Читать книгу Vixens - Bertrice Small - Страница 12

Chapter 4

Fancy moaned slightly, then sighed deeply. The smell of sandalwood touched her nostrils. Opening her eyes she discovered that she was cuddled in the king’s embrace and lying upon his chest. She raised her head and met his glance. It was warm. “That was wonderful,” she said to him. “Is it always that wonderful? Or is it just wonderful with Your Majesty?”

He grinned and then chuckled, flattered. “While I should like to tell you that it is only me,” he said, “I am certain there are any number of gentlemen who please their ladies in a like fashion, my dear. But now we must talk.”

“Oh?” She sounded distinctly disappointed. “I was rather hoping that we might do it again, Your Majesty,” Fancy told him.

“Oh, we shall,” he assured her, “but first I must know why you thought you were not a virgin, Fancy.”

“But I couldn’t have been,” she replied. “My husband used my body on our wedding night.” She shivered openly with the memory. “It was horrible! Not at all like Your Majesty’s treatment of me.”

“Sweetheart,” the king said gently, “your maidenhead was quite intact, and I am a man who knows such things. Tell me what this man did to you, Fancy, and I will attempt to explain further. Did your mother not offer you the knowledge you would need for that momentous event in your life?”

“Mama said that she supposed that my sister Maeve and my friends had already told me what I needed to know, for all girls were inclined to chatter about such things. Then she told me to put myself into Parker’s hands and all would be well. She said that a gentleman doesn’t want his wife to be overly knowledgeable. That such a woman but frets a man since he wonders from where she has obtained her information.”

“Had your sister spoken with you?” the king wondered aloud.

“Maeve was very impressed that I was to wed a Virginia Randolph. She said it was best I be pure as the driven snow else he be suspicious. So I asked nothing more. Oh, I knew that men kiss and fumble with your breasts, but other than that I had no knowledge.”

“How did your husband make love to you?” the king questioned.

“He made me lie on my belly, and pushed my face into the pillows so none would hear my cries. He said he did not want to see my face when he did it. Then he pushed into me, and the pain was so terrible that I fainted dead away. So you see, Your Majesty, I couldn’t have been a virgin.”

The implication of her words slammed into the king’s brain, and he closed his eyes for a short moment. The pervert had violated this exquisite girl in the most vicious and debauched way. Were he not dead, Charles Stuart, the king, thought, I should kill him myself. Then as his shock eased, he said to Fancy, “Sweetheart, you were yet a virgin for me because your husband used you in a corrupt fashion. No decent man would use a respectable woman in that fashion, particularly an innocent virgin. Someday you will tell me how he died, but even if you feel you are responsible for his death, he deserved to die, Fancy. Did you tell your parents what happened afterward?”

She shook her head. “There was such an uproar over Parker’s death that I tried to put it from my mind,” she admitted.

“Rightly so,” he agreed, and then he bent and kissed her. “I shall never let any man harm you again, Fancy,” he told her. “You have my royal word on that, my darling.”

“And I do not have to speak of it again?” she said.

“Not until you are ready,” he promised her.

She looked at him flirtatiously. “Can we do it again now, Your Majesty?” she queried him prettily.

He laughed. “So you like being fucked, my little colonial.”

She looked a bit shocked by his use of the crude word, but then she answered, “Aye, I like being fucked by Your Majesty.”

“What is it about you, Fancy,” he wondered, caressing her face with a gentle hand, “that makes me want to keep you from all harm. You are hardly shy, or meek, and yet . . .” his voice trailed off.

Reaching up, she drew his head down to hers. “Kiss me,” she said simply, and he did.

He made love to her a second time that night, and her passionate response to him set his senses reeling. He felt like a boy again. Afterward she fell asleep, but before she did he told her that these rooms were now hers.

“Are they not yours?” she said puzzled.

“I do not often take my mistresses to the royal apartments for I would not offend the queen,” he told her, and she nodded her agreement.

“Am I to remain here?” she wondered.

“The rooms are yours if you choose to take up residence at Whitehall or they are yours in which you may entertain me and your friends. Shall I have a servant sent to you?” He arose from the bed and began to dress himself.

“I have a maid, Bess Trueheart,” Fancy responded. “She will either still be in my uncle’s apartments or will have returned to Greenwood House with my cousins.”

“I will have her found and sent to you in the morning,” the king said.

“But how will she find me? I have no idea where I am for Mr. Chiffinch led me down so many corridors and up so many flights of stairs, I am totally lost,” Fancy said with a helpless smile.

The king laughed. “Whitehall is a hodgepodge, I will agree,” he replied. “I will assign a page to serve you when you are here, my darling little colonial.” He bent and ruffled her tousled raven’s black curls. “Sleep well, my darling Fancy,” he said softly. He kissed the top of her head. “We have but begun a lovely friendship.” Then he departed the bedchamber, closing the door behind him.

The king quickly made his way back to his own apartments. He had to speak with his cousin about Fancy. No! He would not speak with Charlie. Not yet. He would send for the dowager duchess of Glenkirk. She must be informed of this turn of events. Fancy had been a virgin! He had certainly never expected it, and had they not been so far along in their amorous pursuits he might have been able to stop. But if the truth had been known, he didn’t want to stop with her. The king knew that his sexual appetites were greater than most men, but it was just because they were that he had learned to control them. Considering the violence that had been visited upon Fancy Devers, he was glad that it had been he who had finally introduced her to the delights of passion. She could not have had a better teacher, he thought without bragging, for he knew that he was an excellent lover.

Page, his keeper of the privy closet, was awaiting him. He helped his master disrobe. The king quickly bathed and, clothed in a clean nightshirt, lay down for a few hours of rest. Soon enough he would be surrounded by the formalities and daily routine of his court. Time spent with his mistresses was private and precious to him. He fell asleep dreaming of turquoise eyes and perfect little breasts.

In the morning he told the keeper of his appointments to find a time in which he might speak with the dowager duchess of Glenkirk this very day. And when the time had been settled, a messenger was to be dispatched to the lady. The king’s tone told the royal servant that he would not accept the excuse that his calendar was already full.

The keeper of the appointments bowed and said, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Jasmine, dowager duchess of Glenkirk, was sitting up in her bed drinking her morning tea when Orane bustled in holding a sealed packet. The maidservant handed it to Jasmine with a curtsy.

“This has just come from Whitehall,” she said, “and the gossip is that Mistress Fancy did not come home last night with her two cousins. Oh la la, madame! The duke does not know whether to be angry, or not.”

“I would advise he not be angry,” Jasmine said with a smile. “A king is a king as we both well know, Orane.” She broke the seal on the parchment packet and opening it, read the contents. When she had finished, she folded it back up again, and said, “I have an audience with His Majesty at four o’clock this afternoon, Orane. Bring me my jewel cases so I may decide what I will wear that His Majesty remember he is dealing with the Mughal’s daughter and not just any old woman.”

“Shall I send the duke to you?” Orane queried.

“Yes, I think that might be a good idea,” Jasmine agreed.

Charlie came, and there was a frankly worried look upon his face. “You know?” he asked her.

“That Fancy spent the night at Whitehall? Yes. The king has requested my presence at four this afternoon,” Jasmine said. “Does he usually speak with the families of those women he beds? You know him better than I do, Charlie.”

“I can’t answer that, Mama,” the duke of Lundy said. “Barbara Villiers has always been a law unto herself, with the morals of a mink, and certainly no better than she ought to be. The others were all during his exile. He was on the run, and I doubt the proprieties, if there are such things in these cases, were observed. I don’t know why he wants to see you, and frankly you will have to find out yourself, for I am not bold enough to ask him. I am hardly pleased that my cousin’s very lustful eye has fallen on my niece, or any member of this family. What are we to say to Fancy’s parents? You know what happens when the king beds any woman with regularity.”

“We have babies,” Jasmine said quietly.

“You loved my father!” Charlie protested. “It was different for you. Fancy is beautiful. A helpless young widow with no real knowledge of the king or the court.”

“Fancy is a strong young woman with a mind of her own,” Jasmine told her son. “If he decides to keep her for a time, if she gives him a child, Charlie, her chances of making a good marriage increase, or perhaps not. But you will not stop this. A child makes her fertile. There is always a suitor who is interested in a woman’s fertility. And all of that salacious gossip that has circulated about her thanks to the Tollivers will be swept away with this new turn of events.”

“The Mughal’s court lost a valuable strategist in you, Mama,” Charlie, the not-so-royal Stuart, complimented his mother.

“Fancy is a widow. It isn’t as if she had anything to lose by the association,” Jasmine said.

“You are the matriarch of the family, and the king respects such status,” the duke answered his mother thoughtfully. “Do you think he wants your approval in the matter?”

Jasmine laughed. “When did your cousin ever ask for anyone’s approval? He even defied the damned Scottish kirk! Now you know as much as I do, my son. Go away, and let me consider what I will wear to my audience with the king.”

“A royal page came for Bess Trueheart last night,” the duke said. “I suppose if anything had been amiss she would have come back to our apartments. I left Barbara sleeping. I had best return to tell her what little we know. Will you come and see us after your audience with His Majesty, Mama?”

“Yes, yes!” Jasmine said. “Now leave me, dear boy,” and she waved him from her bedchamber.

The duke hurried from the house, down the lawns to the quay where his personal barge was waiting to return him to the palace. The Greenwood barge was just drawing on to the other side of the stone dockage. He almost blushed as his niece, accompanied by Bess Trueheart, alighted from the little vessel.

“Good morning, Uncle,” Fancy said, and then she passed by him and moved up the lawns toward the house.

Bess Trueheart bobbed him a curtsy, and then she, too, was gone, hurrying after her mistress. Looking up, the duke saw his daughter and Diana in a window. He could almost hear their squeals of inquisitive excitement as Fancy walked toward the house. ’Oddsfish! Was Fortune’s daughter to be a bad influence on his and Patrick’s girls? He would have to monitor the situation carefully, he thought, climbing into his own river transport.

Cynara and Diana were down the main staircase of the house before Fancy entered from the rivergate. They dashed down the hallway to meet her, shrieking with their excitement. “Tell us! Tell us!” they begged her in unison. And then they heard the stern voice of their grandmother who came up behind them, still clothed in her warm chamber robe.

“There is nothing to tell,” Jasmine said. “Fancy, come with me. Cynara, Diana, calm yourselves with a walk in the garden. Orane has brought your cloaks and will walk with you.”

“But, Grandmama,” Cynara protested.

Jasmine took Fancy by the arm and walked her upstairs, away from the other two girls. She escorted Fancy to her own apartment, closing the door behind her as they entered. Then she turned and asked, “Did you lie with him?”

Fancy nodded. “It was wonderful, Grandmama!”

“Very well then, when you are ready to share your adventure with me, you will, I know,” Jasmine replied.

“He has given me my own apartment at Whitehall,” Fancy told her grandmother. “It is beautiful!”

“Will you not stay there?” Jasmine wanted to know.

“I am not certain I am comfortable doing so,” Fancy admitted. “I think I must see what happens first.”

“ ’Tis a wise decision,” Jasmine said. “We will send a few of your things there should you need them, but Greenwood is your home, my darling girl. Have you eaten?”

Fancy shook her head. “I am too excited,” she said, “so I decided to wait until I got back. Bess has gone to fetch me something.”

“Then I will leave you. I approve your discretion and your prudence in this matter. I regret, however, that I cannot keep your cousins under control, and they will undoubtedly burst in here as soon as they have ascertained I have gone. Try not to overexcite them,” Jasmine finished with a smile. She did not tell her granddaughter that she had been called to Whitehall that afternoon. Whatever the king wanted of her was between them alone. She kissed Fancy on both of her rosy cheeks and then left her. Out of the corner of her eye as she moved down the hallway to her own apartments, she saw the flash of Cynara’s scarlet skirts. Jasmine smiled again.

Fancy was not surprised when moments after her grandmother had left her, the door was flung open. Both Cynara and Diana dashed into her dayroom.

“We have left Orane stumbling around the maze in the gardens,” Diana said with a giggle.

“What happened?” Cynara demanded, quick to the point. “Did he make love to you? Was it wonderful? Are you to be his new mistress?”

“He made love to me. Yes, it was wonderful, and whether I go back is his decision to make, not mine,” Fancy said. She wasn’t certain yet if she should tell them about the apartment at Whitehall.

“There must be more,” Cynara persisted.

“If there is,” Fancy replied with a small smile, “I do not choose to share it. Making love, Cousin, is an intense and very personal matter. Besides, you are still a virgin, and I do not believe it is wise to share such details with an unfledged maiden.”

“Oh, pooh!” Cynara snapped. “Women always compare details with one another. How else are we to learn what pleases a man if we do not learn from those who already know?”

“My mother has always said a gentleman does not want a bride who is overly knowledgeable else he wonder where she gained such knowledge,” Fancy said. “Besides, this is the king and not just any gentleman. I should quickly lose his favor if I kissed and then told.”

“I think Fancy is right,” Diana spoke up.

“You would,” Cynara muttered. “But I don’t intend to marry for a very long time. I want to know what men are like. A great variety of men. It isn’t like it was in our grandmother’s youth, or even in her grandmother’s youth, when women of intellect and wealth could have wonderful adventures, sharing their passion with any number of men!” Cynara said enthusiastically, and then she continued. “No. We are stuck in a deep wagon track of propriety and custom. Go to court. Flirt for a brief time, and then accept a marriage proposal from a suitable gentleman of good family, and equal or better wealth. Marry. Ruin your figure with babies. Grow old! It is all so damned predictable! I don’t want that kind of I life! I want excitement! If my father wasn’t the king’s cousin, I should have attempted to seduce His Majesty myself,” she concluded. “How thrilling to be a king’s mistress!”

“Young women of our station and wealth are supposed to have the kind of life you describe,” Diana said. “That is why my mama let me remain here with Grandmama. I should like to wed with a duke or a marquis, an earl at worst. I look forward to my own home, and the children who will cement my position in life. And I shall have love even as all the women in our family have been loved. I do not want the kind of adventures that Aunt India or Aunt Fortune had; nor do I want to have to leave my homeland and my family behind over a matter of religion. I want a man who will love me above all else and do whatever he must to have me for his wife! That is what I want!”

“You both seek the same things,” Fancy told them. “You just have different methods for going about reaching your heart’s desire.”

“And you?” Cynara said astutely.

“I have been married. I don’t choose to be again, but that does not mean I don’t want to be loved,” Fancy answered her.

“You were married for less than a day,” Cynara said scornfully. “Whatever happened to you, you know that eventually Grandmama will see that you are wed again. Besides after being a king’s mistress, anyone other than a husband would be considered a great comedown socially.”

“I was not raised socially,” Fancy laughed. “And one night in the king’s bed hardly makes me his mistress.”

“Nonsense,” the practical Cynara said. “The Colonies have their own form of society, I am certain. It is not like that of a royal court, but do not tell me that you are all equals, for I know it is not, cannot be, so. There are landowners, and merchants, and shopkeepers, slaves, and bondservants, fishermen and simple farmers. Every civilization has its social structure. We have learned that in our studies with our tutors. Diana and I have been well educated. Grandmama has seen to that. She says a woman must be able to speak intelligently with her husband after the passion, else he grows bored with her.”

“What did you and the king speak of afterward?” Diana inquired innocently.

“There was not a great deal of conversation between us last night,” Fancy admitted as Cynara rolled her eyes. Then she continued, “I will not kiss and tell, Cousins.”

Bess arrived with a tray and set it down on the table. She sent a piercing look at Cynara and Diana that told them in no uncertain terms that they were to leave.

“We’ll be back,” Cynara promised.

“I am going to sleep after I eat,” Fancy told them, and when they had gone, she giggled. “Did you see the look on their faces when I said that?” she asked Bess. “I suspect they think all we did the whole night long was make love.”

“You didn’t?” Bess was frankly curious, but Fancy knew by now that she could trust her servant.

“The king does not spend the night with his mistress. He always returns to his own apartments,” Fancy explained. “He is most respectful of the queen.”

“Is he?” Bess didn’t think a man who fathered and recognized bastards at the rate the king did was particularly thoughtful of his poor barren spouse, but she kept those reflections to herself. “Eat your breakfast,” she said to her mistress, “and then we will decide what you wish to leave in your apartments at Whitehall, mistress.”

Fancy sat down and found her appetite was great this morning. She finished the tray of food Bess had brought her and then turned her attention to what she would send to the palace. It was at that point her grandmother’s maid, Orane, arrived.

“Madame has sent me to advise you, mistress,” Orane said. She then went through Fancy’s wardrobe much to the outrage of Bess.

“Foreign cow!” Bess muttered.

Orane turned and laughed. “You can learn much from me,” she told Bess. “And you had best pay attention, for your mistress is now in an especially high place. What would a country girl such as yourself know of those things? I, however, have served a lady who was mistress to not one but two kings.”

“Who was that?” Fancy asked Orane.

“Your aunt Autumn,” Orane said. “First, she was mistress to King Louis of France and bore him a fine daughter, Mademoiselle de la Bois. Then when she returned to England, she served King Charles in the same capacity. Her little son, by him, was born dead sadly.”

“My aunt was the king’s mistress?” Fancy was astounded.

“Oui, she was. And the king once attempted to seduce Lady Diana’s mother, the duchess Flanna,” Orane laughed.

Again Fancy was surprised. “Now I understand,” she said slowly, “why it is said the women of this family are like honey to a bee where the royal Stuarts are concerned.”

“Mais oui,” Orane agreed. “You all have beauty, charm, and intellect, but there is also a je ne sais quoi about you that cannot quite be defined but is certainly enticing to the gentlemen.” She stepped into the wardrobe chamber. “Now, let us see what you will need.”

Orane chose two gowns that Fancy might wear during the day and two gowns she might wear in the evening. Then clucking, she hurried away to her mistress, telling Jasmine, “She has no robes de chambre to entice him, madame. Her night garments are plain. Simple. Tedious. They cannot possibly attract or seduce a man such as King Charles. You must remedy this lack at once if she is to keep his favor!”

“Can any of my robes de chambre be altered until we can have others made?” Jasmine asked.

“Madame!” Orane sighed.

“I know, I know,” Jasmine said. “I am an old woman, but surely there is something among my things that can be made suitable, at least for tonight. Rohana! Look in my wardrobe.”

“There is a new garment that could be recut,” Toramalli spoke up. “Rohana, you know the one of which I speak.”

Rohana nodded and went to fetch the required garment. She returned and spread it out for her mistress to approve. It was a garment of lavender silk, cut with a long skirt, and flowing sleeves lavishly trimmed with a waterfall of cream-colored lace.

“We can recut the round high neckline,” Orane said, “and it will be perfect. We will also make a narrow belt to accentuate Mistress Fancy’s dainty waistline. It will be suitable for tonight. Then we will have time to make others.”

Jasmine nodded. “Can you two do it while I prepare myself for my appointment with His Majesty?” she asked her two elderly servants.

They nodded in unison and moved slowly off with the silk gown.

By the time Jasmine was ready to depart for Whitehall that afternoon, the gown was remade and packed with Fancy’s other garments. Jasmine climbed into her large coach, Orane putting a fur robe over her mistress’s knees. The dowager was magnificently garbed in a forest green and fur-trimmed velvet overskirt, which revealed an underskirt of green-and-gold-embroidered velvet brocade. The fur-trimmed scooped neckline was made modest by her high-necked pale gold chemise with its pearl-trimmed neckline. The puffed sleeves of the gown were trimmed lavishly with wide bands of thick brown beaver. Her matching cloak was lined and generously trimmed with the same fur. Beneath the hood of her outer garment was an elegant lace veil covering her silver head. Emeralds and diamonds dripped from her ears and spread themselves across the golden lawn of her chemise. Her brown leather gloves were lined in delicate gold silk.

The carriage departed Greenwood into the already dark winter streets and traveled through the city to Whitehall Palace. In the Great Courtyard, Jasmine alighted. A young page in the royal livery came quickly up to her.

“My lady Leslie?”

She nodded.

“Please to follow me, madame,” the page said and hurried off. He led her into the palace, down several long corridors, finally stopping before a single door. He opened it, standing back, and gestured her into the chamber.

The king immediately came forward to greet her as the door closed behind her. “Madame, I thank you for coming,” he said, leading her to a comfortable seat by the fire. “You must be cold. Did you come by the river?”

“Nay, the water is too chilly for a lady of my years, Your Majesty,” she replied.

He sat down opposite her, and it was then she noticed a tray by his side. “Tea?” he asked her.

Jasmine was surprised. “Indeed, yes, Your Majesty,” she told him and accepted the handless cup of the steaming brew that he offered her. “I did not think Your Majesty was a connoisseur of tea.”

“I am not, but I know from Charlie that you are. I thought a bit of something warm after your trip would please you,” the king replied. Then he raised a small tumbler of whiskey to her in salute.

Jasmine sipped at her tea, letting the heat from the aromatic beverage seep into her bones. Finally she put the cup back down and said bluntly, “You have favored my granddaughter, Fancy Devers, Your Majesty. I must assume that you have asked me here with regard to her future welfare. Is that not unusual for you, Charles Stuart? It is not your habit, I believe, to say, ‘May I?’ ”

The king laughed aloud. “Kings do not ask, madame, as you well know. But yes, I do want to speak to you about Fancy. I have given her rooms here at Whitehall. I will continue to favor her as long as it pleases both of us that I do so. But there is something that I must share with you, madame, for I suspect you did not know it.”

Jasmine sat silent and waited for the king to speak further.

“Your granddaughter was a virgin when I took her last night,” the king told the astonished dowager duchess of Glenkirk.

“It cannot be!” Jasmine finally burst out. “She was a bride. There was a wedding night.”

“Madame, knowing my reputation, can you believe that I would be mistaken about a thing like this?” the king said.

“But when my daughter wrote to me she did not tell me this,” Jasmine said slowly. “It cannot be possible that she did not know.”

“When I realized the truth,” the king continued, “it was too late for me to cease. You understand that? And afterward Fancy told me what had happened to her on that infamous wedding night. And her mother did not know, for there was so much ta-rah about the death of the bridegroom your granddaughter was both embarrassed and afraid to say anything more than she had already said,” the king explained.

“Did she tell you all of it?” Jasmine asked him quietly.

“No. Only most briefly what he had done to her,” the king admitted. “Madame, I know you have vowed to allow your granddaughter to tell her own tale, but I wonder if she will ever be able to do so. I would know the whole truth of this matter not just for curiosity’s sake, but for Fancy’s sake. I have never willingly brought pain to a lady who shared herself with me. I cannot force you to tell me, but if you could, I should be content to keep the lady’s secrets.”

“Give me some of that whiskey you are drinking,” Jasmine said, holding out her little teacup. She sighed, her look troubled. “What else didn’t she tell my daughter?” Jasmine asked. “And why did she believe herself not a virgin when she was yet one?”

“Your daughter assumed Fancy knew what was involved in the marriage bed,” the king began. “She believed that Fancy had learned what she would from her older sister. She informed her that a girl of good family should not be very knowledgeable in such matters and told her to put herself in her husband’s tender care.”

“God’s blood,” the dowager swore. “I know I did not teach my daughter, Fortune, to be so foolish or lackwitted. What on earth could have possessed her to send her youngest daughter to the marriage bed uninformed? This new generation has, I fear, no common sense at all. What happened to my granddaughter?”

“Her husband sodomized her madame. What happened afterward I do not know,” the king said. “Fancy knew that a man enters a woman’s body. She knew it should give her pain the first time. That is why she believed she was no longer a virgin.”

Jasmine’s beringed hand flew to her mouth, but it could not prevent the cry of anguish. Tears welled up in her turquoise eyes. For the moment, she was rendered speechless.

The king leaned forward and took her hand in his, rubbing and patting it in an attempt to comfort her. “I should kill him myself were he not already in hell, madame,” he said. He pulled a silk handkerchief from his coat and gently wiped her cheeks free of the silent tears now rolling down them. “Will you tell me all of it?” he asked her again.

Jasmine nodded. “But swear to me that you will never reveal that I have,” she said to the king.

“It will be our secret, madame,” the king replied, and he kissed the elegant hand in his, smiling warmly into her eyes.

“No wonder the ladies adore you so, Charles Stuart,” the dowager duchess of Glenkirk told the king. “Your uncle had the same charm. Now give me my whiskey, and I will tell you everything you need to know about the scandal surrounding my granddaughter.”

He poured some of the smoky peat-flavored whiskey into her outstretched cup. She drank it down in one gulp, holding the cup out for more, which he immediately supplied.

“Did she really kill her husband?” he asked. “She told me she did not, but that she was responsible for his death.”

“Her sense of responsibility is too deep,” Jasmine began. Then she continued. “Parker Randolph appeared to be a perfect match for my granddaughter. He was the only son. His two sisters had been married off. The family owned several thousand acres of land in the Virginias. This boy was handsome, well mannered, and there was not even the faintest whisper of anything unsavory, or untoward about him. At twenty-five he was yet unmarried. When last year he set his sights on my granddaughter, it appeared that he had just been waiting for the right girl to come along. They had met at several parties. He asked my son-in-law’s permission to pay court to Fancy. Under the circumstances, and especially as Fancy seemed to favor Parker, her father agreed. At Christmas last year they became engaged. The wedding was set for the month of June.

“My daughter and her husband spared no expense. The wedding was a lavish affair, marred only by the fact that the morning after it had taken place the bridegroom lay dead at his wife’s hand.”

“But both you and Fancy have declared her innocent!” the king said, confused.

“Parker Randolph had committed bigamy, Your Majesty,” Jasmine explained. “There was on his father’s plantation a young slavegirl who was every bit as fair as Parker and his sisters. His father had bought the girl when she was a child to grow up and to serve as a maid for his daughters. After these two young women were married, events that took place within a single year, they begged their father to give this faithful young slave her freedom. He did. The girl, however, asked to remain on the plantation as a paid servant to Mrs. Randolph, a frail lady who was happy to have her companionship.

“Parker Randolph fell in love with this girl, but she would not succumb to his blandishments. She told him he could only have her if he married her. He resisted for a time, but finally his lust overcame his judgment, if indeed he was blessed with any sense. He and the girl found a backcountry preacher who did not know either of them. They were married, legally and lawfully. The girl’s name was, most fittingly, Delilah. Parker convinced her, however, that their marriage must remain a secret until the proper time.

“When he began to court my granddaughter, Delilah became angry, but Parker Randolph assured his naive and jealous wife that he was just doing it to make his family happy. When the marriage plans were announced, Parker explained to his wife that while he did indeed intend to wed my granddaughter, it was simply for her large dowry and for the great wealth she would eventually inherit. His family needed that wealth, and he had learned a secret about Fancy’s family that would give him full control over them.” Jasmine stopped here and sipped her cup of whiskey. She had suddenly realized how right it was that the king know the truth.

“What was the secret?” he asked her.

“Fancy had told him that her grandmother, her mother’s mother, was a foreign princess from a land called India. The only thing Parker Randolph could remember about India from his few studies was that its people were dark skinned. He decided then and there that we were Negroid, which made Fancy a girl with African blood in her veins. He told his wife, Delilah, that he would threaten to expose this to all the Colonies if Fancy’s family did not obey his every wish. Should this shameful knowledge, plus the fact that their daughter was really his concubine, and not his wife, become public, Parker reasoned, Fancy’s family would be ruined in the Colonies. They would pay him whatever he desired, he told the gullible Delilah, to keep these secrets.

“Delilah protested that Fancy’s children would be considered his heirs. Yet any children she gave him would be thought bastards. But Parker Randolph promised this woman that it would never happen. Fancy, he said, would never bear his children. Now I understand why he was able to promise his wife such a thing. But on the wedding night Delilah was unable to contain her jealousy. She secreted herself in the bridal chamber before the bride herself arrived. She watched as Fancy was undressed and prepared for the bridegroom. My daughter wrote to me that when Delilah saw her husband with Fancy, saw them make love, she was unable to contain herself. In a terrible rage she revealed herself to them.

“Parker Randolph was furious, especially when she told Fancy that she was not her bridegroom’s real wife. Fancy was devastated. Of course he denied it and said that Delilah was mad and could prove nothing. My sweet granddaughter then cried that she believed him, and would stand by his side no matter what. It was then that Parker Randolph laughed and scorned both women as fools. He was indeed married to Delilah, he told Fancy. Then he went on to tell her exactly what he planned. She would be forced to pretend, while he reaped the benefits of her wealth. Delilah would be forced to watch, he said, as he enjoyed Fancy, and there was nothing she could do about it.”

“But there was,” the king said.

“Yes,” Jasmine answered. “Delilah Randolph reached for the nearest thing at hand. It was a heavy silver candlestick. She hit her husband with it, once, twice, three times. That is when Fancy began to scream uncontrollably for help. It came quickly, but it was too late. Parker Randolph was dead, Your Majesty. The scandal of what this young man had done would have ruined the Randolphs. It would have ruined my grandchild had it become known that her virtue had been compromised.

“While her in-laws wanted to somehow blame her for the terrible tragedy, the more influential branch of the Virginia Randolphs would not permit it. They compelled their relations to face the truth. To soothe Parker’s family, the portion of Fancy’s dowry already paid was not reclaimed. Nor would my son-in-law allow the Randolphs to take out their wrath on Delilah. At first they claimed she could not have been wed to their son, but Delilah drew forth from her bosom the marriage lines the preacher had given her. Parker obviously never knew she possessed such proof. Kieran Devers sent Delilah north to Boston with enough money to start a dress shop. He told her if she ever showed her face in Maryland or the Virginias again he could not protect her.”

“And Fancy came to England,” the king said.

“She could hardly remain in the Colonies, Your Majesty,” Jasmine said quietly. “The truth couldn’t be told under the circumstances. There would have been no chance for my granddaughter. It was said that Parker Randolph had a fit and died on his wedding night. That in the midst of said fit he fell, accounting for the wound upon his head, much of which had been cleaned up before he was shown in his coffin,” Jasmine explained.

“Why does Fancy consider herself responsible for his death?” the king inquired.

“She says if she had not married him, none of this tragedy would have happened. She realized too late that she was just in love with the idea of marrying the handsomest man in the colonies, she told her mother. As the youngest child in her family, she never did anything to distinguish herself until she caught Parker Randolph’s eyes. Perhaps it is unreasonable for a sensible person to believe this, but she did at the time. I do not think so any longer. And that is the truth of the matter, Your Majesty, as my daughter related it to me in her correspondence last summer.” Jasmine finished her whiskey and placed the small blue-and-white china cup on the table next to her.

“I will take good care of her,” the king promised.

“I know you will,” Jasmine replied. “The royal Stuarts have always been good to their women, and I should know, shouldn’t I?”

“You would have made a magnificent queen,” he replied.

“So it was said at the time, Your Majesty,” she answered him, and then she stood up. “I shall go home now, my lord. Good night.”

The king jumped to his feet and escorted her to the door. He kissed her hand, and said, “This will indeed remain our secret, madame. I would not like Fancy to believe that I had intruded, for I am sure she will eventually tell me in her own words what happened.”

“I am certain too, Your Majesty,” Jasmine responded. Then reaching up, she touched his saturnine cheek with her gloved hand. “You are nothing like your uncle,” she told him. “He was all golden and blue eyed. You are very French.”

“My mother said I was the ugliest infant she had ever seen,” the king laughed. “She called me her black boy.”

Jasmine laughed too. “But you have become a most distinguished gentleman, and more important, your heart is good, Charles Stuart.”

“I think that as fine a compliment as I have ever received,” the king responded. He bowed to her, and then Jasmine opened the door. Outside the little page jumped quickly to his feet to escort the dowager duchess of Glenkirk back to her carriage, even as the door to the king’s privy chamber closed behind them.