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Chapter 3

Sir Simon Bates rode alone as his horse traveled up the gravel driveway that lead to Cadby. Several days after the unfortunate incident that had resulted in the death of the Duchess of Lundy, he had returned to Queen’s Malvern to see if Autumn was all right. The beautiful young woman had touched him, and he was still amazed that she had had the courage to shoot the trooper who had killed Lady Stuart. Queen’s Malvern, however, was bereft of its family. Only the servants remained, and the duke’s beautiful horses, grazing in their pastures.

“Lady Autumn has gone to join her mother, the Duchess of Glenkirk,” Becket informed Sir Simon in his plummiest tones. He moved to close the house’s door.

Sir Simon Bates jammed his booted foot into the opening and said, “And just where is that?”

“I am not certain, sir,” Becket replied.

“Surely you know. You must know! And where is your master, and his children?” Simon Bates could feel his anger rising at being bested by this servant. He was the government’s representative.

“The Duchess of Glenkirk may be with her oldest son, the Marquis of Westleigh, or with her oldest daughter, the Countess of Oxton. All the household was informed was that young Lady Autumn would be joining her mother. As for my master and his children, I have no idea where they have gone. The duke wished it that way, as he felt your attack on his home last week, and the murder of her grace, was because of his connection with the king and his family. Now, sir, if you will remove your boot from the door . . .” Becket finished, looking directly into Sir Simon’s fathomless dark eyes.

“Which is closer?” Sir Simon persisted, “Cadby or Oxton?”

“They are equidistant from Queen’s Malvern, sir,” Becket said.

Sir Simon Bates removed his foot from the door and found it immediately slammed shut in his face. The insult passed unnoticed, for his mind was considering where he might find Autumn Leslie. He cared nothing for where the duke and his offspring had fled. That was the business of the government, and as far as he knew Charles Frederick Stuart was not wanted for any crime against the state. His wife’s murder had been an unfortunate accident. Mounting his horse, he considered, and decided that the girl would have gone to her brother for protection, and not her brother-in-law. He turned his horse toward Warwickshire.

Now he could see, as he arrived several days later, that Cadby was every bit as impressive as Queen’s Malvern. It was madness that had brought him here. He had no right to be chasing after this girl, he knew. He was hardly the social equal of Autumn Leslie, but one look and he had been bewitched by her. He had to know she was well, and could one day be happy again.

Again he was greeted by a protective servant. And then it was Henry Lindley who came from somewhere in the house and cautiously asked him his business here.

“I am Sir Simon Bates,” he began, only to be abruptly cut off.

“I know who you are, sir,” Henry answered him. “What do you want of us?”

“Your sister—she is well?” He knew he sounded like a perfect fool, but he was suddenly witless and tongue-tied.

“I have three sisters, Sir Simon, but I am assuming you refer to my youngest sister, Lady Autumn. She is with our mother, mourning the loss of her father and our dearest sister-in-law.”

“I wonder,” Sir Simon ventured boldly, “if I might see her to convey to her my apologies once again.”

Henry’s first instinct was to have Sir Simon Bates ejected from his house immediately, but he thought better of it. There was no need offending this man, and thereby possibly endangering his family. Autumn would send him packing quickly enough, and she would be gone on the morrow. “I will take you to the dower house, where my mother now lives,” the Marquis of Westleigh said. “My sister is there.”

Surprised to have been granted his request, Sir Simon Bates followed Henry Lindley from his house and through the gardens, on the other side of which stood a beautiful small stone house, two stories in height. They entered without knocking, the marquis calling out to his mother to come to her salon. An elderly serving man, dressed all in white, a strange cap upon his head, hurried forth.

“My lord Henry.” He bowed.

“Adali, this is Sir Simon Bates, and he has come to inquire after my sister’s health,” the marquis said, a twinkle in his eye.

“Indeed, my lord,” Adali replied.

Sir Simon was unable to restrain himself. “What is that you wear upon your head, man?” he asked.

“It is called a turban, sir,” was the frosty reply.

“You are a foreigner. I thought so,” Sir Simon said.

“I have lived in this land longer than you have been alive, sir,” Adali answered him, “but you are correct in your assumption that I was not born here. My father was French and my mother, Indian. I have been in my mistress’s service since her birth.” He then turned to the marquis. “I will fetch her ladyship, my lord,” he said, bowing, and then he withdrew from the room.

“How did your mother come to have a foreigner for a servant?” Sir Simon asked the marquis.

“My mother was born in India. Her father was its emperor,” Henry Lindley said quietly, rather irritated by the query.

Fergus More-Leslie entered the salon bearing a tray with a decanter and several goblets. He wore no livery, but rather dark breeches, a white shirt, and a well-worn leather jerkin that matched the deep brown of his equally worn leather boots. “I hae brought ye some whiskey, my lord, and wine for the ladies when they come. Shall I pour, or will ye want to be doing it?” He set the tray down upon a small table.

“We will wait for Mama and my sister, thank you, Fergus,” the marquis said.

“Verra well, my lord,” the reply came, and Fergus withdrew from the salon.

“A Scot? Your mother has a Scot for a serving man?”

“My stepfather was a Scot, Sir Simon,” Henry said tightly.

“Oh, yes, of course.” Simon Bates knew he was in over his head. He had been a fool to come here.

The door to the salon opened again, and two women entered. The Duchess of Glenkirk went immediately to her son and embraced him. Then she looked at Sir Simon. “Did Adali understand you correctly, Henry? Is this indeed Sir Simon Bates?”

“I am, your grace,” Sir Simon answered eagerly.

Jasmine Leslie turned icy eyes on the man. “I was not addressing you, sir, but since you have had the temerity to speak to me I shall tell you what I think of you.”

“Mama!” Henry’s voice held a warning.

“Do not mama me, Henry. This man could not control his troopers and is responsible for Bess’s death and that of a loyal servant. And, if that were not enough, remember what else he did in giving my poor, innocent daughter a pistol! How dare you come here, sir, and for what reason, may I inquire?”

“To make certain your daughter was all right, your grace,” Sir Simon Bates replied. “The incident at Queen’s Malvern was regrettable, but these things happen in war, I fear. I am not a monster, madame, and I have two young sisters of my own.” God’s blood, how old was this woman? he wondered. She was utterly beautiful, with hardly a line on her face. She was every bit as lovely as her daughter, who stood pale and silent by her side.

“Your reputation precedes you, sir. It is said you have overseen the murder of innocents, and that would certainly seem to be the case in my daughter-in-law’s tragic demise,” Jasmine said angrily. “You say you have come to ask after Autumn. Surely you can see the grief upon her visage, sir. She will never again be the same innocent girl she was before you and your men forced your way into Queen’s Malvern. You insult us, coming here!”

He was shaken by her angry words, but he understood. He turned to Autumn. “Will you forgive me, Lady Autumn?” he said.

“I am going to France tomorrow,” Autumn answered him as if he had not just asked her pardon. “I shall never have to see you or England again.”

“You are leaving the country?” Sir Simon was surprised.

“My mother inherited a small house in the Loire,” Henry said quickly before Jasmine might begin a tirade. “My sister’s health, as you can see, is fragile. She will heal better away from all of this sadness, you will agree.”

“Where are you sailing from?” he asked them.

“They sail from Harwich,” Henry said.

“My men and I will escort you, your grace,” Sir Simon said formally.

“That is not necessary, sir,” Jasmine told him coldly.

Then her son spoke up again. “I think it an excellent suggestion, Mama. I thank you, Sir Simon, for your consideration. Mama, I have no men-at-arms to go with you, and in these times I fear to hire any. Your own escort could turn on you and rob you. I know you will be safe with Sir Simon, and reach Harwich alive and with your trunks intact. I will even go with you.”

“My men are garrisoned at the castle, my lord. We shall meet you on the road tomorrow morning. I will take my leave of you now.” He bowed and hurried from the room.

When they heard the front door of the dower house slam closed, Jasmine turned to her son, outraged. “Are you mad?” she demanded.

“Nay,” Autumn spoke up. “He is very clever, aren’t you, Henry? And he is right, Mama. We cannot travel alone in such dangerous times. What better escort can we have than Sir Simon Bates and his Roundheads? No one will dare to accost us. He does it because, I believe, he is taken by me, but once we reach Harwich I shall never see him again. It is hardly a just punishment for what he did that he should pine of a broken heart for me, but I suppose it is the best we can do.”

“You are a foolish girl,” Jasmine told her daughter. “This man has dared to have pretensions in your direction, Autumn.”

“Which can come to nothing,” the girl replied.

“I meant it when I said I would go with you to Harwich, Mama,” Henry Lindley said. Then he turned to his sister. “And you will continue to behave as a frail and frightened young girl would, little sister. I believe as long as you do that, Sir Simon will be foiled in his aspirations toward you.”

“What you mean,” Autumn said with a small chuckle, “is that even Sir Simon Bates would not attempt to seduce a half-wit, eh, brother?”

“Precisely!” he agreed with a grin.

“You shall be the death of me yet,” the Duchess of Glenkirk said, throwing up her hands. “Henry, pour me some of that excellent Glenkirk whiskey. My nerves are shattered.”

“Oh, Mama, you are as bad as I am, feigning distress,” Autumn teased her mother. “If India’s adventures in Barbary and Fortune’s in Ulster did not do you in, I doubt very much I can.”

“I was much younger then, and I had your father,” Jasmine replied. She took the tumbler her son handed her and swallowed down a draught of the peat-flavored whiskey. “Excellent!” she pronounced. “I do believe I shall recover after all.”

And her children laughed.

They gathered that night in the Great Hall of Cadby, and Jasmine felt a deep sadness, knowing it might be some time before she saw her eldest son’s family again. Her daughter-in-law, Rosamund, instinctively understood and attempted to comfort Jasmine.

“Do not grieve, madame. We will come to France to visit you next summer, if these difficulties have not been solved by then. I know how much you love your grandchildren. But certainly this civil strife will be over with by next year, and the king will return.”

“Rosamund, we have spoken on this, you and I,” Henry chided his wife. “Cromwell will not relinquish his power easily, nor will the men who support him. They have murdered one king and would murder the other were he in their hands. The young king hasn’t the power to return yet, and the people of England, while complaining, have not yet had their bellyful of these psalm-singing Puritans so that they will rise up in the king’s defense. We will probably go to France to visit Mama.”

His wife looked crestfallen. “I can hope it is over soon,” she said sadly. “What is going to happen to the children? With everything, and anything that was pleasurable forbidden, how can they meet other young people of their station, and how can we make matches? Henry is already eleven, and I daren’t even teach him to dance, lest one of the servants reports it to the authorities!”

“Perhaps you should come to France too,” Autumn suggested.

“I will not leave my home,” Henry Lindley said, “nor will my family leave it. We ceased going to court years ago. If we cannot hold a few celebrations in this time, then we will find other ways to make matches for the children when their time comes. They are all far too young now anyway. Eventually Cromwell will be sent packing and the king will return. You are brought low, Rosamund, by all that has happened lately. After Mama and Autumn depart for France, we will take the children and go to visit your parents at RiversEdge.”

His wife, who was the eldest daughter of the Earl and Countess of Langford, clapped her hands in childlike delight. “Aye, Henry, I should like to visit RiversEdge!”

Autumn smiled to herself. How easy it was for Rosamund. She had a husband she adored and five beautiful children. Her parents were both alive at their family’s home. Nothing had really changed for Rosamund, except that her social life was now curtailed because of the Puritans. Cadby had never been threatened and was unlikely to be, although isolation was not a guarantee, as she had learned from the incident at Queen’s Malvern.

Still, Rosamund was not being driven from her home and the life she had always known. Autumn had no idea if she would ever return to Glenkirk. She looked at her three nephews, Henry, James, and Robert. By next summer they would have changed, as would their two sisters. She wondered if Henry would be able to bring his family to France, or if he would keep them at Cadby for fear of losing his estates should he leave them. And what would happen to Queen’s Malvern? Would it still be there when this was all over, and Charlie came home again?

The next morning dawned clear and cold. They would travel in the Marquis of Westleigh’s large, comfortable coach, accompanied by a baggage cart. When they arrived in France a coach, already purchased by the duchess’s agents, would be awaiting them, along with horses for both it, the baggage cart, and the travelers, who might on some days prefer riding. There would also be servants awaiting them from Jasmine’s chateau. The duchess had left nothing to chance. It was important that Autumn like France, for it would more than likely be her home for the rest of her life.

She did not want her daughter becoming involved with some exiled English nobleman. Anyone connected with the Stuart court was suspect, in her mind. Besides, what could an exile offer her daughter? No home. No family. No income. No life. Never! Autumn would marry a Frenchman. The Dutch were too dull and stolid, but a Frenchman would understand Autumn. The Duchess of Glenkirk was a woman who believed firmly in fate. No young man had caught Autumn’s fancy in either Scotland or England. The duchess had to believe that her youngest child’s fate lay in France. Bidding Rosamund and her five Lindley grandchildren farewell, she climbed into the coach with her two serving women, Rohana and Toramalli, and with Autumn’s serving wench, Lily. Toramalli’s husband, Fergus, and Adali, would drive the baggage cart. Red Hugh, Jasmine’s personal captain, had already departed for France to oversee the preparations for his mistress. He would meet them there.

“I shall write to you as soon as we reach Belle Fleurs, my dear,” she told Rosamund. “Enjoy your visit to RiversEdge, but after that stay close to home and keep the children near. My felicitations to your parents.”

Rosamund’s soft blue eyes were teary. “I wish you would stay,” she said. “The dower house is always here for you, Jasmine.”

“It is comforting to know that, my dear,” came the reply. Then the window of the coach was pulled firmly up, and the vehicle rumbled off down the gravel driveway toward the main road.

As they approached Warwick Castle, they were joined by Sir Simon Bates and his troopers. The Roundhead captain drew his mount up next to the Marquis of Westleigh.

“Good morning, my lord. How far will you travel with us?” he asked politely.

“I will accompany my mother all the way to Harwich, sir,” came the pleasant reply. “I am loath to see her go, you will understand.”

“Of course, my lord.” Sir Simon turned to Autumn. “Good morning, my lady. You are well, I trust.”

“Mama says I will marry a Frenchman,” Autumn answered. “I do not think I ever met a Frenchman. Have you met a Frenchman, Sir Simon? Are they like us? I wish I could go home to Scotland, but Papa is dead. It makes Mama unhappy to think about him and Glenkirk.”

“She was not like this at Queen’s Malvern,” Sir Simon noted to the marquis. “She was quite spirited with me then.”

“She managed to maintain her composure until she saw Mama. It was then she collapsed into tears, whether over her father or over Bess, or perhaps both, we do not know. She has been childlike ever since, but we believe she will recover in the peaceful surroundings of Mama’s chateau. Poor Autumn,” Henry Lindley sighed, and then he looked straight ahead, preventing further conversation.

Autumn struggled with herself not to break into laughter. She almost felt sorry for Sir Simon, but that she knew him to be a true villian. She gained a certain satisfaction in the fact that he felt guilty over Bess’s death and her supposed plight. They traveled for five long days, finally reaching Harwich on the coast. Autumn kept herself from Sir Simon as much as possible, lest she give away her ruse. Still, in the hours before they sailed he sought her out.

“I hope you will be happy in France,” he said.

“I was happier before I met you and Bess was killed. I was happier before this civil strife and my father’s death. I shall never know that kind of happiness again,” Autumn told him.

“You are not mad!” he said, the relief palpable in his voice.

“Nay, I am not mad, sir, just filled with sorrow. I believe the trip has begun to restore me already.”

“Perhaps you were mocking me, my lady,” he replied.

“Perhaps I was,” she agreed.

“You do not like me,” he said.

“Why should I?” Autumn demanded. “You are responsible for my sister-in-law’s murder. You espouse a cause that has destroyed my world and murdered my king. You and your compatriots have turned England into a dour and dark land. Nay, I do not like you, Sir Simon.”

“You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen,” he said, totally heedless of her scorn.

“You lust after me in your heart, sir. You have from the moment you stepped through the doorway at Queen’s Malvern,” Autumn said, her voice filled with contempt.

“What would a virtuous maid know of lust?” He was suddenly jealous. How could she be chaste and yet have such knowledge?

“Am I a fool then, sir, that I cannot see desire in a man’s eyes?” Autumn berated him. “You are the fool, I fear, if you believe that! I despise you, and men like you.”

“I could keep you in England,” he said suddenly.

“How?” Her glance mocked him.

“You committed a murder to which I was witness,” he said menacingly.

“Prove it,” she taunted him. “You cannot. All you would do is succeed in delaying my voyage. It would be your word against mine. Even your psalm-singing judges in their black garb would not believe that I killed a man. I am a young, unmarried girl of good family. I had no weapon, and this man you allege I killed, where is his body?”

“You are much too clever for a mere woman,” he told her. “You have bewitched me, Autumn Leslie! Perhaps that is the charge I should bring against you. Witchcraft!”

“Go to hell!” she spat at him. “Try it, and I shall revert to the poor half-wit you believed I had become. Tonight on the tide, my mother and I will sail for France. We shall never again see one another, Sir Simon, and for that I am eternally grateful!” Then, to his surprise, Autumn slapped him as hard as she could. “That is for your presumption, sir!”

To her surprise he caught her hand and, turning it palm up, he quickly placed a hot kiss upon it. “We shall indeed meet again, my lady,” he promised her softly, and his dark eyes lingered a moment on her beautiful face. Then he turned and was gone.

She could feel the wetness of his mouth upon her flesh, and Autumn shuddered. She hurried from the private sitting room where they were speaking to her small chamber next door to wash her hands. Scrubbing at the spot his lips had touched, she wondered if she would ever remove the sensation of the kiss from her skin. The feeling was one of deep revulsion. Outside, in the inn’s courtyard, she could hear Sir Simon and his troopers departing. Autumn drew a deep sigh of relief. His threats had been worthless. He could do nothing.

Jasmine entered the little bedchamber and looked hard at her daughter. “Sir Simon came to bid me farewell, and said he was relieved that your indisposition had only been temporary. What did he mean by his words, and what have you done, child?”

“Nothing,” Autumn said. “He said he hoped I should be happy in France. When I spoke he realized I was not suffering any longer.” There was no need, Autumn thought, to reveal the entire conversation to her mother, now that the Roundhead captain was gone.

“The captain of the Fair Winds says we sail within the hour,” Jasmine told her daughter. “The luggage is aboard. Come and say farewell to your brother, child.”

They were actually leaving. Suddenly she was overwhelmed by sadness and struggled to hold back her tears. This was difficult enough for her mother without her bursting into tears, Autumn thought.

“Where is Lily?” she asked. She had not seen her maidservant when she had fled to her chamber.

“Lily is already aboard the ship with the others,” her mother said. “Adali says she is terrified of the sea voyage. You will have to make certain she remains calm.”

“But we shall not be at sea for that long,” Autumn replied. “Lily is such a little coward. I am surprised she left Glenkirk.”

“She would not have, but for her Uncle Fergus,” Jasmine told her daughter. “He and Red Hugh are her only living blood kin. Remember that Fergus and Toramalli have raised Lily since she was seven, having no children of their own. As she had no young man to stay for, she screwed up her courage and agreed to come with us. England is one thing, but France an entirely different entity. Do not say she is a coward, for she is not. It has taken all her ability to conquer her fears. She might have returned to Glenkirk and remained in your brother’s service. She is a clever girl no matter her timidity, and she saw the advantage in remaining with you, my child. I know you don’t know her very well yet, but Rohana and Toramalli have trained her well.”

“She is sweet,” Autumn admitted. “I just miss my old Maybel.”

“I know, but Maybel, poor woman, was becomiong bent and crippled with age. She could not have made this trip. I should have replaced her several years ago, but I knew you loved your dear old nursemaid, and she has missed you, Autumn. Still, she is very content, snug in a fine new cottage with a good stone fireplace that your father had built for her. She will never want for anything, and you needed a younger woman to look after you.”

“Who were Lily’s parents?” Autumn asked. “They are never mentioned at all. How are they kin to Fergus?”

“Fergus and Red Hugh had a much younger sister who ran off with a tinker years ago. She died when Lily was seven, and the tinker sent Lily back to Glenkirk, saying that while she was his child, he had never wed her mother and could not take care of her. Red Hugh was in no position to care for the child, and as it was obvious by then that Toramalli would have no bairns, she and Fergus took Lily in, raising her as their own. Now you know. It wasn’t necesary you know before. Come along, Autumn. Your brother will be wondering where we have gotten to if we do not join him soon.”

The Duchess of Glenkirk and her daughter departed the small chamber and joined the Marquis of Westleigh in the courtyard of the inn. Seeing them coming toward him, Henry Lindley felt a pang of sadness sweep over him, but he bravely mustered a smile.

“So,” said jovially, “you are ready to depart on your adventure! I hope, little sister, you will not find yourself in all the difficulties that your female relations in the past have managed to find themselves.” He chuckled at the dark look his mother shot at him. “Now, Mama,” he said, patting her beringed hand, “you will be there watching over Autumn like a dragon, I am quite certain. Besides, she is not like either India, or Fortune in her disposition. She is a much more bidable lass, eh?”

“She has not had the opportunities her sisters had, and besides, Henry, times have changed.”

“My lady, your cloak, and my mistress’s.” Lily hurried up to them with the garments. “Rohana apologizes, but she brought them aboard the ship in error, fearing they would be left behind.” The young girl placed the duchess’s dark blue velvet cloak, lined in beaver, about her shoulders. Then she set Autumn’s garment, which was also lined in thick, warm fur, around her slender frame, carefully fastening the silver frogs down the front of the cloak. Stepping back, she curtsied.

“Thank you, Lily,” the duchess said, and then, turning to her daughter, said, “Bid Henry farewell and go aboard the ship.” Then she watched as her eldest son, the second of her children, and her youngest daughter, the last of her children, bid each other good-bye.

“You don’t have to do everything that Mama says,” Henry murmured low, “but listen to all she says. She is wise. Still, you certainly have enough common sense to know what is right and what is not. Guard your tongue, your virtue, and your reputation, Autumn. Beware of men who praise you too greatly. They will want either your maidenhead, your fortune, or both, and cannot be trusted. Marry only for love and no other reason, sister. Let me know if Mama needs me, or the others.”

“I will,” Autumn replied. “And I will heed your advice, Henry.” She kissed his cheek. “I love you, brother.”

He returned the embrace, enfolding her in his arms and kissing her tenderly. “God bless you, little sister, until we meet again.”

“Remind Charlie not to get killed,” Autumn said softly, “if you can, Henry.” Then she extricated herself from his embrace and followed her servant aboard the waiting vessel.

Jasmine turned to her eldest son. “Be careful,” she warned him. “Do not get caught up in this foolishness like your brother. Heed me as I know Patrick and the others have. Cromwell and his ilk, with their mean-spiritedness, will not last forever.”

“Will you come home when they are gone?” he asked her.

She smiled at him and drew her hood up as the wind gusted about them. “I do not know,” she answered honestly. “God only knows Belle Fleurs isn’t much bigger than my dower house, but I have always had a weakness for the place. Besides, I like the weather in the Loire better than in England. I shall not say never, Henry. See I am buried at Glenkirk when the time comes, and if that is not possible, then Queen’s Malvern, near my grandmother.”

“You are not planning on dying on me, madame,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Nay, but the time will come, Henry, one day. I want you to know what I want else you do the wrong thing and I am forced to come back and haunt you.”

He burst out laughing. “Mama, there is no one like you in the whole world.” Then he kissed her heartily on both cheeks. “God speed, and write to me so I know what is happening with Autumn.”

“I will,” Jasmine promised, and then, kissing her son a final time, she turned and hurried up the gangway of the waiting ship.

The Marquis of Westleigh remained standing upon the dock until the Fair Winds had cleared the harbor. Only then did he return to his coach, directing his coachmen to take them home with all possible speed. His mother and sister sailed upon one of the family’s trading ships. It would take them down the North Sea into the English Channel, past Brest and across the Bay of Biscay to the mouth of the Loire, and from there up the river to the city of Nantes, where their coach would be waiting for them. The duchess’s personal captain had gone ahead to France to make all the necessary arrangements.

It was mid-November and the seas were rough, though the weather was fair. The wind blew constantly from the north, speeding their travel as they passed the Channel Islands and rounded the Ile d’Ouessant. A northwest wind blew them past Pointe Penmarche, and it began to rain the afternoon their ship sailed between Belle Ile and Le Croisic. Captain Ballard, the ship’s master, came to the main cabin, where Jasmine and her daughter were housed. Autumn and Lily, her servant, were lying down, for the pitch of the vessel left them dizzy. Adali dozed in a chair, while Rohana and her sister, Toramalli, sat quietly sewing by their mistress’s side. At the discreet knock upon the door, Toramalli jumped up and ran to answer the summons.

“Good afternoon, your grace,” Captain Ballard said as he entered. His eye lit upon Autumn. “Is her ladyship all right, madame?”

“A wee touch of mal de mer, Captain,” Jasmine explained. “My daughter has never been to sea before. She has battled her symptons since boarding, but today it finally overcame her. She will survive.”

“Perhaps the knowledge that we will be entering the mouth of the Loire by morning will cheer her,” Captain Ballard said with a smile. “We should reach the city by late afternoon, your grace.”

“Excellent, Captain,” Jasmine replied. “I do want to thank you for coming out of your way like this. You would be well on your way to Mary’s Land now had you not had to make this side trip. You will remember to give my daughter, Mistress Devers, the packet of letters I have given you?”

“Indeed, your grace, I will. They will make a nice Christmas treat for her, even if these Puritans running our country don’t allow for a celebration of our Lord’s birth.”

Jasmine laughed, but then she warned the captain, “You must be careful, Ballard, in your criticism. If the wrong people heard, they could demand your replacement. My family perfers to manage their own commerce, and not be interfered with by others. The O’Malley-Small Trading Company has survived for almost a hundred years because of our discretion.”

“Aye, your grace,” he agreed, shamefaced.

“I know your heart is where it should be, Ballard,” Jasmine tempered her criticism, “but unlike others, we have always accepted all faiths, and consequently your crew is quite mixed. Among them, however, may be some who are not quite as open-minded as we. Be careful, not just for our sake, but for your own as well.”

He nodded again, and then with a bow withdrew.

“These Puritans have caused quite a stir,” Rohana said to her mistress. “I never expected that at our ages we should be uprooting ourselves yet another time.”

“And how will we find Belle Fleurs, my princess?” Toramalli asked. “It has been more than thirty years since we were last there. Old Mathieu will be long gone. Who has been taking care of the chateau?”

“His grandson, Guillaume,” Jasmine answered her serving woman. “He and his wife, Pascaline, have been caring for Belle Fleurs. It will seem very old-fashioned to Autumn, I think, but it was always a welcoming place, eh?”

Her serving woman chuckled, remembering how years before they had fled England with their mistress for Belle Fleurs. And then the duke had come and they had married and departed France, never to return until now. The twin sisters looked at each other and nodded their graying heads. Belle Fleurs had been a good place then, and it would be once again.

It was still raining by morning, but the lurching and tossing of their vessel had almost ceased and, looking out of the porthole, Autumn saw they were already on the River Loire. She could see the land through the mist and fog. France! They were in France. Soon she would be involved in the merriment of a royal court, and she could forget Master Cromwell and his sour-faced Puritans, who seemed to hate everything that was beautiful and light. She was feeling infinitely better than she had the night before. Even Lily was up, humming as she packed the remainder of her mistress’s garments into her trunks.

“Where is Mama?” she asked aloud to the servants.

“Topside with my Fergus,” Toramalli answered her.

Autumn headed to the door.

“You just wait one moment, my lady,” Toramalli said in a stern voice. “Lily, get your mistress’s cape. She should not go outdoors without it. It’s damp, and the wind, light though it may be, will be a chilly wind, you may be certain. Hurry up, girl! You have to learn to anticipate these things.”

“Sorry, Auntie,” Lily said and, picking up the green velvet cloak with its beaver lining, she draped it over Autumn’s shoulders, then fastened it carefully and drew the fur-lined and -edged hood up over her mistress’s head. She struggled not to grin, for Autumn, her back to Toramalli, was making faces at Lily. “There, m’lady,” Lily said in the most proper voice she could muster as she struggled not to giggle. Then she handed Autumn a pair of silk-lined, scented leather gloves. “You don’t want chilblains on them pretty hands, m’lady.”

“Certainly not!” Autumn exclaimed. “What would my fine French lord, whoever he is, and wherever he is, think of chilblains!”

Lily snickered, unable to help herself, and Autumn began to giggle.

“Oh, yer a funny pair, you are,” Toramalli said. “Lily, get your cape and go with your mistress. Perhaps a good blast of cold air will calm you both down.”

The two young women exited the cabin onto the outside deck. Behind them, Toramalli shook her head despairingly. “How you and I managed a six-month voyage from India with the princess without getting silly, I’ll never know,” she said to her twin sister.

“We were born and raised to serve,” Rohanna said quietly. “We were slaves, and our outlook was quite different than Lily’s is, Toramalli. She will, in time, be an excellent serving woman for the young mistress. They are both Scots, and still young.”

“You defend Lily as always,” Toramalli said. “Without us she would have been a strumpet like her mother.”

“You are unduly harsh, sister. Lily’s mother was taken advantage of by a sly tinker. She fell in love. I remember Lily’s father well. He was as handsome as midsummer’s eve is long. I suspect Fergus’s sister wasn’t the first lass to follow him.”

“If I didn’t love Lily as much as I do,” Toramalli grumbled, “I would send her packing!”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Rohanna laughed.

Toramalli sighed. “No,” she said. “I wouldn’t, but the lass will be the death of me, sister!”

The Fair Winds docked at Nantes in midafternoon, ahead of the captain’s earlier prediction. Red Hugh was waiting for them. He saluted his mistress as he met her on the deck of the ship.

“My lady. All is in readiness for you,” he told her. “I thought as you were arriving so late, and it almost dark, you would want to stay the night here in Nantes. I have arranged accommodations at the best in the city, Le Canard Bleu. When you are ready, your coach is waiting on the dock.” He pointed.

“Thank you, Red Hugh. Now greet your family and we can be on our way,” the duchess said with a small smile.

The big Scotsman grabbed Toramalli and gave her a noisy kiss. “Damn me, woman, if I haven’t missed you!” he said.

“You big fool!” she muttered, but her cheeks were flushed with pleasure. “All right, I’ve missed you too.”

In far more restrained fashion, Red Hugh greeted his sisters-in-law and his niece. He turned to his brother. “Fergus, lad.” Then he said to the duchess, “We’re ready, my lady.”

Jasmine thanked Captain Ballard again, and with her daughter and servants debarked the Fair Winds. The coach Red Hugh had obtained was spacious and beautifully outfitted. A smaller vehicle was also awaiting them at the inn, he told his mistress as he ushered her and the other women inside. Then he and his brother climbed up on the coach’s box, and they drove off from the harbor to their inn. Upon their arrival the landlord hurried forth, bowing and smiling. Red Hugh had obviously made quite clear the importance of his mistress to the innkeeper, who personally escorted Jasmine and her party into his establishment.

Inside the inn was clean and warm, and quite spacious. The aromas of food cooking permeated the place, and the smells were utterly delicious, Autumn thought, as they were brought to a gracious apartment on the main floor of the building. Young Lady Autumn was also amazed by the ease with which her mother switched back and forth between the English and French languages. This was done so Lily might understand, for all the others spoke French, even Red Hugh and Fergus.

“Lily, you must learn French, for if this is to be our new home, you cannot communicate without a command of the language. Besides, how will you flirt with the young men if you don’t know what they are saying and can’t speak with them,” the duchess teased. She turned to the innkeeper. “Now, M’sieu Pierre, we will have our supper here in our apartment. Nothing special. The odor from your kitchens is delightful, and I shall leave the choices up to you. We shall eat as soon as the food is ready, for I long for a hot bath and my bed. I am not as young as I once was, and travel is quite exhausting.” She favored him with a small smile.

The innkeeper bowed so low his head almost touched the floor. “We shall serve you immediately, madame la duchesse, and afterwards hot baths shall be brought for both you and your beautiful daughter.” He bowed again and backed from the room.

“What a funny man,” Autumn said, “but so accommodating.”

“He is a clever fellow, and his establishment is well run,” Jasmine noted. “Nonetheless, my gold buys the best service. Remember that, Autumn. Gold is power.”

“Am I an heiress?” Autumn asked her mother. “I have never before considered such a thing.”

“You are an heiress,” her mother said. “You have a large dowry that your father arranged, and you will also receive a generous portion from me, my daughter. You are wealthy enough to attract only the best husband.” Then she smiled wickedly. “And a few handsome fortune hunters as well, ma bébé.”

“Will we go to Paris, Mama?”

“Eventually,” Jasmine said. “I must learn firsthand what is really happening here in France. Queen Anne is the regent, but there has been much haggling back and forth over little King Louis. The queen’s closest adviser is Cardinal Mazarin, and he is hated by many of the princes of the blood, but their hate is just a disguise for jealousy. They want the power that having the young king in their possession can bring, but he and the queen have kept the boy safe so far.”

“At least the French have not killed their king,” Autumn said. “How old is little King Louis, Mama?”

“He is twelve, and next year when he reaches his thirteenth birthday he will come into his majority and rule without a regent, although I suspect his mama will still influence him. However, once he is legally in charge, the queen and the cardinal’s enemies cannot kidnap the king and claim to be doing it to protect him from Queen Anne and Cardinal Mazarin.” Jasmine laughed. “The queen and her allies have been very clever, Autumn. She is to be admired.”

“A twelve-year-old king cannot have much of a court,” Autumn said, sounding disappointed.

Her mother laughed. “You will have your chance, ma bébé,” she promised her youngest child.

The door to their apartments opened, and a line of servants entered with bowls and platters from which were emanating delicious smells. The table was set up, and the dishes placed upon the sideboard.

“I shall serve madame la duchesse,” Adali told the inn’s servants, and they departed.

“We will not stand on ceremony here,” Jasmine said. “Sit down, all of you. Adali at the foot, Autumn on my right, and the rest of you wherever you choose.” She allowed Red Hugh to set her at the table’s head, smiling a small thanks to him.

Adali filled each plate, passing the first to his mistress, the second to Autumn, and then the rest, serving himself last. There were whole artichokes steamed and served with a piquant vinaigrette and a delicate olive oil. A boeuf bourguignonne with tiny green onions and slivers of carrot in a rich and succulent gravy; prawns broiled and flavored with fennel; a fat capon stuffed with onions, celery, and sage that Adali carved thin, juicy slices of breast from; a pink country ham. There were two kinds of cheese, a runny Brie and an English cheddar; freshly baked bread, still warm from the ovens, and a crock of newly churned sweet butter, which Adali placed upon the table for them all. On the sideboard there remained an apple tartlet and a pitcher of heavy golden cream. There was a hearty red wine served, but while she enjoyed two cups of it, the duchess declared that the wines from her family’s vineyards at Archambault were better.

When the meal had been thoroughly appreciated by them all and the inn’s servants had returned to clear away the debris, two wooden tubs were placed in each lady’s bedchamber. They were promptly filled, Fergus and Red Hugh generously helping the innkeeper’s staff in the task. Jasmine and her daughter then bathed before retiring. Lily, Rohana, and Toramalli would sleep in their mistress’s chambers. The men would sleep in the parlor, where they had eaten. They slumbered heavily for the first time in many nights, their beds steady and not rolling beneath them. When morning came they arose and ate a hearty breakfast. Adali had the previous evening ordered a basket of food for their journey that day.

For the next few days they traveled north along a road that followed the River Loire. Each inn they sheltered in at night was every bit as good as Le Canard Bleu had been, and Autumn complained that she was going to get fat with all this delicious French cooking.

“You do not have to eat it all,” her mother said.

“Mama, I need to keep up my strength!” the girl protested.

At Tours they crossed the Loire where it met the River Cher, following a secondary road, finally turning off onto a narrower track leading them deeper into the countryside. On either side of their coach they could see the dormant vineyards, and beyond a small hill was crowned with a beautiful chateau.

“That is Archambault, where my cousins reside,” Jasmine told her daughter. “When we are settled I shall take you to visit.”

“How far are we from Belle Fleurs?” Autumn asked.

“Not very,” her mother said even as their carriage and the baggage coach turned off onto a thin ribbon of a path, rumbling and lurching down the rutted and frozen dirt path. Bare branches scraped against the vehicle, almost impeding their passage. It had not been so overgrown when she had last been there, Jasmine thought; but then it had been so long ago. She would need to hire several gardeners, but Guillaume would be able to direct her there.

“Mama! Oh, Mama, look!” Autumn was pointing, her eyes alight. “Is that Belle Fleurs, Mama? Is it?”

Jasmine focused, and for a moment all her lovely memories came flooding back. Belle Fleurs had sheltered her and her four oldest children from James Leslie; and then Jemmie had come, and Belle Fleurs had become a place of idyllic love. It would never again be that way for her, Jasmine thought, but it very well could be for Autumn. Reaching out, she took her daughter’s hand and gave it a little squeeze.

“Aye, ma bébé, that is Belle Fleurs,” she said.