style="font-size:15px;"> “Love? What do you know of love?” Armand scoffed, taking a step closer. He had grown thin in the past year and his dark hair had turned almost entirely white, but he still had a voice of authority that made men nervous.
“I should go, mon amour,” Maurice said as he stepped back.
“I think that is wise, Monsieur Dupree, before I forget that I am a gentleman and deliver the painful lesson that you deserve.”
“I will see you later,” Maurice whispered in Sapphire’s ear, and then he turned and hurried back toward the shore to gather his clothing.
Angelique came up the bank already dressed, carrying her slippers. “Papa,” she said sweetly, “we were just going up to the house to prepare for your dinner. I simply cannot wait to wear the new gown you brought for me all the way from London.”
Sapphire took a step toward her father, defiance in her eyes. “You cannot do this to Maurice or to me, Papa. I won’t have it! We’re in love…we’re in love and we intend to marry!”
Armand looked down at her, his jaw firm. “You will not marry Maurice Dupree,” he said coldly. “He is not fit to clean your riding boots.” He turned and strode toward his horse.
“Papa! You can’t just walk away from me. I am not a child any longer and I will not stand to be treated like one!”
Armand put his boot into the stirrup and swung onto his horse. “I am still your father and the lord over this plantation and all who live here,” he told her quietly, staring straight ahead. “You are all my responsibility, which means I will do as I see fit, with my slaves and my daughter. I could lock you in your room or return you to the care of the Good Sisters of the Sacred Heart if I must.”
“You wouldn’t dare send me back to school!” Sapphire shouted after him as he rode away.
“I will not be swayed,” Sapphire insisted as she followed Angelique out of her bedchamber and into the wide, lamp-lit passageway. Orchid Manor had been built by her grandfather in the style of the great French châteaux of the Loire Valley, but he had created an airy West Indies ambience with wide doors and windows that opened from almost every room onto stone patios and lush gardens.
“I won’t do it, Angel.” Sapphire tossed her head as she fastened a pearl earring to her lobe. “When Mama died, he told me I was an adult now and that I would be treated as such.” She lifted the hemline of her new plum-colored silk dress with its fashionable bell-like skirt and low-cut décolleté and ran to catch up. “And now, when I have found a man to love, he speaks of sending me back to the convent school. Never!”
“You mustn’t run or you will ruin your hair.” Angelique reached up and fussed with an auburn pin curl above Sapphire’s ear. “Do not bring up Maurice at dinner this evening. Do not bring him up at all.”
“Not bring him up at all?” Sapphire said sharply. “I want to marry him. We want to be married at once.”
Angelique smoothed the skirt of her pale pink gown. “You should not be so free with your heart. You are young—you’ve much to learn about love. There will be many Maurices who—”
“Not you, too!” Sapphire flared.
“I am on your side, the same as Papa.” She turned toward the music wafting from the garden where the musicians played for her father’s English guests, all business associates. “Come, we don’t want to be late and anger Papa any further. We will talk about this later.”
“You sound just like him,” Sapphire spat. “You have not heard the last of this, you or Papa!”
“Could we have any doubt?” Angelique murmured under her breath as they breezed into the large dining room elegantly furnished in white and blond Louis XIV furniture.
“Ah, my lovely nieces,” Aunt Lucia declared, embracing the young women and leaning toward Sapphire. “What have you done now? I don’t think I’ve ever seen Armand so infuriated.”
“I did nothing wrong!”
Lucia, a round figure of a woman with red hair and a beautiful face for a middle-aged woman, looked to Angelique, who only lifted her brows and shrugged gracefully.
“Come, come,” Aunt Lucia said gaily, brushing back her mountain of lemon-colored satin skirts and petticoats. “Everyone is here and it’s time to be seated. Lady Carlisle’s gown is lovely, oui? And look at the headpiece,” she said with a French accent that always seemed to be stronger when there were guests or strangers about. “Isn’t the little bird tucked in the lace simplement divin?”
“Simply divine,” Sapphire said sweetly, forcing a smile as she walked to her chair near the head of the table. She did not care for Lady Carlisle. Only yesterday morning Sapphire had overheard the countess in the library talking to her friend Lady Morrow. “Monsieur Fabergine is quite charming, but his red-haired daughter is entirely too free-spirited for a young woman. She would do well to have her wings clipped by her father before she is lost to good society forever. I wonder,” Lady Carlisle had continued, “if Armand realizes how difficult such a hoyden will be to marry off?”
“Papa,” Sapphire called, smiling. “Please, everyone sit,” she announced to her father’s guests. “Join us—dinner is served.”
Armand walked behind her chair and eased it out for her. “You look lovely, my dear,” he said. “The color of your new gown becomes you.”
She was still angry with him but her smile turned genuine as she sat and peered up at him over her bare shoulder. “Thank you for the gown, Papa. It is lovely.” She smoothed the skirt as she slid her chair forward.
“A lovely gown for a lovely woman,” he whispered in her ear. “Even if she is a hoyden.”
She looked into his eyes and had to cover her mouth with her hand to avoid giggling aloud. Apparently he had heard about Lady Carlisle’s comment concerning her behavior.
“Merci tellement,” Armand said grandly to his guests, helping Aunt Lucia into her chair before taking his place at the head of the table.
One of the married male guests aided Angelique, Sapphire noticed. All men adored Angelique because she was never argumentative and there was something about her dark beauty that men seemed unable to resist.
“Please,” Armand continued, taking his chair and opening his arms grandly. “Here at Manoir D’orchidée, Orchid Manor as you would say, we are quite informal.”
He waved to one of the new servants, a girl from the village that Sapphire suspected had caught her father’s roving eye. It was a vice of his that her mother had always overlooked; an innate male weakness, Mama called it. Be that as it may, when rumors circulated years ago that Angelique was actually Armand’s daughter by one of the native women, Sapphire had decided that the man she would marry would not have this innate male weakness. She would not stand for it.
The servant girl, Tarasai, who was no older than Sapphire, approached the table, eyes downcast, carrying a large white porcelain soup tureen with gilded handles. With the serving of the tortoise soup, the two-hour-long event of dinner commenced, and as course after course was served and carried out, Sapphire found herself sinking further into her chair.
Since her father’s
