French Jade: A dazzling Regency love story

by Janet Louise Roberts

  How glorious her form! Rounded and slim in the waist, her body was so pleasing — her hips were wide and rounded, he had felt them with his hands when he had embraced her last night. No slim-stick was she! Her breasts were globes of delight, round and white and tempting —

  “How beautiful are your stallions — do I say it right, stallions?” And she looked up at him, and curled her red tongue around the word. He could scarce look away to pay attention to his spirited horses, he swallowed. He wanted to grasp her, and plunge his mouth on to her mouth and kiss her senseless!

  “Yes, right,” he gasped. “Do you like — horses?”

  “I do not know much about zem,” she said seriously. “My ’usband, Gaspar, he chose our horses for us, and looked about the stables — he did not permit me to do such things as ride. It was not — feminine, he said.”

  This was confirming what he had thought: her marriage had not been a happy one. Shadows filled her expressive green eyes when she spoke of Gaspar. And he must have been a bossy brute!

  “Should you like to ride? I would enjoy teaching you —” he offered eagerly.

  “Oh, I shall not be in London long enough — I do zank you for your kindness, though,” and she gazed up into his eyes so deeply that the horses strayed into the next path.

  On someone’s warning shout, he jerked the reins, and got himself under control, and then the horses. His face flushed with embarrassment. He counted himself a tolerable whip, but today he was off his pace!

  Gabrielle did not seem to notice, she was gazing off into the distance across the park as they entered the grounds. He did not like it that she ignored him, that her gaze was elsewhere and her mind seemingly preoccupied with her thoughts.

  “Gabrielle!” he urged.

  “Monsieur?” she murmured, and turned her head slowly back to him. The wind picked up the ends of the Spanish mantilla and floated a bit of lace and some locks of red-gold hai; it was a delicious sight.

  “I wish you would remain longer — what calls you back to France?” he demanded.

  “Oh — I have affairs to put in order.” She smiled, and showed entrancing white teeth like small pearls.

  “Affairs?” For a jealous moment, he thought of some young dandy of a Frenchman.

  “Yes, financial,” she said demurely. “What did you think? There is the estate — though most belongs to my stepson — he is about my age, you know.”

  Oliver frowned. He did not like the thought of a stepson her own age!

  “He is married?” demanded Oliver.

  “Yes, how did you know?”

  “I guessed.” Those young Frenchies, they liked to have their wives, and a mistress or two on the side. Surely that young dandy would not dare approach his own stepmother —

  “Then, in May, Paris is so very pretteee,” she was saying. “I long to return to my Paris when the chestnuts are in blossom along the lovely boulevards — and everyone is out in the parks — oh, do we know that gentleman?”

  Oliver looked. “Yes, I introduced you last night —” Curtly he nodded as Gabrielle waved and smiled.

  The gentleman galloped up, and stopped them to talk for a moment. Oliver was furious, and glared at him. Gabrielle was too free with her smiles and her pretty talk.

  But soon he was able to drive on. Then someone else waved his riding crop, and they had to stop and talk again.

  “No more,” said Oliver, as he drove away this time. “I shall not stop again! I wanted you to myself this morning! There are too many people in the world!”

  Her lovely eyes opened wide in mock amazement. “Oh, monsieur, you theenk so? You wish to speak seriously about ze problems of ze world to me?”

  “No, I do not, and you know it! I wish I could be alone with you. You are the most beautiful woman in the world — I cannot wait to kiss you again!”

  She shook her head, and the red-gold hair waved against his arm. “You were very — forward last night, monsieur. I was wrong to permit you to take me to the conservatory. No, it was wrong.”

  She rebuked him, yet her green eyes sparkled up at him, and a little smile curled her red-paste mouth. She wore too much makeup, yet she was so pretty in spite of it —

  “I think you are not angry with me —” he said softly, “because you enjoyed it almost as much as I did! I think you miss kisses and embraces. I think you hunger for the love of a strong man! And I would be that man in your life!”

  She turned her head away, to greet someone else, and he was furious! He would not stop the carriage, and the ladies in the other carriage stared after him as he whipped the horses and turned them into yet another gravelled path.

  “I am determined to talk alone with you!” he growled.

  “Monsieur! You go too fast,” she said, her head still turned from him.

  “If you think to leave London, I will not permit it! I long to know you better — Do you not feel, Gabrielle, that there is something special between us? From the first moment that we met, when our eyes first met, I knew there was something unusual between us, that we were destined to know each other well. I have never felt towards another woman what I have felt for you. And when I kissed you —”

  “’Ow do you do?” Gabrielle said clearly, and bowed to a gentleman on horseback. He paused, smiled, was eager to continue.

  Oliver sent the horses flying on, even faster.

  “I said, when I kissed you last night — I felt such emotion — I have never felt so about any female —”

  “I zink we must forget last night, it was a mistake!”

  “A mistake!” He gasped. “No! It was right, the first right move I have made towards a female — I think I am falling in love with you — deeply in love!”

  “Monsieur, you must forget me!”

  “Why?” he demanded.

  She was silent. He wished his hands were not full of the reins, and trying to control two very spirited stallions.

  “Is there someone else?” he asked again.

  She did not answer.

  He could have cursed. He felt so dazzled, so confused, so irritated by the horses and the public nature of their meeting… If only he had been smart enough to take her to his home. But she would not have come — unless —

  “May I take you to my house for luncheon, so we may continue this conversation?” he begged.

  “No, I must return home — to ma tante’s house,” she said firmly. “I promised I will come home at one or before. What time is it?”

  He glanced at his gold turnip watch on his waistcoat. “Five until one.” He groaned, then wished he had lied.

  “Then we must return home,” she said calmly. Reluctantly he turned the horses, and all too soon, he was pulling up in front of the Redmond townhouse.

  And to his amazed disgust, the footman came out — with Percival Redmond.

  “Percival!” cried his passenger, with every evidence of joy. “You have come to London — you have deserted Kent, and come to London! Oh, I am so happee!”

  Percival Redmond, looking rather grim, assisted her in alighting, and was glaring up at Oliver. “How are you, Mr Seymour?” he said formally.

  Oliver was trapped with his horses and reins. “Splendid to see you, Percival,” he muttered. “I say, Madame Dubois — will you come for dinner this evening?”

  “Oh, no,” she said clearly. “Percy has just come! We cannot!”

  “Then tomorrow?” he cried in despair, as she began to move to the house, her hand tucked cosily in Percy’s arm.

  “Not tomorrow!” said Percy firmly. He was frowning.

  “On Monday, then?” Oliver felt like a sapskull as he sat in the carriage and yelled pleadingly after them.

  “Come to tea on Monday afternoon,” called Gabrielle, and sent him a dazzling smile.

  “Oh, thank you!” he answered, like a very hopeless lover. The footman could scarce conceal his grin, and Oliver picked up his reins to chirrup at the horses, feeling very cross.

  Percival yanked Minerva int
o the house, then into the front drawing room, and shut the doors after them.

  “Now, what the devil are you up to, Minerva?” he asked grimly, standing with his hands on his hips, and looking more formidable than usual.

  “However did you happen to come to London?” she asked, sinking into the nearest chair. Her mother was lounging in the armchair near the tea tray, looking thoughtful and pensive.

  “Mother sent for me,” he answered.

  Minna looked at her mother reproachfully. Betsy Redmond shrugged. “I thought you should have an escort,” she evaded.

  “But Percy is busy with the farm,” protested Minna, and set back the black veil. She thought the morning had been quite a success, and she had wanted to gloat over it, and how fast Oliver was falling. He had practically declared himself today! Her heart was beating rapidly, and she did not want to fight with Percy just now. She wanted to go up to her room and savour the morning’s experiences.

  “Well — I wanted to see Denise Lavery,” said Percy, with unusual bluntness. “Mother said also that Ross Harmsworth is hanging about her too much. I want to marry her, and I won’t be cut out by that — that —”

  ‘That handsome soldier,” said Minerva sweetly. “Yes, he is hanging about her. But if you neglect her from one season to the next, I cannot blame her for looking to someone else!”

  “Minerva,” said her mother warningly. “Percy is genuinely fond of Denise — and he works hard —”

  “Yes, Mother. But women want to know they come first,” said Minna.

  Both her brother and mother stared at Minna. She realized it was not one of her usual statements, and blushed.

  “Well, matters are going well on the farm,” said Percy, pacing to the window and back again. He did look tired and harassed, thought his sister fondly. He did need a holiday. “I thought I would come up to London for a few weeks, and press my courtship. This is her second season, after all. She should be satisfied to cut a swathe and be done with it!”

  Minerva raised her eyebrows. “What a way to put it,” she said. “Denise is a good, kind girl. Why should she not have a good time this season? She deserves to be happy.”

  “Of course, of course,” said Percy. “But she liked me well enough last season. Why hasn’t she written to me?” he blurted out.

  Minna and her mother exchanged another look. So Percy had written to Denise, but not received many answers. Maybe Denise was serious about Harmsworth — or maybe she just wanted more attention than Percy had had time to give her.

  “Well, well, you must give up this masquerade,” Percy continued. “I will want you to come about with Denise and me, it will only be proper. Perhaps we can be engaged by next month,” he added hopefully.

  Minna did not like this at all. She was having a splendid time, being reckless Gabrielle instead of staid Minerva. “But, Percy, I am in the midst of this scheme of mine, didn’t Mother tell you?”

  “She said something about you were mad as fire at Oliver Seymour. I cannot understand why.”

  “He insulted me,” she said.

  Percy went stiff as a poker. “He — insulted you?” he asked, in a deadly tone.

  “I mean — he said things to me — about me —”

  “How did you come to hear this?”

  “I was listening — I mean —”

  “What did he say? Did he speak of you as a loose woman? I cannot imagine this of Oliver! He always seemed a courteous chap.”

  Percy seemed to be taking this wrong. Minna eyed him uneasily. “Well, he insulted me, and I did hear him. I shall not be satisfied until I have my revenge on him! I mean to see him at my feet!”

  Percy stood still, his hands behind his back, frowning heavily. The frown looked ill on his fresh, young, open face. He was but twenty-four years of age, about Oliver’s height, but not with his years or experience. He had green eyes like Minerva and his mother, red hair a little darker than hers. But his responsibilities had made him grave before his time.

  A surge of love for her brother went over Minerva. He was a splendid fellow, and he deserved a good, kind wife, like Denise. What was wrong with Denise, that she could not see his worth?

  Perhaps a bit of flirting with Percy was in order! After all, he and “Gabrielle” were only first cousins, and Denise might perk up if she saw Percy hanging about his beautiful widowed cousin!

  Percy had other matters on his mind. “If Seymour has insulted you seriously,” he said heavily, “then it is up to me to avenge you. I am your only male relative. I shall have to call him out.”

  “Call him out!” exclaimed Betsy Redmond, sitting up from her lounging position. “Nonsense — It is not so serious —”

  “Now, Percy, that is nonsense,” echoed Minna, in alarm. She knew that determined look on her brother’s face. “He insulted me, but not like that — I mean —”

  “Well, how did he insult you, then?” Percy demanded crossly. “What did he say?”

  “He — he called me dull, and dowdy, and dour,” muttered Minerva sulkily. The memory still stung badly.

  Percy stared at her. “Is that all? Is that what has you in such a pother?” he asked, furious. “You mean I came all the way from Kent to hear this? Mother, really, what did you mean by sending for me as though there was vast trouble?”

  “Well, I think it was bad enough!” cried Minerva. “How would you like Denise to think you were dull and dowdy and dour?”

  “Is Oliver serious about you? Has he offered for your hand?” demanded Percy. “Are you in love with him? No? Then why do you care what he thinks?”

  At the sudden attack, Minna could not think what to say. Her mother intervened hastily.

  “Minna is right to feel insulted. She has known Mr Seymour for some time, as a casual friend. For him to consider her so unworthy of the attentions of a man must surely be insulting to her. As you can see —” Betsy waved her hand at her daughter — “as Gabrielle she can feel free to look different, to act different.”

  “I knew her at once,” said Percy callously. “What is so different? I have seen her in that riding habit a hundred times.”

  “Her hair is different. She wears rouge and paint like a Frenchwoman,” said her mother loyally. “She looks and feels different. And Mr Seymour seems to treat her differently —”

  “Quite differently,” snapped Minerva, remembering the morning ride. “I shall give him a run for the money! And when I have him at my feet —”

  Percy groaned. “Females are impossible!” he said sweepingly. “I can only hope Denise is not such a little baggage!”

  “She probably is,” muttered Minerva, a plan forming in her mind. “Percy, if you will help me, I shall help you!”

  He eyed her warily. “Why should I agree? I need no help!”

  “Yes, you do, with Denise. You shall escort me about, and arouse Oliver Seymour’s jealousy. I could see he was already suspicious of you this noon. And I shall do the same for you with Denise! When you escort me in her sight, I shall languish and cast up my eyes, like this —” And she demonstrated, rolling her eyes at him. “And she will be madly jealous, and more interested in you!”

  “I don’t see why, seeing you are my sister,” said Percy, frowning crossly. “It is all a hum!”

  “Yes, but she won’t know it! I am your cousin Gabrielle, from France, a fascinating widow, and you can escort me devotedly, and make her jealous!” urged Minerva. “Then, when all is right again, Gabrielle can return to France!”

  “I cannot see that it will help —”

  “I think you might do as your sister wishes for once, Percy,” said Betsy Redmond with unusual firmness. “I have another idea also —” Then she lapsed into silence, realizing the two were not listening to her. But she was thoughtful, mulling over some idea.

  “Well, whether I help you with Denise Lavery or not, I think you ought to help me for a few days!” announced Minerva crossly. “Oliver Seymour is interested in me. He almost proposed this morning!”


  “Proposed! Is he so serious?” asked Percy dubiously.

  “Well — he is fascinated. And I want to cast my net wider, and pull him in tighter,” said Minna, with reckless disregard for correct fishing terms. She was thinking to herself that Denise needed shaking up also, and a bit of clever fishing on Percy’s part. Percy was a great fellow, and Denise could use some heavy competition to make her realize she could lose Percy if she played fast and loose with him.

  “Well, if you want Seymour — he is a decent fellow, and you could do worse than marry him,” said Percy.

  “I don’t mean to marry him! I just want —” But Minna, pausing, realized her brother was not listening, and she herself felt uncertain. Did she not want to marry him? Did she want only revenge on Oliver? Or — or had his kisses stirred something in herself, something previously unawakened, and unthought of?

  “I think I shall call on Denise tomorrow afternoon,” Percy said, striding up and down the carpet. “I have not seen her for a time. Shall I be received, do you think?”

  “I shall send her a note, and her mother, and invite them here tomorrow afternoon. That will do better,” said Betsy Redmond firmly. “If you go there, they might not be at home. Yes, I shall invite them here.”

  “Why not invite the whole family, and also Teddy Bailey and Ross Harmsworth?” suggested Minerva cunningly. “I have a plan — I think it might work —”

  “I don’t want that Harmsworth here,” said Percy crossly.

  “Just the Laverys tomorrow, dear,” pleaded Betsy Redmond. “I shall send a note at once.”

  And she went to her writing desk, with determination. Minna went upstairs to change for luncheon, and dream a little of her very satisfactory morning. Other plans could wait.

  CHAPTER 5

  Minerva was delighted with her new popularity. The Laverys treated her with new respect; she was a favourite of the girls. Denise glared at her suspiciously when Minerva commanded Percy to bring tea, or serve cakes, or pick up something she had dropped.