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Chapter 3

George Villiers, the duke of Buckingham, had come to court as a young man. He had found favor with old King James, worked his way up the social ladder from the second son of a knight to a dukedom, and married an earl’s daughter, Lady Katherine Manners. But James Stuart was old, and having gained his favor, George Villiers set out to win over the king’s only surviving son and heir, Charles. In this endeavor he was successful, and now George Villiers was, next to King Charles, the most powerful man in England.

Wealth and power had bred in him the desire for more wealth and power. In the young queen he sensed a rival, and so he set out to destroy any small influence she might gain with her equally young husband. His tactic with King James had been to subtly create a conflict between the old man and his son. When the disagreement was full blown, the king’s beloved Steenie would step in and mediate between king and prince. It was clever, and neither James Stuart, or Charles Stuart ever realized they were being cunningly maneuvered by the wickedly adroit Villiers.

The duke attempted to work the same tactic on the queen, but Henrietta was far more clever than her husband, and quite used to such court intrigue. She resisted George Villiers strongly, and he, fearful of losing his position, set out to destroy her marriage to Charles Stuart by deliberately fostering misunderstanding between the two. Henrietta could not complain to her husband, for, like his father before him, Charles was of the firm belief George Villiers was his true and best friend.

Both king and queen had been virgins on their wedding night, for Charles was far too prim to have taken a mistress or tumbled a servant girl in a dark stable. As neither his father nor Buckingham wanted any other influence in Charles’s life, they had discouraged his involvement with women. The young couple dared to speak to no one about this painful experience. They stumbled along in their physical relationship; the sixteen-year-old queen shy of her equally shy but demanding husband who had been told by Villiers that what the man wanted was what God approved of, for man was superior. Villiers then convinced Charles that his wife’s shyness was a refusal of his wishes, and an attempt to gain the upper hand. Things went from bad to worse.

“Whoever heard of a name like Henri-etta?” Villiers said one day to the king. “It’s so foreign. The queen is English now, and really ought to have a good English name. Perhaps we could call her Queen Henry.”

Henrietta, of course, as the duke had anticipated, fell into a terrible rage upon hearing the suggestion. “Mon nom est Henrietta!” she screamed. “Henri? La Reine Henri? C’est impossible! Non! Non! Non! Je suis Henrietta!”

Charles found her passionate Gallic outburst distasteful. “We will speak when you are calmer, madame,” he said coldly. Then his gaze swept the queen’s chamber. “All these monsieurs,” he said in reference to his wife’s French attendants both male and female. “They really must go, madame. It is time you were served by your own people.”

“These are my own people,” the queen answered him sharply.

“These persons are French, madame. You are England’s queen, and should be served by good Englishmen and -women,” the king replied, his tone equally sharp.

“It was agreed,” Henrietta said, struggling to remain calm, “that I should have the right to choose my own household, sir.”

“It was not agreed that they should all be French,” the king snapped. Buckingham has sought a place for his sister, the countess of Denbigh, within your household, and yet you have been adamant in your refusal, madame. I like it not.”

“The comtesse is a Protestant, sir,” the queen said. “You cannot expect me to be served by a Protestant.”

“I am a Protestant, madame,” the king replied. “It did not stop you from marrying me, nor will it stop you from having my heirs one day, and they will be Protestant.” He glared at her.

“Marie, Your Majesty,” said Madame St. George, who had been the queen’s governess, and now sought to turn the argument back to the original, and less volatile ground. “If the queen’s name, Henrietta, seems unsuitable for a queen of England, would not Marie, Mary, Queen Mary, be better? I know Your Majesty is not so petty that he would insist upon calling the queen by any other name but her own in private, but Queen Mary would be her official title, if it would please Your Majesty.” She curtsied. “Mary is English, is it not? And it is my mistress’s second Christian name.”

“It seems a good compromise,” the king said, pleased to have gotten his way, and not wishing any further outburst from his wife, who nodded mutely in agreement.

The duke of Buckingham was equally pleased, but for a different reason. The English had long memories, and they had not forgotten Bloody Mary Tudor, the last Roman Catholic English queen who had persecuted the Protestants. She had not been popular, and neither would this Queen Mary be. He chuckled to himself, well pleased.

When parliament opened, the queen was not present, for her confessor, Bishop de Mende, had somehow gotten the idea that a Church of England religious ceremony was central to the occasion. The king was furious. The parliament was offended, and granted the king only a seventh of the monies he needed. He adjourned the session, and moved his household to Hampton Court, for the plague was still rife in London.

Buckingham continued to undermine the queen, advising her that her clothing was far too lavish, and unsuitable for an Englishwoman. Her hairstyle was too foreign. Her temper too quick. He advised her that she should be more amenable to her husband, or Charles would send her back to France. Then he attempted once again to gain a place in her household for not just his sister, but his wife, and his niece as well. The queen was outraged, and this time did complain to her husband. In response, Charles went hunting to avoid the uproar, and while he was gone, the countess of Denbigh held a public religious service in the royal household. The queen and her people interrupted it, not once, but twice, trekking through the hall chattering and laughing, their dogs in their wake, as if nothing unusual were taking place. Buckingham dutifully reported this to the king, making certain Charles’s anger was well roused.

The king was indeed outraged, but not at Lady Denbigh for deliberately baiting the queen. His anger was directed solely at his wife, whom he decided to punish by sending her entire retinue of French back to Paris. Now Buckingham realized he had gone too far. He did not wish to be responsible for endangering the alliance between England and France, which this marriage represented.

In Paris, King Louis and his mother had heard of the discord between the recently married couple. They were not at all pleased, and decided to send an envoy to investigate. Buckingham quickly persuaded the king to allow the queen’s household to remain for the time being.

The plague having finally subsided, the coronation was set for February second. At Glenkirk, James Leslie grumbled loudly at having to make the trek from the eastern highlands of Scotland down to London at the midpoint of the winter. The snows were deep. The trip would be cold, and take forever. They would have to leave immediately after Twelfth Night.

“I dinna intend taking all of you bairns,” he said to his assembled family.

“I am perfectly happy to remain home,” Fortune Lindley said.

“Henry, Charlie, and Patrick shall go, because the first two are English, and the last my heir,” the duke of Glenkirk said.

India held her breath, and threw a beseeching glance at her mother. Adrian Leigh had been permitted to correspond with her, and had kept her apprised of all the gossip, and the coronation plans.

“I think India should go, too,” Jasmine finally said.

“Why?” James Leslie demanded.

“Because she is Rowan’s firstborn, and an English noblewoman of an old and respected family, who certainly should see her king crowned,” Jasmine said quietly. “Besides, this is an excellent opportunity for us to look over the young men from suitable families. Many will be at the coronation who do not as a rule come to court. It is a wonderful chance for her. Besides, it will please me to have my daughter with me, Jemmie.”

“Verra well,” he said grudgingly, “but I dinna want to see that fancy young viscount hanging about India.” He looked directly at his stepdaughter. “He’s nae for you, mistress. Do you understand me, India? I hae been patient allowing him to write to you once a month, but you will nae wed such a fellow. This time I would see other suitors at our door. Ye dinna hae your cousin, René, to hide behind any longer. Did you nae know I knew ‘twas young Leigh who you were so anxious to be wi, and nae the chevalier?”

India bit back the quick retort on her lips, and hung her head in a contrite fashion. She would damn well do what she wanted to do, but she would wait to get to England before she made that announcement. “Yes, Papa,” she said meekly, “and thank you for allowing me to go.”

“And ye’ll pick a husband, India,” James Leslie told his stepdaughter. “Either down in England, or here in Scotland, lassie. You’ll be eighteen this June, and you canna wait any longer.”

“Mama was only eighteen when I was born,” India noted.

“But she hae already hae two husbands,” he said. “And, besides, it takes time to make a bairn and birth it.”

“I want to love the man I marry,” India told him.

“I’ll nae force you to the altar, lassie.” James Leslie said, “but you must be more tractable and practical in this matter.”

“I will try, Papa,” India promised him.

“What a little liar you are,” Fortune mocked her sister afterward when they were alone in their chamber. “You want to marry Adrian Leigh, India. I know you do! And he would like to marry you, although I do not think he loves you. Just your wealth.”

“Of course he loves me,” India said angrily to her sister. “He has told me so in his letters, Fortune.”

Fortune shook her head. “I do not understand you, India. You have always been so careful where fortune hunters are concerned, yet now you become clay in the hands of this viscount. What is the matter with you?”

“You don’t understand,” India began.

“I know I don’t,” Fortune agreed, “but I do want to, India. You are my sister and I love you. We are only two years apart, and while we are very different, it doesn’t mean I don’t care what happens to you, because I do. Adrian Leigh writes you in a manner I do not believe he should be writing you. He behaves as if you were formally betrothed.”

“You haven’t read my letters, have you?” India was outraged.

“Of course I’ve read them,” Fortune said matter-of factly. “You don’t hide them very well, India. If Mama didn’t trust you, she probably would have read them, too, and then you should not be going to England for the coronation. This Adrian Leigh is very bold, sister.”

“He kissed me,” India said. “The first time René caught us, and scolded me roundly. After that we were more careful. Ohhh, Fortune, I cannot imagine my life without him! Papa simply has to change his mind about Adrian. I cannot bear to think of marrying anyone but him.”

“But why?” Fortune was entirely perplexed. Certainly Adrian Leigh wasn’t any more handsome than their brothers. His prose to India was just plain silly—her lips were two turtledoves—and his spelling was utterly atrocious. What in the name of all heaven was so special about him that India was behaving like a little ninny?

“I cannot explain,” India said helplessly. “He is just too wonderful, Fortune, and I love him. You will understand one day.”

Fortune shook her head. “You had best be careful, sister,” she warned her sibling. “If you don’t choose a husband, and you know it cannot be your swain, Papa will choose one for you. Parents still do, you know. It is their right. Mama and Papa have been very lenient with us.”

“It must be Adrian, India replied stubbornly.

Fortune shook her head again. “We shall have no peace in this house, I am thinking, until you are safely married, India.”

“To Adrian,” came the reply, and Fortune laughed.

“I hope to never have a daughter like you,” she said.

The duke and duchess of Glenkirk departed Scotland on the seventh of January, arriving at their house in London, Greenwood, on the thirtieth of the month. There was barely time for their clothing to be unpacked and pressed. Waiting for them upon their arrival was Viscount Twyford, filled with news. James Leslie was not pleased to see the young man, but listened politely.

The queen, it seemed, would not be at the coronation. Once again she had taken the counsel of her religious advisors, ignoring the pleas of both her mother and her brother, the king of France, who wanted her crowned with her husband. Henrietta, however, had been convinced by Bishop de Mende that the Protestant archbishop of Canterbury could not possibly place the crown of England upon her Roman Catholic head. Only he, a French Catholic bishop, could.

As that was completely unacceptable to the English, the queen would not be crowned at all; nor would she be in the abbey when her husband was. Of course the queen’s behavior was outrageous. The duke of Buckingham was openly irate at what he claimed was an insult to England’s church, and to Charles himself. The entire court was talking about it, Adrian Leigh told them, all the while throwing languishing glances at India, who kept sneaking peeks at him from beneath her dark lashes.

Adrian Leigh’s mother had, to his annoyance, come up to London for the coronation. When she learned from her son that India would also be there, she began to advise him, and while he was no longer fond of her as he had been when he was a boy, he had to admit she was a wretchedly clever woman.

“Her stepfather will not even discuss the matter of marriage with me,” Viscount Twyford told his mother. “I attempted to bring it up today when I went to Greenwood to welcome them back to London. I asked if we might speak privately, but he held up that big hand of his and said there was nothing I had to say to him that would possibly be of interest to him. How the hell can I ask for the girl’s hand if he won’t let me? India says he disapproves of our family because of the Lord Jeffers murder, and because of your poor reputation. Why the hell must you consort with men of such low station, madame? If you must take a lover, could it at least be one of noble blood? Could you not at least be discreet?”

“Blue blood runs cold,” MariElena Leigh replied dryly. “Besides, Adrian, my lovers are not your concern.”

MariElena Leigh was still a beautiful woman with smooth white skin, dark hair, and large, exciting dark eyes. Reaching out with very long, slender fingers, she plucked a sweetmeat from the plate before her and popped it into her mouth, the pointed tip of her pink tongue catching a drizzle of honey from the corner of her sensuous mouth.

“When the scandals you create endanger my marrying one of the wealthiest virgins in England, madame, they most certainly do concern me,” he told her angrily.

“You cannot erase what has been, Adrian,” she said. “If her family objects to you, you must take another tact, my dearest. I am surprised you have not considered it. Does the girl love you?”

“She believes she does,” he said thoughtfully, “but I am the only man ever to kiss her, or try to court her. She is inexperienced, and has been very sheltered by her family. They have allowed her to refuse the eligible suitors who have come courting her. And why? She believes they were only after her wealth. I, on the other hand, have never mentioned her wealth. Although I am told by those who know that she is an heiress of considerable property.”

“A fat dowry could help us to rebuild Oxton Court,” his mother said slowly. “Do you love her? Could you be happy with this girl?”

“She is perhaps a trifle too independent for my taste, but her wealth makes it possible to overlook her behavior. Besides, once we are married, and I have control over India, I will see she changes her ways. The women in her family are very fecund, and several children should take a great deal of the spunk out of her.” He laughed. “I will enjoy having her in my bed. Aye, madame, I could be content with Lady India Lindley and her wealth.”

“Then you are going to have to reach out and take what you want, mγ son,” his mother said. She licked the sweetness from her fingers.

“What do you mean?” he demanded. “Her stepfather will not even speak to me except when forced to do so, madame.”

“Adrian, if you do not take this girl while you have the chance to take her, I can guarantee you that the duke of Glenkirk will see you do not get another chance at her. Convince her to elope with you. Even if you are caught before you can marry her, her reputation will be totally ruined. No one else will want her, and you will win by default,” the countess of Oxton said to her son.

“I don’t want to get caught,” he replied. “I want to wed her, and bed her before her family can intervene. If we were stopped before I could accomplish those two things, the duke is quite capable of dragging India back to Scotland and marrying her off to some highlander who would know nothing of the scandal; and finding his bride a virgin, would be satisfied with the match. I must take her someplace that they are unlikely to look for us at first. But where?”

“Take her to Napoli, to my brother’s house,” his mother suggested. “Your uncle Giovanni will welcome you at Villa di Carlo. You can marry the girl, and bed her to your heart’s content The Leslies of Glenkirk are unlikely to seek you there, for how could they know of it? When she has given you a son, then bring her home to England. Her family will be forced to welcome you then, Adrian.”

For the first time in many years, Adrian Leigh embraced his beautiful mother. “You are so damnably clever, madame!” he said. “You have always looked after my best interests. It is perfect!”

She shook him off gracefully. “You must convince the girl, Adrian, and, believe me, it will not be easy.” She sat back in her chair, and, reaching for her goblet sipped the wine he had earlier poured them.

“Why not? She loves me,” he declared with the enthusiasm of his youth. Picking up his own goblet, he swallowed the cool red wine thirstily until the goblet was empty.

“She loves her family, too,” the countess of Oxton replied wisely. “She will be torn between you both. You will have to make her choose you over them, my son, or you have not a chance, despite her feelings.”

“But how, Mother?”

“We must make certain that the duke and his family continue in their coldness toward you despite your charm and good manners. The sweeter you appear, and the chillier their reception, particularly if it is in Lady India’s presence, will only help but make the girl take your side. Do not at any time criticize her family, my dearest. Defend them, saying if you had a beautiful daughter, you would want to protect her, too, from what you believed was an unsuitable match. Remind her what a fine old family the Leighs are. Say things like ‘We are not wealthy or powerful people like your family, but we are honorable and noble.’ That, too, will make her take your part. You will appear to be a worthy and virtuous young man, held unfairly responsible for the wicked behavior of your elder brother, and your flighty mother, neither of whom you approve of, and would disown if it would not break your poor old father’s heart.”

Adrian Leigh laughed, genuinely amused by his mother’s cunning. “You are absolutely diabolical,” he said. “Again I say it is a perfect plan, Mother, and I thank you.” He leaned from his own chair and kissed her cheek.

“If she proves too reluctant, Adrian, you must make love to her in order to convince her. I do not mean you should deflower the girl, but I assume, from what you have told me, that you have only traded kisses with her so far. Caress her breasts. First through the fabric of her gown, and then, if you can, slip your hand into her bodice and gently fondle her. Be certain not to frighten her, however, else you lose your advantage with her.”

“I should like that,” he said softly. “She has the most tempting little breasts I have ever seen.”

The countess of Oxton smiled at her son knowingly. He was a great deal more like her than he was willing to admit. His wife would not be unhappy with him as she had been with her son’s father, the cold bastard.

The king was crowned in Westminster Abbey on Candlemas Day, February 2, 1626. The queen watched the procession from a window in the gatehouse of Whitehall Palace. The king wore a white satin suit, but, overall, the coronation was an austere event as the royal treasury was almost bare. Only the generosity of several wealthy families, prevailed upon by the duke of Buckingham, made it possible for there to be a celebratory feast afterward. The duke and duchess of Glenkirk had kept a sharp eye on India, whose behavior was demure in the great abbey. Afterward, when they entered the banquet hall at Whitehall, however, India managed to give her parents the slip, and find her way to Adrian Leigh, who greeted her warmly.

Helpless to stop her without causing a scene, James Leslie nonetheless saw where she went. Back at Greenwood House that evening, he paced the family hall angrily. “She hae deliberately disobeyed us, Jasmine, and I for one hae had enough of her willfulness. We will leave for Scotland at the beginning of the week.”

“What good will that do?” his wife asked. “India will correspond with young Leigh, and we will be returning to England come summer.”

“There will be nae more letters! By summer India will be either betrothed or, better yet, married,” James Leslie replied firmly. “Since India will nae choose a suitable match for herself, we will choose one for her.”

“Ohh, Jemmie!” his wife murmured. “I don’t like to do that to India. I want her to love the man she marries.”

“Your father chose Prince Jamal, your first husband, for you. You dinna know him until you married him, and yet you were happy,” the duke reminded his wife. “Your grandparents chose Rowan Lindley, India’s father, as your second husband, and you grew to love him, didn’t you? So much so that you almost died when he was killed. King James chose me as your third husband, and we have nae been unhappy, hae we? I know you love me, darling Jasmine, and I certainly love you. India is behaving in a childish manner. She hae deliberately fixated herself upon an unsuitable man, and refuses to look elsewhere, because she thinks if she continues in her stubbornness she will, as she hae many times before, get her own way. But this time it is nae about a gown or a puppy. This is India’s life, and I will nae hae her miserable for the rest of it because she chose the wrong man. I owe that to her father.”

“Have you any ideas for an appropriate match?” Jasmine asked.

“Well, I would hae you ask your aunt Willow about eligible young Englishmen, and I know both Angus Drummond and Ian MacCrae hae unmarried sons. They would be more than favorable to a match wi our daughter. Both the Drummonds and the MacCraes are solid families. Nae great titles, but educated, and nae fanatical where religion is concerned. Still, your aunt may know of some suitable young noblemen, and India, being English by birth, might prefer to live in England near her two brothers, Henry and Charlie, and your family.”

“I suppose it is the only way,” Jasmine said reluctantly. Her husband might be taking a firm approach, but he certainly wasn’t being unreasonable, she thought. India, of course, would rage and howl, but they had no other choice. Her mother-in-law had been right when she had suggested that India was ripe for bedding. Before the girl caused a scandal with the wrong man, they were going to have to marry her off to someone more eligible.

“By summer we’ll hae a wedding,” the duke decided firmly. “Then you and I will hae to consider what to do about Fortune, for she will be sixteen in July, and should also be wed.”

“I had thought to take her to Ireland,” Jasmine said. “I had always intended giving her MacGuire’s Ford and its lands. I think she should therefore have an Irish, or Anglo-Irish husband, Jemmie.”

“Excellent!” he agreed. “We will take Fortune to Ireland this summer. Henry will go to Cadby, Charlie to Queen’s Malvern. Patrick will remain at Glenkirk in my stead, and the other two lads may either go down to England, or remain at Glenkirk. Then it is settled, my love?”

Jasmine nodded. “It is all for the best,” she agreed. “It is past time we established the girls, but I hate to lose them. The time has gone so quickly. Just yesterday they were little lasses, running barefoot through the vineyards at Belle Fleurs. Do you remember the first summer we brought them to Glenkirk and they swam naked in the loch? I remember how they splashed and giggled, refusing to come out of the water even when their lips were blue with the icy, icy cold.” Her eyes grew moist. “Where did my little girls go, Jemmie? Where did they go?”

He put a comforting arm about her. He had no answer to such a question.

In a dark corner of the family hall India had listened to her parents so cruelly deciding her fate. Now she sidled carefully from her hiding place and slipped into the hallway of the house, bumping into her sister, Fortune, as she exited.

“You’ve been eavesdropping!” Fortune accused her.

“Be quiet!” India hissed. “Mama and Papa will hear you. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was in the hall when they came in, and they didn’t see me, so I hid in a dark place, and listened. You won’t believe what I heard! Some of it concerns you. Come on!” She half dragged her younger sibling up the stairs to the bedchamber they shared. Closing the door behind her, she announced dramatically, “We are to be married!”

“What!” Fortune squeaked. “Have they relented about your viscount? And what do you mean by we?” She plunked herself down upon the bed. “Speak up, India!”

“They won’t let me marry Adrian, and they intend to pick a husband for me. Either some son of one of Papa’s uncouth friends, or someone our old dragon of a Great-aunt Willow thinks is suitable. Papa says I’m to be married by summer. Then Henry is to go to his seat at Cadby, and Charlie to Queen’s Malvern.”

“What about me?” Fortune pressed. “You said we were to be married. I don’t know anyone I want to marry.”

“They’re taking you to Ireland this summer. Mama says she’s giving you MacGuire’s Ford and its lands. I suppose you’re getting it because you were born there. She hasn’t been back to Ireland since our father was murdered before you were born. They are going to look for an Irish, or Anglo-Irish, husband for you. You will be married probably before summer’s end. Well, little sister, what do you think of that?”

Fortune was strangely silent for a long moment and then she said, “There are three thousand acres belonging to MacGuire’s Ford. It’s a goodly estate to have. I wonder if the horses will be included as part of my dowry. I’ll get a fine husband with all of that.”

India was astounded by her sister’s reaction. She had fully expected Fortune to rebel even as she was rebelling. “Don’t you care that you are going to be married to some stranger?” she demanded.

Fortune turned her turquoise eyes on her sister. “A woman, particularly women of our class and wealth, must be married, India. I have absolutely no experience with men, and so I think I shall rely upon our parents to pick my husband. They will not force either one of us into a bad match. I imagine I’ll be given a choice, and can choose the man I prefer myself. If you were not so pigheaded you would not be in the difficulty that you are in now. Mama and Papa made no secret that Adrian Leigh was not for you. They said it plainly, but you will have your way, or die trying, won’t you, sister? Well, this time you will not get your way, and I think you had best accept that. It’s past time we were both married.”

“I will marry the man I love!” India snapped.

“Don’t be such a fool, India!” Fortune snapped back.

“You will not tell Mama and Papa that I overheard them?” came India’s reply.

“Of course not,” Fortune said. “It’s months away.” Then she grew thoughtful. “I wonder what he will be like. I shall enjoy having my own home, although I shall miss the family. We will all be scattered now, won’t we?” Fortune was a practical girl, if a bit wild.

India was no longer listening to her sister, however. She somehow had to find Adrian, and tell him of these latest developments that threatened to part them. He would know what to do. Leaving Fortune, she hurried back downstairs to the writing room, penning a message to Viscount Twyford, and then, sealing it with wax, she pressed her signet ring hard into the soft substance. Slipping from the room, she let herself out into the garden and ran down the lawns to the riverside.

“Oi!” she called to a passing wrerryman, who, seeing her wave and hearing her call, rowed over to the Greenwood quai.

“Aye, lady? Where does ye want to go?”

India handed him the packet, along with a coin. “Take this to Whitehall. Give it to the royal boatmaster and tell him it is to be delivered immediately to Viscount Twyford, the earl of Oxton’s heir. You’re to wait for him. Do you understand? You are to bring Viscount Twyford back here.”

The werryman felt the weight of the coin in his hand. He didn’t have to look at it to know it was double, probably triple, in legal fare. “Yes, m’lady,” he said, pulling at his forelock respectfully. Then, pushing cockle away from the quai, he rowed away. It never occurred to him to keep her coin, and throw the missive in the rapids beneath London Bridge, for he was an honest man. Besides, the gentry had a way of repaying dishonesty.

India watched him go, relieved. It was going to be all right. She and Adrian would figure out what to do together. Picking up her skirts, she hurried back up to the house, realizing as she ran that she was cold. In her haste she had forgotten her cape, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but her future with Adrian Leigh.