“My love, I don’t recall Sapphire saying she was any too fond of him. What was it she called him the other night when his name was brought up in conversation? An arrogant, blustering—”
“Blockhead,” Lucia finished for him, leaning to brush her lips against his. “I’m off to shop now, but I will see you Saturday evening if that still suits you. Your house.” She drew her finger under his chin teasingly as she walked away. “Your bedchamber…”
13
“Good lord a’mighty, Hattie, did you see ’im?” Odelia hurried behind her companion down the narrow, dark servants’ hall, balancing the heavy tray of dirty glasses in her arms. The sound of the orchestra in the ballroom playing a waltz could be faintly heard behind them.
“It’s no wonder all the ladies is faintin’ left and right,” Hattie agreed excitedly over her shoulder. “I don’t know if I’ve even seen a man as good-lookin’ as that.” The unwieldy tray in her arms tipped slightly. “Whoa,” she cried, turning back to rebalance it. “I jest don’t see why m’lord don’t pay for candles in the halls, much as he’s worth, the old skinflint.”
“Can’t be buyin’ candles,” Odelia offered. She had a terrible itch under her nose, but she couldn’t scratch it and balance all the dishes on the tray. If she broke a single glass, Mrs. Paxton, the housekeeper, would have her hide and a month’s pay, too. “Not when he’s got to be payin’ for all them ’spensive gowns the missus is always buyin’.” Odelia tried to wiggle her nose to relieve the itch. “You see what she was wearin’ tonight?”
“I seen it, all right. Scared me, all them feathers. Look like she was gonna take off flyin’ down the grand staircase or somethin’.” Hattie halted at the door at the end of the dismal hallway that smelled of mildew and rodent droppings. Balancing carefully, she lifted one foot and kicked the door twice and a third time for good measure. Then she backed up and leaned her shoulders against the wall to try to relieve the ache in her arms from the weight of the tray, which was now more of an annoyance than her itchy nose.
Hattie had been carrying these heavy trays of glasses and fine china back and forth from the pantry or the kitchen to the main house since dawn, first to set all the tables in all the rooms. Lady Harris liked her guests to be able to enjoy their refreshments in every room. Now Hattie and Odelia were to clean up dirty glasses and replace them with new ones until the party ended, which would probably be at dawn. Hattie didn’t understand why these haughty-taughties couldn’t drink from the same glass more than once, but it wasn’t her place to say so.
“What I also seen,” Hattie continued, “was that floozy Miss Fabergine, the one that’s got all the single gentlemen in the city all hot and randy. She was wearin’ practically the same fancy white silk dress. Same mask on a stick, too, with all them feathers, but she looked a sight better than the lady, I’ll warrant you that.” She opened her mouth wide and then closed it in an unsuccessful attempt to relieve the itch on her nose. “What was they supposed to be?”
“I don’t know, some kind of white duck or something, I s’pose.” Odelia planted her feet farther apart to keep her tray balanced while she waited to gain entrance to the busy kitchen. “You think that girl copied Lady Harris’ dress?” Her eyes now adjusted to the dark, Odelia looked at her companion, authority in her voice. “You know these society women, always tryin’ to best each other. I hear they pay a lot a money to their fancy dressmakers just so they can show up in a dress the same as someone else and make a fool of ’em.”
“Nobody even knows if Miss Fabergine is society.” She paused. “You heard, right?”
“That she says she’s the old Lord Wessex’s daughter?” Odelia whispered loudly.
Hattie nodded. “Wouldn’t that be somethin’!”
“It’s a lie. Always is, but ’bout that gown, didn’t you hear Tula the other day?”
“Tula?” Hattie eyes widened until they were as round as the dirty plates she carried. “Who’s Tula?”
“One of the missus’ handmaids. The one with the harelip.”
“That’s right. I know her.” Hattie nodded, her mobcap beginning to slide over her forehead.
“She said the lady sent one of the livery boys all over town with a little bag a money, tryin’ to find out what Miss Fabergine was wearin’.”
Odelia snickered. “Like the missus was ever gonna look like that with them ham hocks for thighs. I don’t think I ever seen a prettier woman than that Miss Fabergine, I don’t care if she is indecent.”
“It’s the red hair, ya know. My mama always said the redheads was the floozies. Born like that.” Hattie nodded as if it was the gospel and then turned to face the door and shouted, “Somebody comin’ to let us in, or are we gonna die out here!”
“Hold yer herses,” a muffled voice called from inside the kitchen.
“You think one of these glasses is his?” Odelia asked, her eyes dreamy as she studied the tray that was beginning to make her arms hurt.
“Who?”
“Lord Wessex. I swear by the Saints alive and dead, he’s a fine-lookin’ man. An American, they say.”
“Don’t matter what he is. He ain’t never speakin’ to you.”
“I know that,” Odelia sighed. “But a girl can dream, can’t she?”
The door opened and they were immediately assaulted by the heat and noise of the kitchen. One of the kitchen boys, wiping his hands on his dirty apron, stepped into the hall to hold it so they could enter.
“You ought to be dreamin’ about somebody who can feed ya and keep a roof over yer head, that’s what you ought to be dreamin’, Odelia. A fine man like my Denley.” Hattie looked at the kitchen boy as she passed him. “You got a brother, don’t you? Elwood?”
The boy, who couldn’t have been more than nine or ten, blushed and nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on the stone floor. “Works in the stables, ma’am.”
“Now there’s a man a woman can dream about,” Hattie instructed, walking into the kitchen. “A decent man who could take care of you, Odelia.”
“Elwood in the barn?” Odelia wrinkled her nose as she followed Hattie, who was the more experienced of the two when it came to men. Nearly seventeen, Hattie was marrying a sailor just as soon as he returned from sea. “Ain’t he the one who got the blind eye that rolls around crazy-like when he talks to ya?”
“Eh,” Hattie called over her shoulder. “The eye ain’t so bad if you don’t look right at it….”
“Something to drink, my darling?” Lord Thomas asked Sapphire, drawing his face inappropriately close to hers.
They stood in an alcove off the Lord and Lady Harris’s ballroom and Sapphire was feeling a bit lightheaded. The rooms were too warm and too loud, and after being there for hours, she was tired of smiling and laughing and playing this part she was no longer convinced she could play.
The cream of society, bejeweled and gowned, had attended the annual masquerade ball, including members of parliament and court, dukes and duchesses, barons and baronesses. There was word even King William might make an appearance before dawn on his way home to the palace after one of his infamous nights of drinking and carousing the streets of London.
Having taken the throne after the death of his brother the previous year, the king was well-received by his people. Though Sapphire did not entirely understand the principles behind the Reform Act that gave parliament more power and the monarchy less, it was being said in newspapers that the king was “playing a difficult hand with considerable finesse.”
Sapphire drew back slightly since Charles’s breath smelled of whiskey or some other type of strong drink. He and the other gentlemen had been none-too-secretly passing a silver flask around earlier. Apparently Lady Harris did not serve anything stronger than a good Madeira in her home, which presented the gentlemen with a dilemma when it came to accepting the annual invitation.
“A drink would be nice, thank you,” she told Charles. She deliberately let her eyes sparkle in the provocative manner Angelique had taught h
er and then lifted her mask to her face.
She was still playing the game, but Charles had been acting strangely all night, pressing her to accept his generous offer to take her into keeping. He’d only tried to kiss her once in the past few weeks, but tonight she was finding him more difficult to handle. Three times he’d managed to get her in a corner alone, and while she’d previously been curious about what it would be like to kiss him, she was less interested with each passing hour. Logic told Sapphire that Charles truly was an appropriate suitor, but there was something about him that bothered her, something in him she hadn’t seen before.
“I’ll only be a moment, my beautiful swan,” he told her, bringing her hand to his lips to kiss it before releasing her.
She offered a quick smile. He’d been attentive all evening, obviously pleased that she had accepted his invitation over the others’ to escort her to the ball. Obviously he thought the acceptance of his invitation meant she was seriously considering his offer of financial support. “I’ll wait right here and then perhaps we could go for a stroll in the garden,” she said. “I understand it’s spectacularly lit with thousands of candles.”
“A fine idea. I’ll be right back. You’ll be all right here alone?”
Sapphire nodded and let out a sigh as she watched him weave his way through crowds dressed in exquisite gowns and black frock coats and elaborate masks on sticks raised to conceal their faces. Sapphire had chosen the white and black mask of a swan and her gown was a delicious white silk that felt sinfully smooth against her body. Charles, in honor of her costume, had also chosen an avian persona, but was a peacock, of all things, his mask made of bright green and blue feathers.
“Sapphire!”
Sapphire looked up at the sound of Angelique’s voice, attempting to spot her in the crowd.
“Sapphire, we’ve been looking all over for you!” Angelique called from a short distance down the hall. She stood on her tiptoes amid bears, jesters, Egyptian princes and princesses, and waved her green mask, ignoring their stares and whispers of impropriety. Tonight she was a mermaid dressed in an emerald-green gown with a green silk mask. “There she is, Henry. I knew she hadn’t left without saying good-night.”
Angelique made her way to Sapphire with Henry on her arm.
Sapphire lowered her mask and leaned forward to greet Angelique and was disturbed to find that she smelled of whiskey, as did Henry. Henry, in fact, was bleary-eyed, red-faced and appeared to be quite inebriated.
“I’m so glad you didn’t leave,” Angelique continued at the same unladylike volume. “This is a wonderful party. Isn’t it a wonderful party, Sapphire?”
“It is,” she murmured.
“Where’s Charles?” She looked around. “Surely he hasn’t abandoned you.”
“I should speak to him about his manners,” Henry piped in quite sternly, despite the slur of his words. Then he broke into laughter.
Angelique laughed with him, running her hand up and down his arm. He had discarded his black frock coat somewhere and was no longer carrying the mask Sapphire had seen earlier, that of a lion. He held up a pink lady’s mask that sported genuine pearls hanging down one side so that it appeared he was wearing an earring. “Isn’t this a divine mask?” he asked Sapphire, leaning forward to peer through it at her.
She put her hand on his chest, gently pushing him upright. “Divine,” she said. Then she looked to Angelique. “Perhaps you should go,” she said softly. “Henry’s parents are here. I was introduced to them only a short time ago. They shouldn’t see him like this.”
“See me like this?” he demanded jovially. “Like what, Sapphire, dear? Happy? In love? I’ve asked my Angel to marry me, you know, at least a hundred times.”
Sapphire looked to Angelique in surprise—she hadn’t said a word!
“And I’ve refused him a hundred times,” Angelique explained. “Why on earth would I want to marry him? I like him too much.”
“Oh, you’ll come around.” Henry grabbed her roughly by the waist and pulled her against him, lifting her feet off the ground. Both of them burst into laughter again.
“Henry,” Sapphire chastised quietly. She looked to Angelique again.
“What can I say?” She raised her hands. “He can’t be controlled. See you later, darling.”
Sapphire watched them sail off as Angelique fluttered her ivory fan, a recent gift from Charles, in front of her face. She was hot and suddenly felt as if she couldn’t breathe. There were too many people in the alcove, all jostling her as they went by. Now all she wanted to do was find Charles and have him take her home. She was turning to look for him, rising on her toes to try to see over the crowd, when she felt someone approach from behind her.
“Charles?”
She knew at once that the man wearing the plain black silk mask and standing so near to her was not Charles; he was too tall, his shoulders too broad.
“Not Charles,” said the man as he leaned over her.
She recognized the voice and scowled. “Mr. Thixton, what kind of costume is that?” she asked.
“The kind a man wears who does not like masquerade balls.”
She fluttered her fan, the heat now seeming to come in waves over her. “And who are you supposed to be?”
“Myself.” He removed the mask, slipping it inside his coat. “I don’t suppose you were ever an ugly duckling.”
“Excuse me?”
He rested one arm possessively on her waist. “Hans Christian Andersen. The fable of the ugly duckling who became the swan.” He smiled, a reckless slant to his lips.
She attempted to take a step back from him, but two gentlemen stood behind her arguing heatedly with another gentleman.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she snapped, trying to hold her breath so that her chest would not expand to brush against him.
“You don’t know Hans Andersen?”
“Of course I do!” She exhaled, feeling dizzy. “I only meant—”
“Are you feeling badly? You look pale.” He frowned, tightening his grip around her waist, making her feel even warmer than she already did.
“Sir…my lord.” She closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them. The room’s candelabras seemed to be spinning around her, the bright light turning into blurred lines like shooting stars.
“Why don’t we step outside?” He was already moving her through a crowd that parted like Moses’ Red Sea.
Everyone was looking at them. At her. Talking about her, no doubt repeating the scandalous gossip about them they’d heard weeks ago. She didn’t care. She just needed some air and to put some distance between her and the American. But feeling too weak at the moment to refuse his assistance, she allowed him to escort her down the long, marble-floored hall, through a salon and out onto a veranda.
“This…this will be fine,” she said, her hand on her forehead, as she wondered why her heart was racing and her palms were damp.
“There are too many people here,” he grunted, pulling her down the steps into the garden.
Many guests were enjoying the garden, as well, sitting on benches and walking the stone paths. But there was a cool breeze outside and people were not bumping into her or smothering her with their heavy douses of rose water or French perfume. Blake Thixton led her to an unoccupied carved stone bench near a pecan tree.
“Sit down,” he ordered.
She sat, setting her mask beside her, and gazed up. From this secluded spot in the garden, she had a spectacular view of the Harrises’ mansion. Every window in the house glittered with candles, and from her seat, in the dimmer light, she could see people in almost every room, hear the music drifting from the open windows.
“Better?” he asked after she took several deep breaths.
She nodded, her gaze shifting to a small stone statue of a girl beside the bench. “I feel foolish.” She fiddled with her fan. “I don’t know what happened inside. I was fine and then—”
“Too many people. I get
the same way. It’s not like this in Boston, probably even less so in Martinique.”
She glanced at him, surprised he knew where she was from. “I suppose an event such as this can be overwhelming,” she heard herself say. Then, remembering that Charles had gone for a drink for her, she looked back at the stone mansion. “I suppose I should go back inside. Lord Thomas, my escort, will be looking for me.”
Thixton continued to watch her and it was obvious from his expression that he didn’t approve of Lord Charles Thomas. “He’s a bright boy,” he said dryly. “He’ll find you.”
She did not care for his tone of voice. “Lord Thomas received his education at Oxford, sir, and his family is quite wealthy.”
Thixton scowled. “His family, exactly. The boy probably hasn’t worked a day in his life. Of course, perhaps that’s precisely what you’re seeking, a woman like yourself looking to better her situation.” He raised an eyebrow.
Feeling a little more clearheaded, Sapphire stiffened her spine, choosing to ignore his barb. “And what, might I ask, is wrong with family money, sir? I understand you inherited from your father in America.”
“And in six years, I’ve made it twice what it took him fifty,” he told her, his tone clipped. “And I’m smart enough to know that this kind of profit won’t always exist in shipping. I’ve other ventures, as well.”
“Other ventures? Like what?”
“You honestly want to know?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.” Her tone was as curt as his.
For a moment she could have sworn he smiled.
“Petroleum—rock oil.”
“Rock oil?” She laughed.
“It comes out of the ground.”
She refused to break eye contact with him despite his smoldering stare. “Obviously.”
“It will be the new fuel that will not only burn our lamps cleaner, but run machines more efficiently. Rock oil will transport us more efficiently across the sea, the land—who knows, perhaps even the sky.”
She laughed again and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oil from rock? Machines that fly in the sky? Really, Mr. Thixton, I know that I am naive, raised on a remote island, but surely you do not also think me addle-witted.”
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