Sapphire

by Rosemary Rogers

  “Non, Angelique.” Armand spoke from a woven beachwood chair under one of the open windows. If he noticed Angelique was not in her ball gown, he gave no indication, nor did he make mention of the fact that Sapphire’s hair was tangled and hanging loose, her gown tattered.

  “What I have to say affects you as well as Sapphire,” he sighed. “Come in and close the door behind you. You two ladies have shared enough with our guests today, do you not think?”

  “What is it that cannot wait?” Sapphire demanded. She knew Aunt Lucia must have told her father what the women had said in the garden about Sapphire’s mother. She had a hundred questions for her father but she just wasn’t ready to ask them yet. “I’m tired, Papa.” She approached her chifforobe, pretending she was about to begin undressing. “It would be better if we talked tomorrow.”

  “Non,” Armand said sharply, startling all three women. “Tonight, young lady, you will not have your way! I will speak to you now, fille, and you, out of respect for your father, will listen. I should have had this talk with you—your mother and I should have—years ago, but we cannot change that now. Our guests have remedied that, haven’t they.” He hesitated. “All we can do is go on from here. Now sit down on the bed.” He raised his hand in Angelique’s direction. “You, as well, Angel. I warn you, I will not be handled by the three of you. Not tonight.”

  Astonished by her father’s demeanor, Sapphire did as she was told and silently walked to the bed to sit beside Aunt Lucia. Angelique sat on the older woman’s other side.

  “Let me first say that I am sorry, Sapphire, that all has come about in the way that it has. I must say that I did not always agree with your mother’s choices, but they were hers to make,” he said. “I know you understand that Lord Carlisle came to finalize a business agreement with me, but he also came to meet you so that I might finalize my plans to send you to London—”

  “London!” Sapphire jumped off the bed. “I am not going to London!”

  Armand rose from his chair. “I told you to sit, fille, and you will sit!”

  Under her father’s angry gaze, she leaned against the bed but did not sit. She crossed her arms over her chest and waited stubbornly.

  “In my grief over the loss of your mother, I have allowed you to run wild.”

  “Papa, I have not—”

  “Do not interrupt me again!”

  Sapphire pressed her lips together in silence, but she felt as if she could leap out of her skin. Had her father lost his mind? Go to London? What could possibly be there for her?

  “I have allowed you to run too freely,” Armand continued, beginning to pace in the large, airy bedchamber. “Since your mother’s death, I have allowed you, against my better judgment, to cease your lessons, to run about the island, unsupervised, to meet with men in private that you should not—”

  “Papa, Maurice and I—” This time, he only had to give Sapphire a look and she was silent.

  “You will go to London with Lord and Lady Carlisle and Lucia has agreed to go as your chaperone.”

  “But what about me? What am I to do?” Angelique rose, suddenly as upset as Sapphire, obviously for a different reason. “Can’t I go to London, as well?”

  “Well, I suppose you may,” Armand said, taken by surprise. “I wasn’t certain you would want to, my dear. To leave your home village, to—”

  “Of course I want to go!” Angelique clasped her hands together excitedly. “Oh, Papa, you don’t know how much I’ve always wanted to go to London.”

  Sapphire glared at Angelique, unable to let go of her anger toward her yet. “I thought you wanted to go to New York. No, wait, that was last week. Where was it you wanted to go this week? Athens? Paris? Or was it Brussels?” Sapphire mused.

  “I want to go to all those places,” Angelique responded, nonplussed. “But most of all, right now, London. Oh, thank you, Papa!”

  Sapphire turned to look at her father again. Her mother used to say that Angelique was always so easy to please, unlike Sapphire. Nothing was ever good enough for Sapphire, nothing was ever entirely agreeable—unless it was her idea. “I don’t want to go to London, Papa.” She looked down. It was hard for her to give in. She glanced up at him again, her arms still crossed over her chest. “If this is about Maurice—”

  “This is not about that loathsome boy!” Armand said abruptly, turning on his heels to look at her. “Sapphire, you don’t understand. You don’t know who you are.”

  “Oh, we’re back to that again, are we?” She moved away from the bed. “I’m still nothing but a child to you, still unable, in your eyes, to make my own decisions, unable to decide for myself what is best for me?” She took a step toward him. “Well, you’re mistaken. I know precisely who I am and what I want out of life. I am Sapphire Lucia Fabergine, daughter of Sophie and Armand Fabergine, and I want nothing more than—”

  “You are not my daughter,” Armand said, looking her in the eye.

  Sapphire’s throat constricted and her knees went weak. “What?” she managed to say.

  “Sapphire, come sit beside me,” Lucia said calmly, trying to take her hand and lead her to the bed.

  “No.” Sapphire pulled her arm from her aunt. First this terrible thing about her mother—and now this? She stared at her father. “Is my entire life a lie? Has anyone ever told the truth in this house? Papa, what are you saying?”

  Armand’s lower lip trembled. It was obvious he was in pain, not just emotionally, but physically, as well. “Please,” she said quietly, reaching out to take his arm. “Sit and tell me what you have to tell me.” Surprisingly, he allowed her to lead him back to the chair.

  “It is true,” he said when he was seated while Sapphire sat on a footstool at his feet. “I am not your father, but you must believe me when I tell you that you are the child of my heart. You must know that, Sapphire, before I go any further.”

  Tears welled in her eyes as she stared out the open windows into the dark jungle. Lucia came to stand behind her and pushed a white handkerchief into her hand.

  “I’m listening,” Sapphire said, watching the filmy gauze drapes fluttering around her bedposts. A giant green moth had found its way into the room and now fluttered about the lamp, lured by the beauty of the dancing yellow flame, perhaps to its own death. I am like that moth, Sapphire thought. I know that what I am about to hear will destroy me, but I cannot resist knowing the truth.

  “I met your mother and Lucia in New Orleans.”

  “He was as handsome a man as either of us had ever seen,” Lucia offered, looking to Armand with a smile. “But from the first night he had eyes for no one but your mother.”

  “But she was a prostitute,” Sapphire heard herself say, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “That’s how you met her. That’s what Lady Carlisle was talking about, wasn’t it? That’s what Mama was always trying to hide from me. It was her secret.”

  Armand folded his hands together and was quiet for a moment. “Oui,” he said finally. “I met your mother in a bordello in New Orleans. We fell in love and I asked her to marry me, though she had given birth to another man’s child without the benefit of a wedding ring. She agreed to marry me and came here to Orchid Manor, bringing Lucia as her companion.”

  “And that’s it? You’re telling me that I’m merely the product of some chance encounter between a stranger and a…a night-blooming flower?”

  Armand studied his daughter’s face and thought to himself that she had always been so strong, stronger than him or Sophie. Her eyes were red but she did not cry. It had been like that always, even when she was a child; the time she had fallen from her horse when she was seven and had broken her arm, she had not cried. Nor had she cried the hundreds of times she’d skinned her knees or elbows, either. She was strong, his Sapphire, stronger than anyone he’d ever known.

  Armand sat back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Listen before you make judgments. Do you not wish to know why your mother was in that place?”<
br />
  “Do I?” she asked, setting her jaw.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Angelique declared, sliding off the bed and coming to stand beside Lucia. “She is Sapphire, and she is as good as anyone on this island. Women do what they must to survive—isn’t that right, Aunt Lucia?” she asked. “Tell her.”

  Lucia looked into Angelique’s dark eyes. “It is why I found myself in Madame Dulane’s in New Orleans. I was a common street whore in London and was given the opportunity to travel to America with a kind benefactor. When he grew bored with me, I took to the occupation I knew—but this time, instead of working the streets, I found a place where I would have a bed and food.”

  Sapphire felt her head spinning. It was all so much to digest that she didn’t know which question to ask first. Aunt Lucia and her mother selling their bodies to men? Her sweet, quiet, gentle mother, a whore? It was an impossible thought, and yet the look on her father’s and aunt’s faces revealed the truth.

  “Did you really meet my mother in New Orleans, or was she also a London whore?”

  “I did meet her in New Orleans,” Lucia answered calmly, “but she, too, sailed from London, though not of her own choosing.”

  “Not of her own choosing?”

  “Sapphire, it will do you no good to be angry with your mother now. She did what she thought was best at the time,” Armand said. “She thought you should not know the truth of your birth until you were older. Then she became ill so suddenly and there was no time…”

  The room was silent. Angelique had returned to sit on the bed. Sapphire stared out the window for a moment and then turned back to her father. “So whose daughter am I, if not yours?”

  Lucia rested her hand on Armand’s arm and murmured something. He looked at her and nodded. Lucia waited until he had taken a seat in the beachwood chair again and then she spoke, opening her arms as if introducing a performance or work of art. “I have had to piece much of this story together because your mother was not easily forthcoming in her tale, but this is the best I can tell you. There was a young girl in Devonshire,” she said, adapting the tone of a storyteller. “Her name was Sophie and she was a strikingly beautiful woman with auburn hair and a smile that caught the eye of every man in the county, I would suspect.”

  Sapphire turned to look at Lucia, unable to resist being drawn in.

  “She was a farmer’s daughter who could read and write and who yearned to see the world, at least the world beyond the hills of her little English village. Then one day, the summer she was seventeen, a handsome young man stopped at the local inn to eat.”

  “It’s like one of your romance stories,” Angelique said softly. “Or maybe a fairy tale.”

  “He was an earl’s son,” Lucia continued. “A viscount in his own right and his name was Edward. It was a meeting completely by chance, though some might say by fate.” She walked to the window, the silk of her bright, multicolored dressing gown flowing behind her. “Had Sophie not been leaving the tavern, having delivered her father’s fresh vegetables at the very moment that his lordship entered the tavern, they would never have met.”

  Lucia paused, and then went on. “He fell in love with her at first sight, and she him. And even though they knew their love could never be, for they were not of the same social class, he couldn’t stop himself from riding to the village regularly to see her, and she could not stop herself from sneaking away from the farm to be with him.”

  “And then what happened?” Sapphire asked, although she could guess.

  “They married in secret the following summer,” Lucia said solemnly. “And they sealed their love—”

  “With a night of passionate lovemaking,” Angelique injected.

  “And Edward gave his new wife, Sophie, as a token of his love, one of the largest, most beautiful sapphires in all of England. A sapphire that had once belonged to the great Queen Elizabeth.”

  Sapphire heard her father move in his chair and turned to see him produce a small, worn wooden chest. “This is your mother’s casket,” he said quietly, opening it and removing a black velvet bag. “And this—” he carefully removed an object from it “—is the gift she saved for you.”

  Sapphire gasped in awe at the sight of the stunning sapphire that was as large as a walnut, sparkling bright in the lamplight. “For me?” she whispered as she stepped forward to take it from his hand. It was cool in her palm, yet it seemed to radiate a warmth that surprised her.

  Armand closed the lid on the box. “Inside are also letters from your father to your mother. Love letters, I would assume.” He shook his head, suddenly seeming sad. “I never read them, not even after her death. She had never offered to allow me to read them.”

  “They’re for me?” Sapphire asked.

  He nodded.

  “And then what happened?” Sapphire asked again. “Please tell me, Aunt Lucia.”

  “Well, the couple spent a magical night together and then parted, he to travel to London to tell his family of his marriage and she to her father’s cottage to inform him of her good fortune.” She turned from the window, folding her hands together. “But Edward’s father, the Earl of Wessex, was not pleased his son had married a country girl, a girl without title or wealth.”

  Sapphire hung her head. “The family would not accept the marriage.”

  “Indeed not. According to your mother, the Earl of Wessex was very angry because he had already chosen a bride for his son, a bride from a family with great affluence and a proper lineage,” Lucia said, lifting her forefinger that sported a wide, spiraled gold ring. “And so he sent a representative to Sophie to say that his son had made a mistake and wanted to have the marriage annulled.”

  “But Sophie knew it couldn’t be true,” Sapphire said, almost feeling her mother’s pain in her own chest.

  Angelique met Sapphire’s gaze, seeming to feel her pain, as well.

  “Sophie knew.” Lucia nodded solemnly. “And when the young Sophie could not be persuaded to sign the annulment —not even for money—and when she to threatened to go to London herself and find her beloved Edward, Lord Wessex began to fear the country girl. So…he had her kidnapped.”

  “Poor Mama,” Sapphire sighed. She could not imagine that such a thing happened to her soft-spoken, timid mother. “Please go on,” she whispered after a moment of silence.

  “So…” Lucia took a breath. “Sophie found herself in the hold of a ship for the journey across the Atlantic Ocean, abandoned on the docks of New Orleans. Lord Wessex had so feared the country girl who had stolen his son’s heart that he sent her all the way to America.”

  “I cannot believe it,” Angelique murmured.

  Sapphire closed her eyes, remembering her mother before she had become ill and hollow-cheeked, and then she tried to imagine what Sophie must have looked like when she was eighteen.

  “Sophie was without money or food or a place to live, and by then she knew she was carrying a child.”

  “Edward’s baby,” Sapphire said, still finding it all so hard to believe. “Me.”

  “She was carrying you,” Lucia continued, “and though she still had possession of the sapphire Edward had given her—safely sewn in the hem of her only gown—she refused to sell it, for she knew it would mean her child’s legacy. Instead, she sought employment. She was hired as a cook in a tavern in the French Quarter and slept in the attic above the kitchen, but when the evidence of her condition began to show—”

  “They put her out on the street,” Angelique guessed angrily. “It’s always that way.”

  “They did, but Sophie would not be defeated, because even after all she had been through, she knew in her heart that Edward had loved her and she knew that the baby she carried would be with her always—even if she and Edward could never be together again. Determined to protect her child, Sophie sought work in the only place a pregnant woman without a husband or proper guardian could find employment. She found a kind madam and good friends there.”

  “You,” Sapphire s
aid.

  “It’s where we met and instantly became sisters, the dairy maid turned fallen woman and the dockside London whore,” Lucia said proudly. “And there Sophie’s daughter was born.”

  “I can’t believe you kept this from me,” Sapphire said, turning to Armand, the jewel clasped tightly in her hand.

  “It was important to your mother that you be loved, that you know the love of two parents.” He sat back, the casket on his lap. “As time passed, the lie seemed to become truth. After a while, I began to forget that you were not the child of my blood.”

  “Your mother gave birth to a beautiful girl, born with her mother’s red hair and her father’s eyes, one blue and one green.”

  Sapphire drew her hand to her mouth and inhaled sharply at this revelation. She had asked her mother many times why she had one blue eye and one green when her mother’s and Armand’s eyes were brown, and the response had always been simply that children took after many relatives. Now she knew the truth.

  “And Sophie named her daughter Sapphire.” Lucia’s eyes now shone with unshed tears in remembrance, “for the gift her father had given them. And Sophie went about her life, determined to give her daughter a better life than she had known. She dreamed that she and her daughter would some day return to England to find Edward so they would be reunited, and their little girl would be given the name and recognition she always deserved.”

  Sapphire sat again on the footstool, feeling more than a little light-headed. “And that’s why you want me to go to London now, Papa—to find my father?”

  “This is not about what I want, my dearest daughter. It cannot even be about what you want.” He turned to the window. “It must be about what your mother wanted. It was her dying wish that you find your father, that you seek out your inheritance and what is rightfully yours.”

  “And why are you telling me this after she has been gone nearly a year?” Sapphire demanded, wiping at a tear that threatened to spill. “Why do you decide now to tell me all this? Why send me now? Why with those awful people?”