in her throat. “No, you can’t be the Earl of Wessex! My father is the Earl of Wessex, Edward Thixton.”
He scowled. “The late Edward Thixton, Earl of Wessex, had no issue.”
She stared at Blake. “Where is he?” she heard herself whisper.
“The graveyard, I suppose. Now go,” he said coldly as he stepped aside. “Make haste and I won’t call the constable, but if you attempt to appropriate money from me or this estate again, it will be off to Newgate Prison with you.”
Sapphire looked up once more at Blake and her eyes became cloudy with tears. Confused, hurt beyond reason, she stumbled forward and ran for the door. She rushed down the hallway and out the broad front door, ignoring the footman as he tried to call a carriage for her.
She rounded the corner, halting to grasp the pole of a gas lamp on the stone-paved walk. “He’s dead,” she murmured as she squeezed her eyes shut in disbelief. “Oh, Mama, he’s dead.”
6
“There, there,” Lucia said, sitting on the edge of the four-poster bed, smoothing back Sapphire’s hair. “Would you like me to get you a cup of tea, perhaps even a little sherry?”
“No, I’m fine, really.” Sapphire dabbed at her tear-swollen eyes with a sodden handkerchief. “I’m sorry, Auntie. I’ve behaved badly.” She sniffed. “You shouldn’t sit here with me any longer. You should go to the theater with Lady Carlisle as you’d planned.”
“Nonsense. What reason does an old woman like me have to go to the theater? It’s nothing but a place to see and be seen.” She pushed a dry handkerchief into Sapphire’s hand. “And what’s even more nonsensical is you thinking there’s anything wrong with having a good cry. You’ve just been told that your father passed away. I’d think something ailed you if you didn’t cry. I’m only sorry that Lord Carlisle didn’t hear at his men’s club until this afternoon after I’d left the house.”
Sapphire dabbed at her eyes again and stared up at the painted white ceiling above the bed. It was almost dark outside and Angelique had pulled the pale blue damask draperies across the windows and lit two oil lamps, which now cast shadows on the ceiling.
“Remember what it was like when your mother died?” Angelique sat on the other side of the bed. “We cried for days.”
“I know, but that was Mama. I…don’t know why I’m so upset when I didn’t even know my father. I’d never even seen his face and it’s not as if I was looking forward to it. I was so angry at him for what he did to my mother that mostly I think I just wanted to tell him how much I despised him.”
“Non, ma petite! How many times do I have to remind you that your mother was very clear that she didn’t think Edward ever knew what happened to her.”
“I don’t care. He should have known. If only that…that man in my father’s house had not been so hateful to me,” she said, her anger rising. “He was simply abominable.”
“Abominable or not, it seems he is the heir to your father’s estate. He is Blake Thixton, an American and a distant cousin of your father’s, Lord Carlisle has learned.” Lucia, dressed in elegant evening clothes, rose from the bed to walk to the table where she’d placed the bottle of sherry.
“An American?” Sapphire spat. “Why didn’t Lord Carlisle know sooner?”
“Now, now, puss.” Lucia poured herself 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