a healthy dose of the sherry meant for her charge. “You cannot blame the messenger. We only arrived yesterday. How was Lord Carlisle to know? Edward passed away six months ago of natural causes, but Lord and Lady Carlisle have been out of the country seven months, escorting the baron and baroness on their honeymoon tour of Europe. And, truth be told, you would have heard of your father’s passing in a far gentler manner had you not stubbornly gone against my wishes and set out on your own to meet him.”
Sapphire sat up on the bed and pushed her long hair out of her face. “Why do you always say I’m stubborn with that tone in your voice? After all, had Mama not been stubborn, she might have met her demise those first lonely days in New Orleans—alone, with child and nowhere to live.”
“Still, you don’t want to go back to Martinique, do you?” Angelique asked.
Sapphire glanced at her.
“I…I don’t mean to sound selfish,” Angelique went on quickly. “And I’ll fully admit I prefer to stay because I like the excitement of London, but really, Sapphire, what has changed? Yes, the Earl of Wessex has passed on, but you’re still his daughter.”
“You’re right, Angel. That fact hasn’t changed, and that detestable man cannot alter that.”
“No, he cannot.” Lucia lifted her cordial of sherry in toast and took a sip.
“Of course, I have no legal right to my father’s entailed property. I’m female. English law doesn’t allow me to inherit from my father unless I am specifically named in his will. Since he was unaware of my existence, it isn’t possible that I have been.”
“Why did you come, ma chère? Did you come to England for land or money?”
“I came because Mama—”
“That wasn’t what I asked,” Lucia interrupted as she approached the bed, the cut-crystal glass still in her hand. “I loved your mother as dearly as anyone, but you are Sophie’s daughter and I know very well you did not come just to satisfy her dream.”
Sapphire rested her hand on her forehead for a moment, taking time to think before she responded. Yesterday she had felt like a young woman, barely more than a child, and yet today…this evening, she felt years older. “I came because it was my mother’s wish,” she said evenly, “but I also came to satisfy my own desire to be acknowledged.”
“And…”
She met Lucia’s gaze. “I wanted him to acknowledge that my mother was indeed his legal wife, not for him to accept me as his daughter.” She hesitated. “So I suppose, in a way, I did come for her, but not for the reasons she thought I would.”
Lucia tipped her glass and smiled over the rim. “Now, there is the Sapphire I know.”
“He’s dead, I know, but I am still Lord Edward Wessex’s daughter and Sophie Barkley was still his wife,” Sapphire said, throwing her legs over the side of the bed. “And heir or not, that man must recognize me as such. He must make an announcement to London society and formally acknowledge me. Even upon my father’s death and the passing of his title, I do possess the right to retain his name.” Sapphire set her jaw with the stubbornness her aunt accused her of possessing. “Aunt Lucia, did Lord Carlisle not tell you that my father left a widow who is hosting a reception Saturday evening for her husband’s American heir?”
“That he did!”
“How improper would it be for us to attend this reception?”
“I’m certain Lady Carlisle could acquire an invitation for us. It seems all of London society has received one since the dowager is apparently quite eager to show off the new heir. They say he is not only handsome, but quite wealthy.”
“Why on earth would you want to attend a reception in honor of the man who has insulted you?” Angelique asked in surprise.
Sapphire turned to her companion, a furtive smile on her lips. “How else can I demand my title due me, but to see the knave again in person?”
“Are you certain you want to do this?” Aunt Lucia asked Sapphire, placing her ringed hand on her goddaughter’s forearm as she emerged from the Carlisles’ carriage.
Sapphire stared up at the doorway she’d run from less than a week earlier and swallowed hard. For days she’d been rehearsing what she would say to Mr. Blake Thixton, but all those words escaped her and she was left with nothing but her determination.
The great front doors opened and the same footman Sapphire had encountered previously appeared.
“Say the word and we’ll go,” Lucia whispered in Sapphire’s ear. “Say the word and we’ll be on the next steamer to Martinique, to Hong Kong, to California in America. You name the place, my dove, and we shall leave all this poppycock behind and go on the adventure of a lifetime.”
Sapphire looked down at Lucia, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt that something was about to change, something that would alter her life forever. “I can never thank you enough for all you’ve done for me, but no, I have to do this. For Mama, for me.”
Lucia gave her an understanding pat on the arm and turned toward the steps. Lord and Lady Carlisle had already entered the residence and the butler was now staring down at Sapphire and Lucia with great interest.
“Are we going in?” Angelique murmured, so excited she could barely contain herself.
Sapphire grasped the skirting of her new shoulder-baring apple-green silk gown and started up the steps. “Of course we’re going in,” she said confidently. “I haven’t come this far to turn back now.”
“The Viscount Carlisle,” announced the footman stiffly. “Lady Carlisle.”
Sapphire handed the footman her newly printed calling card so that she could be announced.
“Miss Fabergine.”
Sapphire glided across the glittering hall and entered the receiving line behind Lord and Lady Carlisle, who were speaking with a painfully thin woman—the dowager Lady Wessex, her father’s wife, she surmised. Sapphire smiled. The dowager had never legally been his wife because he had, until her death, still been married to Sophie.
“Miss Fabergine.” The butler announced Angelique and then took Lucia’s card. “Mademoiselle Toulouse.”
Sapphire met Lucia’s gaze over her shoulder one last time, smiled and turned to be introduced formally to her father’s so-called widow.
“And this is Miss Fabergine,” Lady Carlisle said. “The young girl you and I spoke of, Lady Wessex. Her stepfather was such a dear, a handsome Frenchman. It would have been impossible for me to deny his request to escort his stepdaughter to London.”
Sapphire curtsied. “Lady Wessex, thank you so kindly for the invitation.”
The widow barely acknowledged her.
“And Lady Wessex’s daughters,” Lady Carlisle continued, moving down the receiving line. “The eldest, Miss Camille Stillmore.”
Sapphire curtsied and smiled at the daughter who appeared to be a year or two older than herself and looked a great deal like her mother.
