Читать книгу Bedazzled - Bertrice Small - Страница 9

Chapter 2

“Such extravagance!” the countess of Alcester said, in very disapproving tones. She turned to her niece. “You are spoiling the chit, Jasmine, by allowing her to have such a wardrobe. Every fortune hunter at court will descend upon you when India parades herself in this splendor.”

“Am I so witless, Great-aunt,” India defended herself, “that I cannot separate truth from fiction? I have turned down half a dozen matches in Scotland for the very reason I knew it was my fortune that attracted the gentlemen in question and not me. Fine clothes will do little, if anything, to dull my perception of men.”

“Your tongue is too quick for a girl of respectable upbringing,” the countess snapped. India was too damned headstrong, even as her mother had been. Even as my mother was, Willow, Lady Edwardes, countess of Alcester, thought irritably. Thank heavens my daughters have all been obedient girls, and my granddaughters, too, although perhaps one or two of them bear watching. “If you will take my advice, Jasmine, although I suspect you will not, you and James will make a good match for India and cease this nonsense and outrageous expense.” Then, heaving her bulk from the chair in which she had been sitting, Lady Edwardes shook out her own dark skirts. “I do not like London anymore,” she grumbled, “and no one should live here at this time of year. It is too warm, and much too damp, but what could we do? We had to come to London to greet the new queen.”

“I think the queen is very pretty,” India noted.

“All young girls are pretty,” her great-aunt said, “and this one no more or less than many, but there will be difficulty over her religion, mark my words. And if all those French with her persist in their rude habits, the king will do well to send them away.” She moved toward the door. “I am going back to your uncle’s house now,” she announced. “I will see you all in the morning when we go to court, and I hope, Jasmine, that your daughter will be suitably garbed like a proper young Englishwoman, and not decked out like some foreigner.” The countess of Alcester stamped through the open door, which a servant held for her, her skirts swinging indignantly as she went.

“Fat old cow!” India muttered when the door had shut again.

“She has just forgotten what it is like to be young,” Jasmine told her daughter, although personally she agreed with her daughter’s assessment. Aunt Willow had always been prim and proper. It was as if she strove to be entirely and totally different from her own mother, a lady of passion and colorful character. It often made her seem joyless and didactic. “Your great-aunt is correct in one thing, however, India,” Jasmine said. “Tomorrow you will wear one of your less spectacular gowns to court to greet the queen. It would not do to outshine Her Majesty when she is undoubtedly striving to make a good impression upon her new subjects. She will be feeling strange, and, I suspect, not just a little frightened in her new land.”

“Like when you came to England?” India said.

Jasmine nodded. “At least the queen can go home again if she wants to visit France. Once I left India there was no going back.”

“Do you ever regret leaving?” her eldest child asked.

Jasmine shook her head. “No. My life there was at an end. My fate was here with your father, and later in Scotland with your stepfather, my darling Jemmie. You must never fight your fate, India, even if it is not the fate you believe you would choose.”

“My fate isn’t very interesting, Mama,” India said. “I will have to choose a husband very soon, or risk being an old maid. I will settle down, and have children as you, and Grandmother Velvet, and my great-grandmother, Madame Skye, did. There is no excitement or surprises in such a fate. It is all quite ordinary, I fear.”

“Neither Madame Skye, nor my mother, nor I led dull lives in our youth, India,” Jasmine reminded her daughter, “although I do hope you will not face quite all the excitement we did. I am not certain you could cope with it, being so gently raised.”

“Grandmother Velvet was gently raised, and she managed to survive her adventures,” India reminded her mother.

“It was a different time,” Jasmine said softly, thinking her English born and bred daughter did not know the half of it.

“Come, and help me choose what I will wear tomorrow, Mama,” India said. “And we must choose something for Fortune. She will wait until the last minute, and somehow manage to look like nobody’s child, embarrassing us all. Fortune’s appearance matters little to her, I fear.”

The duchess of Glenkirk laughed aloud at her eldest child’s assessment of her younger sister. It was so accurate. India cared very much how she looked, and how she appeared before the world. Her hair was always properly coiffed, her gown fresh, her nails neatly trimmed. Fortune, on the other hand, was an unrepentant hoyden whose red hair was always flying and tangled as Fortune dashed impulsively through life, her skirts muddied and more than likely a smudge upon her pale cheek. The duchess’s mother said that Fortune would change when she got older, but Fortune would be fifteen in just a few weeks and showed no signs of maturation. How on earth could she and Rowan Lindley have spawned two such different daughters? “Let us choose your sister’s gown first,” Jasmine suggested, knowing it would take India forever to settle upon her own garb.

India nodded her agreement. “The main problem will be to find something clean,” she said, “but I suppose Nelly does her best to keep up with our wild Fortune.” Then India laughed. “No one can make me angrier than Fortune, Mama. She does not seem to care at all, but I do love her!”

“I know you do,” the duchess replied, and then together the two hurried upstairs to seek out a wardrobe, India’s elegant new silk skirts rustling as they went.

Impressed by the exquisite clothing she had seen at the French court, India Lindley had returned from France determined to have a new gown, nay, a dozen new gowns fashioned in the same manner, of the finest materials, sewn all over with jewels and gold thread, with fine brocade petticoats that would show through the gown’s front opening. She thought the farthingales and bell-shaped skirts of her great-grandmother, grandmother, and mother’s day far more elegant than the skirts of today that fell to the floor in simple folds, with the fullness toward the back. It was somehow sloppy, India thought, but it was the fashion now. Opulent fabrics, India thought, would take the curse from this less elegant mode.

India had therefore raided the O’Malley-Small trading company warehouses where there were incredible fabrics stored that her mother had brought from her homeland nearly twenty years ago. There was so much fine stuff that India knew even if she and her sister were completely outfitted in dozens of new gowns each, there would still be enough of the beautiful materials left over. She had picked carefully, colors and fabrics that would flatter her skin. Then she had personally overseen the making of the garments, which were far richer than those normally worn now in England. Satisfied that her gowns were every bit as good as those that would be worn by the queen and her French ladies, India looked forward to going to court.

The king and queen had been remarried at St. Augustine’s Abbey in Canterbury, and had then made their way to London, coming into the city by barge as there was plague about. It was not the official state entry that Henrietta-Marie had expected. Still, the young queen waved at the crowds through the open window of the vessel as they stood there along the Thames bank in the wind and rain to greet her. The king was more sedate, waving regally, his face somber. Afterward, however, the queen had retired to rest from her long journey. It was just now at the end of June that she felt ready to attend the formal proclamation of her marriage.

The ceremony took place in the Great Hall of Whitehall Palace. The king and his queen sat upon their thrones while the marriage contract was read aloud to the assembled dignitaries and the court. Looking about her, India was quite satisfied that she was the best dressed Englishwoman in the hall. Fortune, of course, had rolled her eyes as India had been laced into a small corset, but India knew it was worth it, for her small breasts swelled discreetly over the low, square neckline of her gown, pushed up by the corset. The gown itself was of claret-red silk with a wide, ivory lace collar that extended low on the shoulder. The sleeves reached the elbow, and showed ivory-and-gold brocade through their slashes that matched the tantalizing glimpse of petticoat through the gown’s skirt opening. The duchess had refused to allow her daughter to wear her own famous rubies, believing pearls more suitable to the occasion. India’s hair was as fashionable as her gown, her dark locks being fixed into a flat, coiled knot at the back, with a single lovelock tied with a gold ribbon draping itself teasingly by her left ear.

“Damn me if that ain’t the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” Adrian Leigh, Viscount Twyford, said to his friend, Lord John Summers.

“Too rich for your blood,” Lord Summers replied dryly.

“You know who she is, Johnny? And why should I not aspire to such a magnificent creature?”

“Because she is the stepdaughter of the duke of Glenkirk, and the sister of the marquis of Westleigh. A virgin, and an heiress far beyond your reach. You don’t want to marry, Twyford. You want to seduce. Seduce that beauty, and you’ll end up very dead. Whatever they have planned for Lady India Lindley, it isn’t you.”

“I’ll be earl of Oxton one day, Johnny,” Viscount Twyford replied, “and what a countess she would make! India? ’Tis an odd name.

“The duchess of Glenkirk, the girl’s mother, is from that land, I am told, although her mother is English or Scots, I’m not sure which. I do know they are a wealthy family, and somehow distantly related to the king’s family. Lady Lindley’s half-brother, the duke of Lundy, is also the king’s nephew. Wrong side of the blanket, of course, but you know these Stuarts, Adrian.”

“The women are obviously hot-blooded,” Viscount Twyford noted, his blue eyes fixed on India.

“Be careful, Adrian,” his friend teased. “If your mama should find out you have an interest in such a suitable girl she will be quite piqued. I know how she dotes on you. It is said she will never give you over into the care of another woman.”

“My mother would do well to remain at Oxton Hall, looking after my father. He has not been well in recent years,” Twyford said sourly.

“She’s still a handsome woman,” Lord Summers remarked.

“She concentrates on remaining so,” the viscount replied. “It is her sole interest. That, and certain men. She will not prevent me from marrying, Johnny, when I find the right girl, and I believe I have. It is my duty to have an heir. I know it would please my father.” He fixed his eyes on his companion. “I must be introduced to Lady India Lindley, Johnny. Do you know any of the family?”

“I have an acquaintance with her brother, Henry Lindley, the marquis of Westleigh. My little estate borders his holdings at Cadby. If he is here, I suppose I might presume upon him. He has a good nature.” Lord Summers swept the Great Hall with his mild gaze. “Ahh, there he is! With his stepfather, the duke. Come along, Adrian. This is as good a chance as we’ll get, I think.”

The two men made their way across the large chamber which was filled to overflowing with the court. The marriage contract having been read, the king had gone into a nearby chamber to dine, and the queen had retired to her apartments. This left the courtiers to mill about, visiting and gossiping with and about each other.

When they had reached the area where the duke of Glenkirk stood speaking with his stepson, Lord Summers stopped, and waited to catch Henry Lindley’s eye, saying when he did, “I came to pay my respects, my lord, and to introduce you to my friend, Viscount Twyford, who, having seen your sister, Lady India, tells me he will perish if you do not introduce them.” Lord Summers grinned in friendly fashion at the marquis of Westleigh, who was three years his junior.

“Introduce me to these gentlemen, Henry,” the duke of Glenkirk said. He took in the measure of the two young men before them.

“Lord John Summers, Father. His estate borders mine. We have sometimes hunted together when I have been at Cadby,”Henry Lindley said. “And this is his friend, Viscount Twyford.”

“Do you have a name, young man?” the duke of Glenkirk demanded.

“Adrian Leigh, sir. I am the earl of Oxton’s son, and heir.” He bowed to James Leslie and the young marquis.

“And you wish to meet my stepdaughter, sir? To what purpose?” the duke inquired fiercely.

A tinkle of laughter greeted his words as the duchess of Glenkirk, overhearing, turned and took her husband’s arm. “Do not be such a ninny, Jemmie. Viscount Twyford would appear to me to be a fairly respectable young man, and India is a beautiful young girl. To what purpose indeed.” She laughed again, then said, “Henry, take both these gentlemen and introduce them to India.” Then she lightly touched Adrian Leigh’s arm. “You are respectable, sir, are you not?”

“Aye, madame, I am,” he said boyishly.

“Then go along with my son, my lord,” Jasmine instructed him.

The trio hurried across the hall again, this time headed for India, who stood with another young girl chattering. She smiled at her brother’s approach, holding out her hand to him.

“Henry.” She quickly looked at her brother’s two companions, and then directly at her brother.

“Mama says I may introduce these gentlemen to you, India.”

“But I recognize Lord Summers,” India said, smiling prettily at him. “You hunt with Henry at Cadby, don’t you?”

“I did not know you had seen me, mistress, as we have never been formally introduced until now,” Lord Summers said, bowing to India.

“How could I fail to notice so handsome a gentleman,” India said coquettishly, tossing her head just slightly.

“God’s blood!” the girl next to her swore.,

“Fortune!” India looked scandalized. “She is my younger sister, and has never been out in society before,” India excused her sibling. “She will never, I fear, behave properly.”

“Is flirting outrageously with a man you’ve just met proper?” Fortune demanded.

India flushed. “I am not flirting! I was being polite.”

Fortune snorted.

Henry Lindley laughed. “Sisters,” he said, effectively dismissing them both as silly creatures. “India, if you are quite through being indignant I will introduce you to Viscount Twyford, who for some reason has insisted upon making your acquaintance. The word beautiful did pass his lips when he spoke of you.”

India Lindley turned her golden eyes upon Adrian Leigh. She held out her hand. “How do you do, my lord,” she murmured.

“Much better now that we have met, my lady,” he returned, taking her slender, elegant little hand and kissing it.

Fortune rolled her eyes comically. “Henry, I am suddenly nauseous. Will you escort me away from this sickening sweetness?”

India did not hear her. She had the presence of mind to withdraw her hand from Viscount Twyford’s grasp, but she was already intrigued by him.

“Zut alors, India! Un Anglais avec charme,” a voice declared, and an outrageously beautifully dressed young man turned from the throng. Taking up India’s hand, so recently released by Viscount Twyford, he kissed it gallantly. “Bonjour, ma belle cousine.”

“René! Oh, René, you have grown up, haven’t you?” India’s gaze swept over the handsome Frenchman. He was quite gorgeous.

“Oui, chérie, je suis un homme.”

“Speak English, René! You are in England now, and not France,” India scolded him. “And you do speak better English than most English speak French, Cousin. How good it is to see you again!” She turned again to Lord Summers and Viscount Twyford. “This is the chevalier St. Justine, my cousin. René, Lord John Summers, and Adrian Leigh, Viscount Twyford. René, I didn’t know you were coming with the queen from France. I didn’t see you in Paris,” Jasmine said. “Why are you here?”

“One of Her Majesty’s gentlemen of honor fell ill at the last moment, and as I had just come up from Archambault to Paris on estate business, and stopped at the Louvre to pay my respects to King Louis, it seems I was in the right spot at the right time. It’s quite an accolade for the family that I was chosen, chérie.”

“And just how are you related?” the viscount asked, not simply curious, but strangely jealous. She called him cousin, but exactly how close were they? The froggie was perhaps too handsome, too suave.

Lord Summers, the chevalier, and young Henry Lindley all recognized the suspicion in Adrian Leigh’s tone. It was an incredible presumption on his part to voice such an inquiry, but India seemed totally unaware.

“René’s great-grandmother and my great-grandfather were brother and sister,” she answered the viscount. “I spent part of my childhood in France. René and I were playmates. René! Do you recognize Henry all grown up. And there is Fortune over there with Mama.”

The chevalier bowed to the marquis. “My lord, it is good to see you again as well. Now, however, I shall go and pay my respects to your parents, and Lady Fortune, eh?”

“I’ll come with you,” India said, tucking her hand through his arm. “Mama will be so surprised, René. Henry . . .” She called to her brother. “You come, too.” Then, smiling at the other two gentlemen, she moved off across the Great Hall with her escorts.

“You have an admirer, ma petite,” René St. Justine noted mischievously as they walked.

“A bit bold for my taste,” Henry Lindley replied. “There is something I have heard about the family that is not savory, but I cannot think what it is right now.”

“I do hope you are not going to be one of those overly protective brothers, Henry,” India said sharply. “Remember that I am older than you are. I thought Viscount Twyford rather charming, and he is handsome.”

“You are ten months older than I am, India,” her brother reminded her. “ ’Tis hardly a generation. The earl of Oxton! Yes! Now I remember! The earl’s eldest son was implicated in the murder of a rival in love, and fled England. He disappeared, and has never been heard of again. The earl fell into a deep decline, and has not appeared publicly since it happened. Your swain is his younger half-brother, India, son of the second wife, who is said to take her lovers from among her servants and tenants. Charming, indeed! I’m surprised a fellow as decent as Summers would associate with such a man. I hardly think Viscount Twyford suitable for you, Sister.”

“You cannot blame the viscount for the behavior of either his elder half-brother or his mother, Henry. How unfair of you!” India cried. “I like him, and if he wishes to pay me his addresses, I shall welcome them. Say anything to Father about his unfortunate relations, and Father will know about that little housemaid at Greenwood you have been fucking in dark hallways. Didn’t think I knew, did you?”

“God’s blood!” her brother swore. “How did you know?”

“Are all men that noisy when they fuck?” India wondered aloud.

The chevalier burst out laughing. “India, you have not changed, little cousin. I am so glad!” Then he paused a moment and said, “But Henry is correct in one sense, chérie. A man is rarely unlike his family in his behavior. Besides, you can do better than a mere viscount. You are the daughter of a marquis, the stepdaughter of a duke. You have a marquis for a brother and a duke for a brother, and that little duke is the king’s own nephew. Aye, chérie, you can do much better than a provincial little viscount.”

“I shall do as I please,” India answered him, and he laughed once more. “I am not just well connected, but rich as well, René, and when you are rich, you can do as you please,” she told him.

“Within the law,” her brother reminded her disapprovingly.

While the queen struggled to find her way within this new court she had been married into, and her French household and the English court jockeyed for dominance, the younger, less important members of her train, led by the chevalier St. Justine, and the younger English courtiers became friendly. None of them cared for power. They simply wanted to have fun. It was summer. The weather was pleasant, and new to court, most of them found it exciting. Filled with youthful exuberance, they involved themselves in hunting and picnics, boating, tennis, and archery contests from dawn till dusk. Then they danced the night away, or took part in little masques. Often the young queen joined them, for like her late mother-in-law, Anne of Denmark, she loved such merriment. The king, however, who had enjoyed his mother’s revels in his youth, was now weighed down by his office, and not often amused.

“I want to go to Queen’s Malvern,” Lady Fortune Lindley complained to her mother one warm and muggy morning. “Why must we remain here with the court? We have never followed the court. Soon summer will be at an end, and we shall be returning to Glenkirk, Mama.”

“Your sister has entered society, and if we are ever to find her a husband, Fortune, we must remain with the court. Right now, all the eligible young men are here,” Jasmine explained to her middle daughter.

“If India wants to remain here, fine!” Fortune said, “but can’t the rest of us go up to Queen’s Malvern? It isn’t just me. We all want to go, isn’t that so, Henry?”

“I should be at Cadby,” her brother agreed, nodding.

Jasmine looked to her children. “Charlie?” she said.

“I have paid my respects to my uncle, Mama, and been presented to the queen,” Charles Frederick Stuart, the duke of Lundy replied. “It is not necessary for me to show myself at court again until the coronation, which my uncle, the king, says will be next winter.”

The duchess of Glenkirk peered questioningly at her three Leslie sons.

“We would rather be in the country, Mama,” said Patrick, speaking for himself and his two younger brothers, Adam and Duncan.

“I suppose that we could send the seven of you to Queen’s Malvern,” Jasmine said thoughtfully, “and your father and I could remain here to chaperone India, but you would have to behave yourselves if I did,” she warned them.

“Adali is at Queen’s Malvern, Mama,” Fortune reminded her parent. “You know Adali would not let us run wild. If anything, he is sterner with us than you and Papa.”

“Well,” Jasmine considered, nibbling on her lower lip.

“And I will help him oversee the boys,” Fortune pressed gently.

“And I will be at Cadby, Mama,” Henry reminded her. “It would just be our younger brothers and the baby for Adali to monitor. Fortune will spend her days riding, and she cannot get into trouble just riding.”

“I see no reason for your father to object,” Jasmine decided. “Very well, you may all go up to Queen’s Malvern.”

“Yaaaaay!” her offspring cheered.

“When?” Fortune pressed.

“Tomorrow, if you can pack yourselves up by then,” her mother replied, and Fortune’s siblings cheered lustily once again.

“What is this all about?” India demanded to know, coming into the family hall where they were all seated. She was dressed for riding in a deep blue velvet skirt, and a jacket trimmed in silver.

“We are going to Queen’s Malvern . . .” Fortune began.

India shrieked. “Nay! We cannot! I do not want to go up to the country. It is boring, and then before we know it we shall have to return to Scotland. Ohhh! I shall never see Adrian again!” She turned on her sister. “This is all your doing, Fortune! You are simply jealous because the gentlemen are attracted to me, and not attracted to you and your carroty hair! Ohhh! I hate you! I shall never forgive you! I shall die if I cannot remain with the court!” She flung herself into a chair.

“If you ask me, she should be sent home to Glenkirk right now,” muttered Henry Lindley, darkly.

“You are not going to Queen’s Malvern, India,” her mother said. “I intended to let you remain here with your father and me, but now I wonder if Henry isn’t perhaps right. Apologize to your sister this moment! And I was not aware that Viscount Twyford had caught your fancy. He is not at all suitable for a girl of your breeding and wealth.”

Henry Lindley quickly shook his head at India, denying any betrayal of her secrets.

“But I like Adrian, Mama. He is charming, and he is very amusing. And he likes me,” India finished smugly.

“Has he said so?” Jasmine asked her daughter.

“Gracious, no!” India replied. “But René says it is so.”

“Fortune is awaiting your apology,” Jasmine said quietly.

India quickly hugged her sister. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You know I didn’t mean it, Fortune.”

“If this is what an interest in men does to a person,” Fortune answered, “I hope I shall never seek to attract a gentleman’s attention.” Then, picking up her skirts, she hurried from the hall, saying as she went, “I have to pack if we are to be ready by the morrow. Come, laddies!”

Her brothers scrambled to their feet and dashed after Fortune.

“Why don’t you and Papa go with them?” India said innocently.

Jasmine laughed. “Because you must have a chaperone.”

“But I’m seventeen!” India protested.

“Just,” her mother reminded her.

“In Grandmother Velvet’s day girls younger than I came to court,” India grumbled. “I don’t understand why I can’t stay alone.”

“In your grandmother’s day, the girls at court your age were either maids-of-honor serving old Queen Bess, married, or in the charge of a parent or older relative, and, like you, seeking husbands of good name, good repute, and suitable fortunes. This is not, however, your grandmother’s day. A young woman of good family is properly supervised by her family lest society receive the incorrect impression that she is either not valued, or that her behavior is loose.”

“You are sooo old-fashioned,” India muttered.

“If I am,” her mother replied serenely, “I shall remain so, and until you have left my home for your husband’s home, you will obey me. You will also not give me cause to regret that I have allowed you to remain with the court when I should far prefer to go home to Queen’s Malvern myself with your sister and brothers. I am quite capable of changing my mind, India. Now, tell me about Viscount Twyford. Does he seek to pay his addresses to you? He really is not suitable, you know.”

“Why not?” India was curious as to what her mother had heard.

“His father’s family is a respectable one,” Jasmine said. “They are Glocestershire people. I am sure you know about his brother, Deverall. It was quite a scandal, and such things do not die.”

“Deverall Leigh murdered a rival,” India said.

“So it was said, and the fact that he fled England did nothing to erase that impression. Many, however, did not believe it. Deverall Leigh was an honorable young man, but still it was his knife found in the victim’s chest, and he ran away. A convenience for his stepmother, and her son, Adrian. No one saw or heard the murder of Lord Jeffers. His serving man was away that night, and there was no one else in the house. And, of course, there was the knife. Deverall Leigh can never return to England without facing the hangman’s rope, for there is no one to attest to his innocence, if indeed he is innocent. I had heard that his father had disowned him. What choice did the poor man have? So your friend, Adrian, will one day be the earl of Oxton, and sooner than later if the rumors are to be believed,” Jasmine finished.

“But why do you hold Adrian to account for his brother’s behavior, Mama? You have said the Leighs are a respectable family,” India replied.

“I said his father’s family was respectable. His mother, however, is another thing. She is a foreigner. Her family is not the equal of her husband’s. She is said to take lovers. Men of low station. Her husband is a broken man. Some say her behavior is as much to blame as the alleged behavior of Deverall Leigh. This young man who has caught your fancy is her son. Raised by her. What kind of man can he be? The acorn, India, does not fall far from the oak. Besides, the Leighs are not a family of wealth, and you have always sought to avoid those young men who were fortune hunters. What makes you think Adrian Leigh is not?”

“Because he is obviously interested in me, Mama! The others were always asking about my lands, and my other holdings, and what kind of income I had from my inheritance. Adrian never asks such things.”

“Then possibly he is different, India, but he is still not suitable,” Jasmine responded. “Still, as long as his behavior is correct toward you, I see no reason you should not continue to enjoy his company.” Better she think I have no violent objection to this young man, Jasmine thought. I do not want to drive her into his arms. He is clever, this Adrian Leigh. He has to know that India is very, very wealthy. It has never been a secret. He is willing to wait, and see just how wealthy she is until he has her securely netted. A dangerous opponent, I fear. Damnation! Why could not the perfect man come along, and sweep India off her feet? Jemmie’s mother was right. My daughter is ripe for the taking, and a girl in love for the first time is not always prudent.

James Leslie stood with his wife the following day, waving the majority of their children farewell as they set out with their servants for Queen’s Malvern. “I should just as soon go wi them,” he said dourly, but he understood the importance of their remaining. Come autumn, though, they would return north whether it pleased India or not. And he agreed with his wife that they would allow India a certain measure of freedom, for nothing was more embarrassing to a young girl than to be obviously overseen.

India danced that same evening away, in a magnificent gown of peacock-blue silk with a silver lace collar, the bodice of which was embroidered all over with pearls and diamante. She wore pearls in her dark hair, and her lovelock was tied with a silver ribbon studded with twinkling crystals. About her slender throat was a choker of creamy baroque pearls. She was flushed with pleasure, and her creamy cheeks were rosy.

“You are the most beautiful girl in the entire world,” Adrian Leigh told her passionately, his sapphire-blue eyes glittering.

“I know,” India replied, and then she laughed at his surprise. “Do you want me to demure, and giggle like some little ninny?” she teased.

“No,” he said, surprising her. “I want to steal you away and make love to you for hours on end. Would you like that, my India?”

“As a virgin, I have no idea whether I would like it or not,” India replied pertly, “and I am not your India. Even when I am married, I shall belong to no one but myself, Adrian. The women in my family have always been both independent of spirit, and independent in their own wealth. I see no reason to change such a fine custom, do you?”

“I would change nothing about you,” he told her fervently. “I adore you just as you are, India.” He bent his blond head, and brushed her lips impulsively with his.

India tossed her head, half avoiding him. “I have not given you permission to kiss me,” she said, tweaking the fabric of his sky-blue silk doublet.

“I should be a poor suitor if I meekly waited for your permission,” he said, pulling her into an alcove and pinioning her against the wall. The blue eyes stared down into her gold ones. “You are ripe for kissing, India, and I vow that no lips but mine shall ever touch yours,” Adrian Leigh said, his mouth fully touching hers for the first time.

Warm. Firm. Not at all unpleasant, India thought. Her heart raced madly with her first kiss. Her stomach felt as if the bottom had suddenly fallen out of it.

Then he took his lips away, smiling down at her. “Did you like it, India?” he asked her.

She nodded.

“You have nothing to say to me?” he said.

“Again,” she commanded him. “I want to see if it’s as nice the second time as it was the first.”

Adrian Leigh laughed. “Very well,” he acquiesced, and kissed her a second kiss, encouraged this time when her own lips pressed back against his. He raised his head up. “That’s it, India. Kiss me back.” Then he kissed her a third time, and India’s arms slipped about his neck. Her little round breasts pressed against him.

“Tsk! Tsk! Tsk! I think that is quite enough, chérie,” India heard her cousin, the chevalier St. Justine, say with a feigned sigh of exasperation.

Guiltily India pulled away from the viscount. “René!”

He drew her blushing from the alcove. “You must have a care for your good name, chérie, even if Monsieur le viscount does not.”

“My intentions are honorable, Chevalier,” Adrian Leigh protested.

“If they are indeed, Viscount,” René St. Justine said, “you surely know better than to take a well-bred virgin into a dark alcove and enflame her innocent passions with kisses.”

“René!” India was mortified. “I am not a child, damn it!”

“The gentleman knows what I am saying, India, even if you do not understand,” he replied. “Now, come and dance with me, Cousin.” He led her off, leaving Viscount Twyford standing in the semidarkness. India was certainly well guarded, Adrian Leigh thought to himself, but he meant to have her for his wife. Much to his surprise, those unschooled little kisses she had returned his kisses with had aroused him.

“Was it your first kiss, chérie?” René inquired, curiously.

“I will be so glad when I do not have to answer to my family for my every action,” India muttered as they walked together. “How did you know we were there, René?” India was torn between irritation and outright anger.

“I saw him push you into the alcove, and when you did not emerge as quickly as you should have, I came to rescue you,” he told her. “If I saw it, India, then others certainly did. You are not a girl of easy virtue, Cousine, but if you allow gentlemen to take you into dark places, you will gain a reputation whether you want one or not. Your viscount sought to put you at a disadvantage, I fear, and you are too innocent of the world to understand that. Now, however, you do, eh?”

“Why does everyone think Adrian is bad?” India asked him.

“Perhaps not bad,” the chevalier said thoughtfully, “but he is, mayhap, opportunistic. To catch an heiress such as Lady India Lindley would be quite a coup for him.”

“But I haven’t said I wanted to marry him, René, nor has he even mentioned the subject,” India replied.

“He does not have to, chérie. If he sullies your good name, then no one else will have you despite your wealth and your beauty. You would fall into his lap like a ripe fruit, ma petite. I do not think you want anyone to manipulate you like that, India, eh?” René St. Justine’s brown eyes were questioning. Bending, he kissed her cheek.

“But I do like him, René,” India said. “Still, you are correct in realizing that I don’t like being beguiled into an untenable position. So, I suppose the answer is not to allow gentlemen to put you in dark corners.” She laughed. “I thought I was so grown up, René. It seems I am not. I am glad I have you for my guardian angel. Henry has gone to the country with my siblings. Court did not suit them at all.”

“Alas, chérie, I shall only be with you for a little while longer. The gentleman whose place I took has recovered, and will be coming from Paris soon; and I am needed at home. I may be a chevalier of France, but I am also the finest wine maker at Archambault. I must return to France in time for the harvest, and you will be returning to Scotland.”

“The king wants Papa here for the coronation,” India said. “I hope I shall be allowed to come from Glenkirk then.”

“If you behave, and do not give your mama and papa any difficulty, chérie, I suspect they will allow you to come,” René said, his eyes twinkling, a small smile upon his lips. “But you must be very, very good, eh?”

India laughed. “I will be, Cousin,” she promised him, “because in a few weeks’ time I shall go north, and unless I can come to court this winter, I shan’t ever see Adrian again. Then I shall die an old maid, eh?” she mimicked him teasingly.

“Non, non!” the chevalier protested. “You shall not die an old maid, chérie! Somewhere in this world is a wonderful man just waiting to make you happy. You will find him, India. Never fear. You will find each other. This I know!”