grace with age! He was really very sweet to me.”

  “Your parents do sound nice, did you live in Paris always?” asked Amelia curiously, and Minna realized she was in danger. She had told an experience of Minna and not of Gabrielle!

  “Not always, no, we lived in the country some miles south. And during the war, I lived with my cousins in Kent for some three years. They were most kind to me, veree gracious —”

  Ten minutes had passed. Teddy Bailey, red-faced and looking anxious, was shyly approaching them.

  Minna leaned to the girl and whispered, “Here comes that nice Mr Bailey. If he asks you to dance, smile and do dance with him. He is more shy than you are, I do believe! Such a sweet man!”

  Teddy came to them, fixed his eyes on Amelia desperately, and blurted, “May I ha-have this d-d-dance, Miss Amelia?”

  She swallowed, and held out her hand. He helped her up, and they moved away. “W-what a nice p-party,” said Amelia as they moved into the ballroom.

  “Very nicely done, Madame Dubois,” said a low voice from beside Minna.

  She started, turning about with a jerk of her shoulders. Oliver Seymour stood near to her, so close he must have heard what had transpired.

  “Oh — you heard?”

  “Yes, it was very kind-hearted of you to encourage the child — and Teddy,” he said gravely. “You know, I was about to write you off as a French jade, a flirt, but now I think you must be as good as you are beautiful,” and his grey eyes looked at her very intently.

  She tried to laugh, her cheeks felt warm. “What a wicked thing to say to me, monsieur!” She tried to scold him. “A French jade, indeed! That is wicked!”

  “Tell me I am forgiven, and you will come for a drive with me tomorrow in my carriage. May I call for you — about eleven?”

  Oh, he was falling at her feet! She felt jubilant, and could scarcely conceal her pleasure. She let her eyelashes droop.

  “Why, I am not sure — let me see, it is Saturday — I wonder if ma chère tante has any engagements —”

  “She does not, I have asked her. She gives her permission for you to come with me in the park. I have a new team of matched blacks, I think you will enjoy them —”

  His matched blacks! She had longed to see them, and now he was inviting her to come and not only see them, but ride behind them. Her heart surged with pleasure. She loved fine horses, and he had the m
oney to buy the best.

  “If Tante says that I may — perhaps it will be all right — although I did think someone was coming to tea —” She said it demurely.

  Oliver said fiercely, “I will not let any engagements stand in my way! You will come!”

  “Dear me, monsieur, you are so — persuasive!” A look up at him, a half-smile, and he was bending to her.

  “I have done four duty dances, now I have returned for my reward,” he said, and held out his hand to her. She let him draw her up from the chair, and put his right arm about her, to lead her into the next dance.

  She was very conscious of Astrid’s cold eyes following them as they danced. The young girl stood at the side of the room, tearing up her fan as Minna danced again and again with Oliver. Good! That was sweet revenge, and Minna laughed and flirted with her eyes at Oliver.

  She went in to supper with him; he seated her and brought offerings to her of the many delicacies of the buffet — cold chicken and ham rolled in herb dressing, chilled jellies, spicy hot fish pie, cold dressed crab, potted lobster. She could not eat all he brought, and laughingly protested when he went back yet again to bring her another dish of tempting delights.

  He insisted she must eat some of the orange trifle, the iced sweet cherry pudding, the whim-wham made with thick cream and candied orange peel, the almond sugar puffs. And he had a footman bring several times trays of chilled glasses of sparkling champagne just for them.

  After the collation, there was dancing yet again. The older folks began to weary and began to drift to the door, but the young ones kept on vigorously dancing.

  Minna was beginning to tire herself, she found the French accent and masquerade a bit difficult to carry on for many hours. But Oliver would not let her depart.

  He swept her into the flower conservatory towards the end of the evening, and she leaned gratefully in the coolness to get whiffs of the forced roses and violets, the carnations and little pinks, the rare orchids hanging from thin vines.

  “How lovely,” she said naturally. “You are most fortunate to have such a paradise in your beautiful home.”

  “A paradise is empty without its angel,” he said in a strained voice, and took her in his arms.

  She was so surprised that she did not fight. Besides, Gabrielle would not have fought! He held her with his hard muscular arms, and pressed a kiss on her parted lips. She gasped, and he kissed her again, her soft mouth crushed beneath his urgent champagne-laden lips. She tasted the wine on his lips, and wondered vaguely if he tasted hers in the same way.

  “You — darling,” he said hoarsely. “You feel for me also — you knew — when our eyes first met — oh, God, I am mad for you —”

  Minerva could not think at all. The scent of roses in her nostrils, and his male scent — hot, awakened ardour, and the pressure of his body against her silk gown— What was he doing, he kept pressing harder to her —

  One of her hands groped for his shoulder, to keep herself from falling backwards on to the work table. She gripped his silk-clad shoulder, and felt the hardness of it. How men felt — she had never known how hard they were, compared to the soft feel of a girl like herself. Was their skin also hard and rough? She put her other hand involuntarily to his cheek, and yes, it was rough a bit, from the beginning of a scratchy beard — he must have shaved in the afternoon — and now his skin was roughened, and he scratched her cheek when he pressed his cheek to hers.

  Voices nearby, someone’s laughter. He straightened abruptly, and let her up, his arm still about her. He looked down at her, his eyes blazing in the dimness of the conservatory.

  “Not now,” he said, and it was a promise. “Not now — Gabrielle!”

  It was like a slap, like a fling of cold water in her face. Gabrielle! Of course, the French jade! She gasped, and put her hands to her face, and fought to get herself under control.

  “I must — g-go,” she said wildly. “I have to — g-go and f-find —”

  “I'll take you to your aunt,” he said swiftly. His hands went to her hair, smoothed it awkwardly, his hands lingering on the silken curls, the little wisps of fly-away reddish-gold hair. “Don’t worry — you look a bit flushed. Come along.”

  Gently he put his arm in hers, and led her from the room. A few eagerly curious guests followed their progress with their gazes, but many had left, and the rooms were almost empty.

  She found her mother, and Betsy Redmond looked at them both with worry in her eyes. “Here is your niece,” said Oliver gaily, a red flush high on his cheekbones. “She is going riding with me tomorrow at eleven.”

  Minna made a sound in her throat; he looked down at her.

  “You are,” he said, softly . “By the way, how is Minna? You said she is ill?”

  “Yes — with a fever,” Minna managed, past the obstruction in her throat. She did feel very feverish!

  “Too bad — pray give her my regards,” he said indifferently.

  Oh, he would pay for that! That cool indifference, for poor sick Minna!

  In the carriage going home, Minna was very silent. Her mother glanced at her from time to time, trouble in her look.

  How bold he had been, how very bold and forward! She should have hit him! She should have given him a tongue-lashing! But her mouth still stung softly from his passion, and her body remembered his pressure against it.

  Dreamily she smiled out the window at the cool night air, at the darkness, with few stars visible.

  In bed that night, she was a long time getting to sleep. She kept thinking about Oliver. He had been very bold, very wicked!

  But oh — she had liked it! No wonder girls like Gabrielle had hidden in bushes with young men, and let themselves be kissed! Minna had not known what she was missing. She touched her lips with her fingers, and shut her eyes tight, to bring back the memory of his mouth on hers, his tongue pressing her tongue. And the way he had kissed her all down her body — as far as he could go!

  Wicked! But delicious!

  CHAPTER 4

  In spite of the late hour at which he had retired, Oliver Seymour was up early the next day. He dressed with care in a new riding suit of green and gold, fussed at his valet over his hair arrangement, and finally set out half an hour early with his carriage and matched black stallions.

  He could not wait to see Madame Dubois again! How glorious she was! He had never met anyone so exciting and passionate, with such a sense of humour, such sweetness, and her lips! Oh, God, her lips and her silky skin —

  She was a close relation of the Redmonds, or he would have thought her fast, and ready to be set up as a mistress. How bold she was, her eyes so flirtatious and inviting. And allowing him to kiss her the first evening! He wondered — would she allow him to set her up in a flat? He had never felt so excited by a female! He had never had a permanent mistress, but Madame Dubois was different. She was a widow — perhaps she was highly sexed, and missed her husband. Or perhaps she had had a French lover!

  He drew up in front of the modest London townhouse of the Redmonds. The footman came out to hold the restless horses — fortunately Oliver trusted their servants. He went to the door eagerly, and was let in.

  “Madame Dubois is not yet down, sir,” said the butler, dubiously, and showed him into the empty drawing room.

  He waited, cooling his heels for quite half an hour, but he knew it was his fault. He was very early.

  When the door opened, he turned eagerly, then gasped. Madame Dubois came in, a stunning sight. She wore a slim-fitting black riding habit, with shiny black boots. But on her head was no high black hat.

  Her hair was dressed in a multitude of curls and tendrils floating about her charming oval face. On the hair was set a black lace Spanish mantilla, so that the red-gold silk of her hair shone through the black lace. Oh, God, she was so lovely, he thought, as he strode forward to take her gloved hand.

  She wore short, tight black gloves. He pushed back the glove so he might press a kiss on the white wrist. When he stood erect
, she was surveying him with half-closed eyes, seriously, though her green eyes sparkled.

  “You are most early, dear sir,” she murmured. “I regret my lateness — I was not dressed.”

  Oliver had a quick mental picture of her, half awake, yawning and stretching out her white arm in a vast bed, clothed in a lace confection which showed her beautiful skin. Perhaps a black lace nightdress — and her white breasts glimmering from the lace —

  “I would you had allowed me to come up and share your morning coffee,” he said daringly.

  Some colour crept into her painted cheeks. He did not like the fashion of rouge and powder, but he had to confess it was becoming on her. And that black stuff on her eyelashes — it brought out the green of her eyes. What magnificent eyes she had, they were so expressive —

  “You are being wicked this morning,” she scolded, and tapped his hand lightly with her gloved fingers. “I do not know if I should allow you to take me out!”

  “You promised!”

  He took her arm so she could not get away. She laughed lightly, a gurgle of low sound in the long slim throat. She permitted him to take her into the hallway, and out into the morning sunlight of the April day. What a glorious day! What a beautiful London-town! He walked on air as he handed her up into the carriage.

  As he swung up, he remembered his manners. “Your aunt — she is well?”

  “Yes, but sleeping late today, after our late night,” she said lightly. “How we enjoyed ourselves last night! Your entertainment is superb!”

  “I thank you.” He was inordinately pleased with her compliment. “And your cousin, Minerva? She is well?”

  She gave him a quick reproachful look. “Oh, no, alas, monsieur, she is most ill wiz the fever, you comprehend! The doctor will be called again this afternoon. Poor child, how she suffers! I should have stayed with her, but one is not permitted to enter the room!”

  “Oh — too bad,” he murmured, feeling a little pang, for he was so happy he wanted everyone in the world to be happy today. She was sitting close beside him on the seat of the carriage; he could see, from the corner of his eye, her graceful movements as she swayed to the movement of the carriage.