French Jade: A dazzling Regency love story

by Janet Louise Roberts

  “Of course not!” gasped Gabrielle, her hand outstretched in appeal. “Pray, dear Oliver, come back and sit down —”

  “Why cannot I speak to her? I have known her for years, she will be glad to have a friend, I should think,” said Oliver, with sweet reasonableness. “Alone all these weeks, poor little child —”

  “She is not a little child!” said Gabrielle between her teeth. One might say, she snapped.

  Mrs Redmond said, “She is not dressed, Oliver, she is in nightclothes. It would not be proper. Do come and sit down. All of you! Sit down!”

  She prevailed. Gabrielle sank on to the chaise longue once more, looking rather pale. Percy sat down on the edge of a straight chair near the door. Mrs Redmond sat at the tea tray and asked, “More tea, anyone? Another almond cookie, anyone?”

  No one seemed hungry or thirsty. Gabrielle stretched out, and surveyed her slippers absently. Oliver’s gaze went hungrily over the slim form in the yellow gown; it showed the lines of her figure in a manner that made him burn! Surely, her mother would not allow Minerva to wear such a gown — Yet he could remember when his sister Eleanor was being courted, she had worn some extreme gowns, to their father’s keen displeasure. And his mother had upheld her, for some strange reason, though she had been overprotective of Eleanor’s virtues for years. Must be something about it, mused Oliver. When a girl was intent on matrimony, perhaps more licence was permitted — it certainly did make a fellow more keen!

  “Well, I must be on my way. A fellow has some jade he is thinking of selling,” said Oliver, rising. “I want to be in on the bidding of it this morning.”

  “Oh, really? You have such lovely jade, and such a large collection, I should not think you long for more.” Gabrielle sat up languidly, and permitted him to take her hand.

  “There is something about jade,” said Oliver with a smile. He brushed back the loose sleeve, and with his back to Mrs Redmond and Percy, he bent to kiss her hand. Only he kissed the wrist instead, with a long lingering kiss, then opened her hand, and pressed a kiss into her palm.

  “S-something about j-jade,” stammered Gabrielle. “What — d-do you mean?”

  “It intrigues one. The more one has, the more one wants,” said Oliver, his eyes significantly focused on her red lips. “One — hungers for more. I think to add some French jade to my collection.”

  “Really?” said Percy, with some slight interest. “I have heard of Chinese jade, and other Oriental pieces — but never from France. Do they mine it there?”

  “They — form it in France,” said Oliver with a smile. There was some pink colour in Gabrielle’s cheeks, he was happy to see. She had his message! “So I must hasten to acquire the French jade. It may be snatched up by some other fellow!”

  “Yes, one must take care, not to be too rash and foolish,” said Gabrielle, lazily, leaning back, her eyes half closed. “When one is too confident, one sometimes loses all!”

  “I shall be careful, you may be sure,” he said, and took his departure, well satisfied.

  CHAPTER 8

  Several days later, Oliver Seymour sent word to Mrs Redmond, Percival and Madame Dubois that his mother had come to London to stay with him:

  “Mother has expressed a wish to visit Vauxhall Gardens. There is some female singer who is performing tonight. May I hope for your company to attend with us? It looks to be a fine evening for early May.”

  Minerva was transported. She adored Vauxhall, though she had not gone often. “Is it masquerade night?” she cried eagerly.

  “I certainly hope not!” said Percy repressively. “All would be rowdy and disagreeable.”

  “Oliver would not suggest it if it was masquerade night, I feel sure,” added Betsy Redmond. They looked in the latest gazette, and sure enough it was a regular night, not masquerade.

  “I should think,” said Percy, “that you have enough of masquerade, dearest sister!”

  “Well, I enjoy it tremendously.” Minerva smiled, making a little face at him.

  “I do not!” he said distinctly. “Denise is furious with me, and I thought she was going to refuse to dance with me the other night. I have a sad reputation with her, you may be sure! Dangling about my cousin’s skirts!”

  “All will come well, Percy,” soothed Minerva. “She is sure to come about when your cousin goes back to France!”

  “I can scarcely wait!” he muttered. He sighed deeply, and Minerva gazed at him anxiously. Percy was more and more impatient and down in the mouth.

  “Well, it will all work out,” said Betsy Redmond. She asked Minerva what she would wear that evening, and the talk turned to clothes.

  Minerva finally wore her daring gold tissue silk gown, which clung tightly all down her. She wore over it a black velvet cloak of her mother’s, and her hair was a blaze of curls and tendrils, with golden hairpins, and the jade butterfly in it.

  Oliver was enchanted with her, when he saw her. He and his mother had come early with the large comfortable barouche, and soon they were on their way to the Gardens.

  Mrs Anthony Seymour was a tall, stately, elegant woman. She had lost her husband some years ago, and now wore black or dark grey all the time, but she was not a stifling personality. She had a keen sense of humour like her son’s, thought Minerva, when the lady commented with mock gravity on the costumes of persons at Vauxhall.

  “I thought it was not masquerade night, Oliver!” she exclaimed, when one clown in gaudy garments ran past them as they strolled to their supper box. “That cannot be a costume of fashionable London!”

  “No, Mother, we have not gone so far!” he reassured her with a laugh. “I warrant the way styles go, we may be wearing patches and gauds before long, but so far — no. But you will be amused by the pantomime tonight, it is a version of Punch and Judy by persons singing the parts. I have heard it is vastly amusing.”

  “So you have been here before this spring?” asked Minerva demurely, glancing up at him sideways.

  “No, madame, I have not! A friend has, and recommended it.”

  “I warrant you come often — perhaps on masquerade night?”

  He said in her ear, “I am not the one fond of masquerades! Though I could become so!”

  She had been idly teasing him when he said that. A gasp broke from her lips. Could he mean — had he guessed? — but no! He could not know she was masquerading as her cousin. Or could he? No, he said nothing, he knew nothing!

  All the more frantically, she flirted with him. He must not guess that she was Minerva! Not until she was ready!

  He seated them devotedly in one of the finest boxes, a large, elegant one with golden curtains and a splendid view of the stage. Someone was singing. Minerva propped her elbows on the table, and listened with keen enjoyment. The lady was singing some melodies from a current popular theatre piece, and her voice rang out in the tree-filled Gardens. Flowers dotted the grounds, in glorious plots of colours of spring, pinks and blues and pale yellows.

  “Are there fireworks tonight?” asked Percy, sounding happier.

  “Yes, there are,” said Oliver. “I asked especially.”

  “Oh, splendid,” he said. “I do like that.”

  “And do you, madame?” asked Oliver, leaning to Minerva, and managing to kiss her ear lobe as he did so. A thrill went down her spine.

  “Oh, yes, immensely,” she said dreamily. “Lots of colour and excitement, and beauty.”

  “Our tastes match exactly.” He smiled, looking significantly down over her, as much as he could see at the table.

  The Gardens looked especially lovely that night, even more beautiful than when Minerva had come in past years. The Japanese lanterns glowed in the trees and on poles, shining lights in the coloured papers of pink and gold, blue and green, purple and wine. They swayed in the wind, and the lights fluttered like fireflies.

  The music was like golden light as a flautist played a solo with the orchestra. They listened, enchanted, as the music wove a magic line into the colourful evening.


  “Marvellous,” murmured Katherine Seymour. “I remember well an evening I came here with dearest Anthony —”

  “And I with my Arnold,” sighed Betsy Redmond.

  A shiver went down Minerva. Would she come here one night, widowed and alone, and remembering past glories? How short was life, how brief, like a candle that blew out in the wind.

  “What are you thinking?” whispered Oliver.

  “How short is life,” she said, in a melancholy voice. “How brief — a candle is not longer. Then one lives with memories.”

  “Yes, so one must make the memories so beautiful, that they light up one’s life hereafter. Don’t you think so? One must seize the moment, and be happy in it. Love and laugh, give of one’s self, enjoy the passions of the moment —”

  Minerva turned from her contemplation of the stage, to gaze deeply into the grey eyes. Was he serious, or teasing? Mischievous, or sombre as she felt for the moment? She saw no amusement in his eyes, but she did see a light of passion.

  For a moment, her purpose was jolted. What if she failed? What if “Gabrielle” must return to France, for Oliver wanted only a mistress, and lived as lightly as he spoke? How horrid that would be!

  “Oh, Madame Haswell will sing now!” cried Katherine Seymour joyously. “Oh, I remember when she sang years ago — I wonder if her voice is as splendid?”

  They all hushed as the beautiful opera singer came out on the stage. She was attired in a brilliant green-and-silver gown with a train that trailed behind her a full six feet, and sparkled and shimmered in the lantern lights.

  “Like a peacock’s tail,” whispered Oliver. “Look how it shines —”

  She did look like a peacock, all glimmering and shining, thought Minerva as she nodded.

  “Let us hope she does not sing as one!” he muttered in her ear, wickedly. “They have a very scream!”

  She giggled, unable to control herself, and her mother frowned at her. She suppressed the laugh with an intense effort. What a tease Oliver was! He knew she found it hard not to laugh aloud!

  Madame Haswell sang much better than they had hoped. She sang first several arias, then later returned and, in another even more gorgeous gown, sang with a choral group some magnificent opera numbers, the orchestra banging away with great enthusiasm at their drums and all. It was quite a splendid evening, and earned fine praise in the gazettes that week.

  Minerva listened in a daze. Oliver hung at her elbow and kept whispering in her ear — not to disturb her, but to comment, point out things, tell her about some singer or player. And every so often his lips touched her ear, or her cheek, and sent another wild thrill down her. He managed to hold her elbow, her arm, or even her hand, and played with her fingers, under cover of the darkness in the box.

  She was not sure her mother did not notice. And Mrs Seymour had keen eyesight, but none said anything. Perhaps she would hear about this later! But for now she did not care. She had rarely felt so excited, so thrilled, so moved. Both by the singing and the music, and by Oliver!

  When the interlude came, the waiters came scurrying with their dinner. They had many people to serve so quickly, and she marvelled how they brought the chilled wines, opened them and served the glasses. Another swarm of waiters brought the plates of cold beef and mustard, the chunks of boiled lamb and mint sauce, bowls of fresh fruit chopped and swimming in a delicious coconut cordial. Desserts were custards, syllabubs laced with wine, and platters of beautiful pastries.

  Oliver teased Minerva by putting little bits of food between her lips, feeding her with his fork, causing her to drink from one glass, then he would take the glass and drink from the same place.

  Mrs Redmond was chattering with Mrs Seymour, and managed to keep Percy’s attention from them most of the time. Minerva sat in the corner of the box, with Oliver’s attentions making her feel very hot and bothered, and wished the night would never end!

  Leaving the wines on the table, and the pastries, the waiters picked up the plates and the leavings, and scurried away just in time for the next part of the programme. The stage had been cleared, many had pounded vigorously with hammers and tools, and now the curtains opened. There was a ship in full sail, and what looked like an ocean! The audience oohed and ahhed and clapped vigorously.

  The scene turned out to be a battle at sea. While Minerva marvelled, and Oliver chuckled so hard he almost fell over, the ships bravely rolled across the oceans at each other, firing their broadsides to the vigorously playing orchestra. Fireworks filled the air, supposedly from the cannons. Lighting resembling lightning sparkled in the air; thunder rumbled, courtesy of drums. Then the masterpiece. Majestically one ship turned tail up, and sank slowly into the water!

  Oliver rocked with laughter, howling with mirth. Percy joined him reluctantly.

  “I say, it is funny,” said Percy, “but how do they do it?”

  “I don’t know,” gasped Oliver. “But I never saw anything so funny in my days! They should see a real fight at sea. God, it is a howl! Those pretty little ships passing and passing! Oh, my God —”

  “Oliver, darling, I pray you, do not swear before us,” begged his mother plaintively. “I know it is funny —”

  “Forgive me, ladies. I am so sorry!” He apologized at once, wiping his eyes with his handkerchief. “Forgot myself! You must excuse me — terribly sorry!”

  He was forgiven at once. Minerva looked at him reproachfully. “I thought it looked very real and frightening, Oliver! How can you laugh so?”

  He patted her hand, managing to curl his big fingers around hers intimately. “My dear, if one did not laugh, one would cry! I have seen real battles, men with big holes blown in them, and blood flowing everywhere. And to think they now make it an amusement for a half-drunken mob! It is so ironic, I have to laugh! Battles, all prettied up! God, how crazy is Thy world!”

  He spoke in a low savage tone, and the others did not hear him. Impulsively, Minerva squeezed his fingers, her other hand on their joined hands.

  “I am sorry, I did not understand,” she said in a soft voice. “You must be torn between mirth and anguish, to see such a sight after all your battles. Yes, how can they treat a battle of war as an amusement in the Gardens? Will they next show us wounded and dying men, as an entertainment?”

  “You do understand,” he said intensely. “Oh — Gabrielle — what it is to have someone to know one’s mind, to comprehend one’s feelings — I want you to know —”

  “Dear me, I feel so full,” yawned Percy, as the curtain went down and the chatter rose up again. “I think I shall take a stroll!”

  “Yes, do that,” agreed Oliver with a sudden change of tone, so amiable and nice. “I’ll take Gabrielle around to see the lights and the flowers. Why don’t you take Mother and Mrs Redmond the other way?”

  He got up so quickly, they had no time to protest. He brought Minerva up with him, and they went off into the darkness alone.

  He was so fast, she could only gasp. “Really, Oliver, we should remain with Mother — I don’t know what they will say —” She faltered. She had said “Mother” — had he noticed?

  He said nothing, only rushing her into the dark path near their box. She said, as though repeating,

  “Really, Oliver, we should remain with your mother — and my aunt — and Percival! I think we should be together —”

  “And I have looked forward to having you alone!” he said, with a laugh in his voice. “Come along, Gabrielle! I don’t want to drag you!”

  They had lost the others. She looked back over her shoulder. Crowds swarmed in the paths, leaving their boxes, talking, chattering, laughing, exclaiming. One girl shrieked, a man’s laugh echoed. Minerva drew closer to Oliver. It seemed that on the dark paths of Vauxhall Gardens, all kinds of things went on!

  “That’s right, stick to me,” said Oliver cheerily, putting his arm possessively about her waist. “I say, look at the lights! They are very pretty tonight!”

  She looked at the little
lights, now flaring up before them to light the dark trees and walks. They were enchantingly lovely, all the light colours of the rainbows flaring in the night. They strolled along, his arm about her to keep her from the young gallants who would knowingly jostle her, and they admired the cascades, the fountains, the statues, the little boxes of fine company. All London-town seemed to have turned out that fine night, dressed in beautiful finery, to admire and be admired.

  Then Oliver turned into one particularly dark path, near some trees lined with lanterns, and pushed her into the shadow of some tall bushes. Minerva said, “What are —”

  Oliver’s mouth closed over hers, and his arms pulled her so close she could scarcely breathe. Her hands went to his shoulders, involuntarily. She thought she would fall over backwards, he was pushing her back over his arm. The only way to keep her balance was to cling to his hard shoulders, and her fingers bit into his arms.

  His mouth was warm and eager. Her lips were parted, and his mouth was moving over her lips in nibbling, biting kisses. She felt half faint with the pleasure of it. Something warm was rising inside her, from her thighs to her throat, something like an emotional wave of excitement, like that caused by some very sentimental music — only different.

  She could hear the orchestra in the distance, the light-music one this time, and the faint waltz tune seemed to melt her into a rhythm of love. Oliver’s mouth was moving on hers, back and forth, stroking her lips in the most sensuous kiss she had ever felt. His tongue was pressed into her mouth, thrusting back and forth against her teeth and tongue, and the slow erotic movement of his mouth was like a little waltz.

  Her brain was dizzy. All that wine, she thought. Oliver had kept plying her with wine — on purpose? But she could not think straight. All she could do was feel.

  And she felt his hands on her silky back, moving up and down from her thighs to her waist up behind her back — and down again. His hands, so hard and pulling her to him — his fingers probing as though he played an instrument on her spine. When he touched her thighs again, he pulled, and she felt the hard masculine throb of his thighs, like something moving and growing there.