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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, Mis
s 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. She was most certainly not an attractive woman, and her pale ivory gown overrun with ruffles did not improve her appearance. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
Miss Stillmore glanced at Sapphire with the look she knew too well after being in London for two weeks. It was the look, Aunt Lucia had explained, that ugly English girls gave the pretty ones as they realized they were no match.
“Miss Portia and Miss Alma,” Lady Carlisle said, completing the introductions.
The two younger girls, who were more comely than their elder sister, bobbed curtsies, seemingly more interested to meet the new arrival. Portia appeared to be the same age as Sapphire, and Alma only a year or two younger.
“It’s very nice to make your acquaintance,” Sapphire said, returning their smiles.
“Is he here?” Lady Carlisle asked the youngest daughter, leaning closer so as not to be overheard by those passing in the hall.
“He, my lady?”
“Why, Lord Wessex, of course,” the older woman hissed under her breath. “I expected to meet him in the receiving line. That is why we were invited, was it not? To formally meet the new Earl of Wessex?”
Alma snatched a quick look at her sister, then returned her attention to Lady Carlisle. “He’s here, my lady, only…he says he prefers not to stand in the receiving line.”
Lady Carlisle raised her plucked and painted eyebrows so high that Sapphire thought they might reach her receding hairline. Then, spotting an acquaintance, Lady Carlisle fluttered her fan and walked into the next room, her husband in tow.
Sapphire waited for Angelique inside the doorway of a large parlor a little farther down the hall. Exquisitely decorated with stylish furniture and rich-hued draperies, the sound of clinking glasses and restrained laughter came from inside.
“So, my chicks, shall we stick together?” Lucia asked, putting one arm around Sapphire and the other around Angelique. “Or shall we scatter?”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Angelique said, narrowing her gaze and pursing her plump lips seductively. “I believe I recognize that gentleman under the window.”
Sapphire looked at the man and lowered her voice as she spoke. “Angel, how can you know him? We’ve barely been here long enough to—”
“Find me if you need me,” Angelique said, moving off in her new lavender and white silk evening gown.
Lucia and Sapphire watched Angelique cross the room, and then Lucia turned to her goddaughter. “So what will it be, my dear? Shall we corner this scoundrel together?”
“Thank you, but no. I can do this on my own.”
“Very well, puss.” Lucia pecked the air close to Sapphire’s cheek with her rouged lips and walked away, lifting her hand to Lady Morrow who stood beyond them. “Lady Morrow,” she called in her French accent, “so good to see you again, ma chère.”
