French Jade: A dazzling Regency love story by Janet Louise Roberts & Rebecca Danton

Author:Janet Louise Roberts & Rebecca Danton [Roberts, Janet Louise]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Sapere Books
Published: 2021-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 9

Minerva could scarcely sleep that night. Her heart thumped; she kept waking, to stare into the darkness, and remember the way Oliver had held her, kissed her, run his hands over her.

Oh, how she shivered at the remembrance!

Perhaps tomorrow night they would be engaged! And he would have the right to kiss her, and hold her — and one day soon they would marry — and then — oh!

She squirmed in the wide bed, and smiled at nothing. Marriage, the unknown mystery — she knew little about it, because people did not talk much. But women whispered, and maids giggled, and she knew married people shared a bedroom, and pretty soon the woman had a child, a baby —

Oliver’s child! It would be delightful. He was nice with children; he had spoken affectionately last night about his sister’s brood. He would make a fine father! And oh, she longed to be a married lady, with a husband like Oliver to be attentive, and helpful — and to hold her the way he had, only closer!

She liked his townhouse, it was large and splendid, but even more it was warm and comfortable. It spoke of quiet good taste, excellent furniture, carpets, porcelain. And Oliver’s jade collection! And Oliver — teasing, loving, possessive, his grey eyes alight! He would be fun to be married to, she thought contentedly.

The estates in the country — they would be near her own family in Kent. They would visit back and forth, and not be strangers. She looked forward to coming to know his sister Eleanor and her family better.

She slept, wakened, slept again. Jessie did not come to her to snap open the curtains and speak in a cheerful, brutal manner about how late she was. Nobody came.

Minerva blinked at the grey light in the room. Finally she rose and opened the curtains, then, barefoot, crossed to the door and opened it. She listened. Had she heard a carriage? What time was it? What was going on?

Then she heard a laugh, and her blood went cold. Literally. She turned chill, and shivered there in the hallway, in her night-rail, one foot over the other against the cold of the hall floor. That laugh!

She had heard it often as a teenager, peering down the stairs to watch the older people as they came for an evening to which she was not invited. It echoed from the drawing room as the others entertained at tea. It mocked her as she blushed redly from mingled shyness and fury. That laugh!

Jessie came along the hallway carrying a pitcher of hot water. “Awake, are ye?” she asked grimly.

“Is — Gabrielle — here? In London? Here, in the house?”

“Aye, that she is! Come along now, you’re late. You’ll wash and dress and come down to breakfast.”

Minerva walked slowly back into her bedroom, her heart down in her bare feet. She submitted to washing and dressing.

“When — did she come?”

“On the night ship, then the train from Dover this morning. Come with a beau, she did.

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