“He’ll propose,” Clarice insisted, tapping open an ivory lace fan with one hand, sipping her lemonade. “Have no fear of that.”
“I understand Mrs. Sheraton has been discussing her daughter with him. She’s eighteen next month, you know. Younger than you and some say prettier.”
“He’ll marry me if my father tells him he must,” Clarice whispered hotly.
“And exactly how will your father be in a position to insist Blake Thixton—”
Sapphire heard a gasp from the dark-haired twit, then a giggle. “Miss Lawrence, don’t tell me you have surrendered your virginity to Mr. Thixton!” She sounded both properly shocked and excited at the same time.
“Not yet, I have not, Miss Breton.”
Sapphire couldn’t help it; she had to look. She shifted the silver tray in her hands and turned slightly.
More giggles.
“Don’t tell me you plan to seduce Mr. Thixton.”
Clarice clasped the other woman’s hand and moved closer to her. Sapphire could feel anger building in the pit of her stomach as she clenched the tray tighter in her hands.
“Tomorrow night,” Clarice explained. “My parents and I are supposed to attend some benefit or another at the new art gallery on Trudeau. Mr. Thixton declined the invitation, pleading too much work to be done.” She rolled her hazel eyes.
“Which means he’ll be home alone tomorrow night,” the woman whispered in a conspiratory tone.
“I’ll come to him with one excuse or another. I’ll allow him to seduce me.” Clarice tapped her companion on the shoulder with her fan. “And then, in a few days I’ll run to Papa in tears and confess my terrible sin.”
“Your father will confront Mr. Thixton and he will have no choice—”
“But to marry me or never show his face in public again.” Clarice took her friend’s hand and squeezed it.
Myra turned slightly toward Sapphire and opened her eyes wide.
Sapphire clenched her jaw and took a sudden step in front of Myra. “May I take your glass, Miss Lawrence?” she asked, looking directly at the beautiful young woman as she thrust out the silver tray.
“Why, yes, I suppose.” Clarice took a step back, obviously surprised by the servant’s forwardness.
“Take mine, too,” the friend said, dropping her glass carelessly onto the tray, nearly tipping it. “It really wasn’t very good lemonade. Tell your cook,” she ordered Sapphire without looking at her. Then she grabbed Clarice’s wrist and they walked away. “The moment you’re wed, some changes will obviously need to take place in this household. The insolence of the servants is simply unacceptable.”
“What are you doing?” Myra whispered insistently under her breath the moment the two guests were out of earshot.
“Collecting the glasses.” Sapphire walked to the next guest, nearly snatching the glass from her hand. Then the next, then the next. All Myra could do was follow behind her.
“What was that about?” Myra gasped when they were in the servants’ hall, bound for the kitchen.
Sapphire sighed. “We have to stop her.”
Myra shook her head vehemently. “The house staff never interferes. We only listen.”
Sapphire raised her eyebrows, feeling for the first time in days that she was taking control of her own life. “In this case, that’s simply not acceptable.”
Myra’s eyes narrowed. “It simply ain’t acceptable?” She perched one hand on her hip. “You know, I didn’t ask about why you were on the street that Mr. Thixton needed to be rescuin’ you, but tell Myra the truth—you weren’t no servant before, were you?”
“I don’t want to talk about my past, Myra.” Balancing the silver tray with one hand, she reached out and caught her friend by the sleeve and led her down the hall. “What I do want is for you to help me with something. Something that will keep Miss Lawrence out of Mr. Thixton’s bed.”
Myra was shocked. “That’s no concern of mine nor yours, missy. You want to be tossed out on your ear?”
Sapphire looked her in the eye. “Do you want Miss Lawrence to become your mistress? Because you know, the first thing a woman like her does when she marries is fire every pretty young parlor maid in the house.”
“And bring in the ugly cows or girls so used or old they don’t turn the master’s head.”
Sapphire nearly laughed. “Myra, do you like your job here?” She rested her arm on Myra’s shoulder.
She nodded. “Easy work, long as you stay in Mrs. Dedrick’s good graces.”
“Then Miss Lawrence cannot come to the house tomorrow night.”
“Molly, what are you going to do?” They both started down the hall again.
“I’m not exactly certain,” Sapphire said, but she was already forming a strategy in her head. It was terribly mean, but it would serve to be effective if she could manage it. “Didn’t you say your grandmother was a healer and that she taught you how to make all kinds of tonics?”
“That’s right, but mostly for belly ailments—sour stomach, women’s complaints, stuff like that.”
Sapphire stopped at the kitchen door. “Yes, but did she teach you how to make up a…” She glanced around to be sure no one was behind them, and began to whisper into Myra’s ear.
22
“What on earth are you going to do with it?” Myra asked as she held the kitchen door open for Sapphire, who was carrying a tray of soup bowls. One of the footmen led the way as he carried a monstrous porcelain soup tureen. Mrs. Dedrick had just announced that Mr. Thixton and his guests had adjourned in the dining room and the turtle soup must be served at once.
“I don’t know,” Sapphire whispered, hurrying behind Myra. “I’m half tempted to dump it in the soup and give it to them all.”
“No, you mustn’t,” Myra gasped. “Then they would know soon enough it was us.”
Sapphire chuckled under her breath. “I’m not going to give it to them all, although Mr. Thixton deserves it, being such a fool when it comes to Clarice.”
“But she’s his friend’s daughter,” Myra said in Blake’s defense. “He’s bein’ such a gentleman.”
Sapphire frowned. “Sounds like you’re half in love with him yourself.”
Myra giggled. “Ain’t we all?” she called over her shoulder. Then she lifted her chin and entered the dining hall behind the footman, carrying the tray of silver soup spoons and serving ladle.
“Ah, ladies and gentlemen,” Blake announced from the head of the fine mahogany dining table Sapphire had polished herself the day before. “Please have a seat. I believe dinner is served.”
For the next half hour Sapphire remained occupied following Myra’s explicit directions, serving as Mr. Thixton liked to have his guests served. Though she caught Blake glancing in her direction several times, she did not make eye contact with him. Instead, she concentrated on doing the best job she could, considering that she had never served anyone a meal in her life, never mind in a formal dining atmosphere. As she worked, she kept her eyes and ears open, waiting for an opportunity to dole out a little feminine justice.
Halfway through the meal, she found her chance.
“This truffle sauce is so divine.” Clarice Lawrence poured the last of it from the serving dish onto her plate. “Isn’t there more?” she whined, seated to Blake’s right, in the chair that had originally been intended for her father, according to the place cards she had apparently switched before the guests took their seats.
Myra looked quickly at Sapphire. “Yes, mum,” she announced softly, scooping up the empty tureen from the table. “She’s already eaten half of what Mrs. Porter made, which was ’sposed to be enough for sixteen,” she whispered to Sapphire when she faced the dinner buffet they served from, her back to the guests.
“Perhaps she needs her own portion.”
Myra frowned in confusion as she began to refill the gravy tureen from the covered bowl one of the footmen had brought from the kitchen. “Little Miss Piggy does not get her own,” Myra whi
spered under her breath. “She’s already had quite enough. Have you any idea the cost of them dirty mushrooms?”
“Oh, I think she most definitely needs another helping,” Sapphire whispered back as she snatched a small container from one of the shelves beneath the buffet table and slipped a bottle of specially-made tonic from inside her apron pocket. A quick turn of her wrist, a ladle of truffle sauce swimming with fat, and she slipped the small bowl on a porcelain dish and wiped the lip with her apron.
Without giving Myra time to protest, Sapphire hurried to Clarice’s right side. “Your very own, mum,” she whispered. And with a quick knee bend, she placed the small tureen beside her plate. At the same time, Myra placed the larger gravy tureen at the head of the table.
As Sapphire backed away, Blake caught her eye and, for a moment, she allowed her defiant gaze to meet his. He parted his sensual lips as if to speak to her, but then pressed them together again.
Now who’s being stubborn? she asked herself.
Myra had insisted the tonic she had helped Sapphire concoct would work swiftly, and Sapphire was not disappointed. A fresh Maine blueberry cobbler with cream custard was just being served by Myra’s capable hands while Sapphire reset the table with silver spoons for the last course when Clarice began to perspire and her face began to contort as if she were in great discomfort.
Out of the corner of her eye, Sapphire saw a guest seated beside Clarice clasp her arm and lean toward her to whisper in her ear. Clarice took a sip of water and then rested back in her chair, her forehead beading with sweat. At this point, the other guests knew something was wrong, but they continued their conversations politely, only glancing in Clarice’s direction, then continuing with their exchanges.
From across the table, Myra caught Sapphire’s eye and Sapphire couldn’t tell if the young maid was about to burst into tears or laughter.
“Clarice, dear, are you quite all right?” Patricia Lawrence asked her daughter from across the table.
“I…” Clarice’s face suddenly turned green and she shot up. As she stumbled from the table, nearly kicking over her chair, she reached out to Myra. “The closest necessary,” she groaned, not seeming to care who else heard her.
Myra raced out the door to lead Blake’s guest, and Clarice gathered the folds of her white silk gown in her fists in a most unladylike manner and trotted after Myra. Mrs. Lawrence muttered under her breath to her husband to call for their carriage.
Sapphire had to turn her face away so that no one would see her smirk. But when she turned back, Blake was looking directly at her.
“I should go to her,” Mrs. Lawrence, a pleasant enough, plump woman said with concern in her voice as she rose from her English-made Sheraton dining chair.
“Yes, see to her,” Mr. Lawrence agreed.
Suddenly everyone at the table was talking at once in discreet but excited tones. Apparently everyone had an embarrassing tale to tell concerning hasty retreats and it was all Sapphire could do not to laugh.
As time passed, Sapphire continued to serve the dessert, but not Clarice nor her mother nor Myra returned. Sapphire was just beginning to remove dishes from the table when Blake rose and announced the ladies would retire to the keeping room and the men would have a cigar in his office. She had almost gotten past him with a tray of dishes to be carried to the kitchen when he caught her sleeve and in plain sight of his guests leaned over and whispered in her ear.
“Tell me you are not part of my guest’s illness.”
Sapphire looked up at him innocently, batting her eyelashes the same way she had seen Clarice do it. “Why, Mr. Thixton,” she said, “I am but a lowly servant. What could I possibly have to do with Miss Lawrence’s illness?” She then met his gaze directly. “Perhaps it’s just the ill-humors of her personality coming out.”
For a moment Sapphire thought Blake was going to smile. Instead, he scowled. “I want to talk to you later,” he grumbled under his breath.
“Certainly, Mr. Thixton.” She bobbed a quick curtsy and then sidestepped him, hurrying out of the dining room with the tray before he could stop her again.
An hour later, Myra finally appeared in the kitchen.
“’Bout time you decided to do a little work,” Mrs. Porter snapped as soon as she came through the swinging doors.
“One of Mr. Thixton’s guests fell ill and Mrs. Dedrick told me to stay with her, case she needed something,” Myra said without so much as a smile.
With a harrumph, Mrs. Porter turned away and Myra darted toward Sapphire, grabbed her arm and rushed her out the back door and into the enclosed courtyard.
As they stepped outside, Sapphire took a deep breath of the summer air, cooler than that inside the house. Myra turned in a circle, burst into laughter and then covered her mouth with her hands.
“So it worked?” Sapphire asked with a chuckle.
“Worked? I spent the last hour standin’ outside the outhouse.” She burst into laughter. “She couldn’t come out. Must have been filled right to her eyeballs with ill-humors.”
Sapphire tried hard not to laugh. “No,” she whispered.
Myra nodded rapidly. “Finally Mrs. Lawrence had the mister bring the carriage ’round back. I brought towels and a washbowl just like I was asked, but ’pparently Miss Lawrence’s white gown wasn’t so white no more.”
Sapphire stared at Myra.
“Well, it’s a long hike to the outdoor pot when you’re runnin’ for it.”
Sapphire choked on her laughter. “And you didn’t just take her upstairs to B—Mr. Thixton’s bathing room?”
In her excitement, thankfully, Myra didn’t catch Sapphire’s slip of the tongue.
“Let her use Mr. Thixton’s fancy flushin’ necessary? Certainly not! Not when you and me the ones cleanin’ that room.”
Sapphire couldn’t help herself. She burst into laughter, throwing her arms around Myra. “I don’t believe Miss Lawrence will be seducing anyone for at least a few days.”
Myra wrapped her arms around Sapphire and they did a little spinning dance. “I don’t believe she will be,” she laughed, imitating Sapphire perfectly.
Sapphire nearly made it safely to bed without encountering Blake. Almost. After the cook and other servants had turned in, leaving Myra and Sapphire to put away the last of the freshly washed china, Mrs. Dedrick appeared in the doorway removing her apron, which always remained white no matter how long a day she’d had. “You, new gihl, Molly. Mr. Thixton is not pleased with the state of his bedchambah and bathing room. He wants fresh linens at once.”
“I’ll do it,” Myra said, squeezing Sapphire’s hand. “He gets into these moods.”
Sapphire wanted to tell her friend how well aware she was of Blake’s moods, especially concerning her, but she didn’t dare. “No, you go to bed. I’ll take care of it.”
“He can be darn stinkin’ picky when he gets himself like this.”
Sapphire handed Myra the last stack of lovely Irish porcelain dinner dishes. “No, you had outhouse duty. I’ll see to this.”
“Just see it’s done right,” Mrs. Dedrick ordered sourly. “I am retiring.”
“To have a little nip of ’er gin bottle,” Myra whispered, standing beside Sapphire, waiting at attention for the housekeeper to go.
Sapphire sank her elbow into Myra’s side and both women were able to contain their laughter only until Mrs. Dedrick disappeared through the swinging kitchen door.
Sapphire stalled for half an hour, finishing up in the kitchen and sending a sleepy Myra up the back stairs to bed.
“I’ll wait up for you,” she mumbled.
“Don’t,” Sapphire said, having a feeling that she and Blake might come to an understanding. “You’re exhausted. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Myra gave a little wave and started up the steps again.
“And thank you,” Sapphire called after her.
“For what?” Myra turned on the stairs. “For settin’ a lady straight who needed settin’ straig
ht?”
Sapphire smiled up at her. As awful as her situation here might seem to her at times, she would never have met Myra had Blake not kidnapped her. “For being my friend,” she said softly.
Another smile and Myra was gone. Sapphire then scooped up the clean sheets and towels and headed through the dark house for Blake’s bedchamber, and decided, at the last moment, to take the front grand staircase.
Sapphire tapped on Blake’s door, and when she heard him call for her to enter, she walked in, arms piled high with sheets and towels.
“I thought maybe you wouldn’t come,” he said, closing the door behind him. He had removed his frock coat and silk cravat and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. He had a glass of scotch in his hand.
“The master ordered that his sheets be changed. I’m told by the other maids that if I don’t follow Mrs. Dedrick’s orders, I’ll be out on my ear.”
Blake pushed the pile of linens to the floor and pulled her into his arms, covering her mouth with his. “I’ve missed you, little vixen.” He pressed his hips to hers, setting his glass on a carved rosewood table beside the door. “Can you tell how much I’ve missed you?” he asked, his voice low.
She closed her eyes for a moment, resisting him and the little tremors he sent through her, refusing to allow her body’s desires to overtake her mind. She opened her eyes. “I understand Miss Lawrence missed you a great deal.”
He kissed her neck and dragged his mouth over her collarbone. “I told you. She’s my friend’s daughter. I can’t very well be rude to her. And you can’t poison her.”
Sapphire raised her hands to Blake’s shoulders, allowing herself a small giggle. “I didn’t poison her. She had designs on you. Illicit ones.”
“I have absolutely no intentions of bedding my friend’s daughter. She’s a child.”
“How old is she?”
He lifted his head. “Hell, I don’t know. Twenty, I guess.”
“I’m twenty,” she said softly, gazing into his eyes.
He was silent for a moment. “That’s different.”
Sapphire Page 27