Читать книгу Intrigued - Bertrice Small - Страница 11

Chapter 4

The chateau was set on a tiny peninsula of land, surrounded by the waters of its lake on three sides. On the fourth side a large, beautiful garden was enclosed with a low stone wall. Built in the year 1415, Belle Fleurs was now 235 years old, but its original construction had been sound, and considered quite modern for its day. Constructed of flattened, rough-hewn blocks of reddish-gray schist, Belle Fleurs had four polygonal towers, with dark slate roofs that were shaped like witches’ hats, set at each corner of the building. The coach’s access to the courtyard was over a heavily constructed bridge through a tall, well-fortified chatelet flanked by rounded and corbeled towers rising high on either side of the entry arch.

As their vehicle came to a stop, a man of middle years hurried forward even before Fergus might come down from the box. Opening the coach’s door, he lowered its steps and offered a hand to Jasmine first, and then her daughter. “Welcome, madame la duchesse!” he said. “I am Guillaume. I hope your trip was a pleasant one.” He bowed neatly.

“Very pleasant,” she answered him, impressed by his air of assurance. “The house is ready to receive us?”

“Oui, madame, but I took the liberty of waiting until you arrived to hire more servants. My wife, Pascaline, and I can serve you and your daughter for the next few days. I see you have your own personal staff as well.”

“We will need gardeners to trim the trees and bushes along the entrance way,” Jasmine said, “and the road needs to be raked smooth. It is far too rutted.” She let him lead her into the chateau, followed by the others. They went up a small flight of stone steps past a covered stone porch and found themselves in a wide foyer. “Ahh,” she said with a smile, “it is good to be back.” Then she turned to her caretaker. “I remember my grandmother telling me that there once was another Guillaume here at Belle Fleurs. Are you related to him?”

“My great-grandparents, Guillaume and Mignon, had the pleasure of serving your grandparents, madame la duchesse. It was the lord de Marisco who bought the chateau from a Huguenot gentleman after the St. Bartholomew’s Massacre in Paris following Henri of Navarre’s wedding to the Princess Margot. The previous owner thought it advisable to retire to La Rochelle. Ah, here is my good wife. Come, Pascaline, and meet our mistress and the young mistress. You will show them and their maidservants to their chambers.”

Adali stepped forward. Age had shrunk him somewhat, but he still possessed an air of command about him. “I am madame la duchesse’s majordomo,” he said. “I have been to Belle Fleurs before. Fergus”—he beckoned the man forward—“and his wife, Toramalli, will want quarters together, and such are available, I know. Madame la duchesse’s personal captain will also sleep in the house.” He turned and favored the plump Pascaline with a brief smile. “Madame and the demoiselle will eat in the Great Hall tonight. You are prepared, bonne femme?”

“Oui, M’sieu Adali,” Pascaline said with a curtsey. She recognized authority when she saw it. “The meal is a simple one, but nourishing.”

“Excellent!” Adali said. “Now, mes amies, let us get the baggage unloaded as quickly as possible. I smell rain in the air.”

“Adali is in his glory again,” Autumn chuckled to her mother. “He is really lost without a house to run, isn’t he?”

“This is not Glenkirk,” Jasmine said to her daughter. “This is a small chateau as chateaux go. The kitchens are below us, as are the servants’ quarters. In addition to the Great Hall, there is a small library on this level, and upstairs only six bedchambers. Not apartments with several rooms, but simple bedchambers. Outside you will, when you have time to explore, find stables, a kennel, a falconry, and a dovecote.”

“It is pretty,” Autumn said, “but not very grand.”

“Nay, it is not grand. It is a chateau for lovers, or for a small family. My cousins’ chateau, Archambault, is grand, and eventually I shall take you to see it,” Jasmine promised.

They settled themselves in, and during the next few days Autumn was kept busy arranging her chamber to suit herself and unpacking. Her room overlooked the lake, and the single window had a seat built into it where Autumn found she liked to sit looking out through the leaded panes, sometimes unfastening the window to familiarize herself with the scent of the fertile French countryside. The furnishings were simple, of ancient but well-polished golden oak.

There was a large bedstead with a seven-foot oak headboard carved with flowers and vines, a solid canopy of oak overhead that was held up by the headboard, and the two carved wooden posts at the foot of the bed. It was certainly not as big as the one in Mama’s room, which was enormous. She had a tall oak cupboard called an armoire in which Lily hung her gowns, and a fine oak chest for the rest of her possessions. There was a single little table on one side of the bed that was set opposite a fireplace flanked with carved stone angels.

The bed hangings, which were hung from tarnished brass rings, were made of a faded rose-colored velvet. The cushion in the window seat was a natural colored linen with rose velvet flowers embroidered onto it. The window had a large shutter that could be closed to keep out the cold air, along with linen and velvet drapes. Beneath the bed was a trundle with a thick mattress for Lily to sleep upon, and on the little nightstand a silver taperstick with its own snuffer attached by a delicate silver link. On each end of the narrow fireplace mantel sat small, square porcelain bowls of potpourri that perfumed the chamber. Despite her reservations regarding the social disadvantages of living in such an isolated and small chateau, Autumn liked her bedchamber, and she liked Belle Fleurs.

Adali, with the aid of Guillaume, hired servants for the chateau. Pascaline would be their cook, but she needed two girls to help her, as well as a boy to scrub the pots and sharpen the knives. A laundress and her helper were employed, as well as three housemaids and three footmen. Two men were hired for work in the stables. A head gardener and half a dozen men would work on the grounds, seeing that the gardens were properly kept and the driveway cleared of brush and tree limbs. Guillaume would oversee all who worked outside, and Adali would manage the inside of the chateau. Red Hugh and Fergus were responsible for gamekeeping, and would protect the duchess and her daughter. Within two weeks the household was running smoothly and Autumn and her mother had settled in quite comfortably.

Then one afternoon in early December, a distinguished gentleman rode up to the chateau. Dismounting in the courtyard, he gave his horse to the attending stableman and entered the house. Adali hurried forward.

“Monsieur le Comte, you are most welcome to Belle Fleurs. I shall tell my mistress you are here. Come into the hall. Marc, wine for monsieur le comte!” Ushering the guest into the Great Hall, he hurried off to fetch Jasmine.

“Philippe!” She came into the hall, hands outstretched, a welcoming smile upon her lips.

“Cousine, you have not changed a bit in all the years that have separated us,” he said gallantly, kissing her on both cheeks.

“Liar!” she laughed.

“I was sorry to hear of your husband’s death,” he told her.

“And I of Marie Louise’s passing,” she returned. “Come, Philippe, and sit by the fire. ’Tis a cold day, and you must be chilled from your ride.”

They sat together, and he said, “You have come to France to escape Cromwell and his Puritans, I have no doubt.”

“You cannot imagine how dreadful it is, Philippe,” she told him, and went on to describe the bleak England of Protector Cromwell. “I could bear it for myself, but not for Autumn. There is no society as we once knew it any longer, Philippe. I have come to France to mourn in peace, to escape the joylessness of England today, but most important, I have come to seek a suitable husband for my youngest child. She is just nineteen and probably the most beautiful of all my daughters. There was no one in Scotland for her, and certainly no one in England today who would do. So I have come to Belle Fleurs.”

He nodded, understanding. Then he said, “France has been in turmoil these past years, Jasmine. The king was hardly out of leading strings when his father died. Old Louis was no fool, and he was wise enough to make the queen regent for the boy, but that has caused such difficulty. Anne of Austria is also no fool. She has leaned heavily upon the cardinal, but the princes of the blood hate him and are jealous. I am glad you sailed to Nantes. Had you come via Calais you might never have gotten to Belle Fleurs. We have been fortunate in this little region, for we have seen little fighting, but about us all is conflict.”

“Has it really been that bad, Philippe? We heard little of it at Glenkirk, and in England all we discuss is the king’s murder and the young king’s hopes of restoration.”

“It has been that bad,” he said. “Last January the queen mother had the Prince de Conde, the Prince de Conti, and the Duc de Longueville arrested. Then she had to pacify Normandy and Burgundy. She left Paris in the hands of Monsieur while she went to Guyennne to restore their loyalty. Gaston d’Orleans’s loyalty is insecure at best and treasonous at worst, but he is her brother-in-law. He has never gotten over the fact that Louis XIII made his wife regent and not him.”

“I thought Conde was loyal,” Jasmine said.

“He runs with the hares and hunts with the hounds,” the Comte de Cher said dryly. “The chief troublemaker in all of this is Jean Francoise Paul de Gondi, the Archbishop of both Corinth and Paris. If there is a treasonous plot, you will be certain to find Gondi involved. For all his public piety, he is a very wicked and ambitious man. He has always believed that the queen mother was not fit, by virtue of her sex, to be the regent. If anyone is responsible for the estrangement between Monsieur and Anne of Austria, it is Gondi. So he lures Gaston d’Orleans, and the cardinal tries to convince the Duc de Bouillon, and his brother, Marshall Turenne, to give their complete loyalty to the queen mother. The marshall had some success in an August campaign in Champagne. The cardinal knew that if Turenne declared for Anne in light of his recent victories, it would be good for the young king. Turenne, however, refused, and so the cardinal made certain his next battle would cost him dearly for his presumption. He was beaten at Rethel only this autumn, but now the two Frondes, the first led by Gondi, and the Parisian burghers has joined with that of the princes. Only God knows what will happen now, ma cousine. I am not certain that in coming to France you have not jumped from the frying pan into the fire.”

“When will the king declare his majority?” Jasmine asked.

“Next September, following his thirteenth birthday. That was what his father wanted, and frankly, cherie, if the regency went on much longer, I should fear for King Louis’s life. All Anne and Cardinal Mazarin have to do is keep the boy in their hands until his next birthday. Once he is king in fact as well as in name, these rebels cannot continue on lest they be declared traitors. For now they keep France involved in civil wars under the guise of attempting to protect the king from his mother and the cardinal,” the comte explained.

“What do you think of Mazarin?” she inquired, curious.

“He learned well from Richelieu. This cardinal is a consummate politician, but he is honestly and entirely devoted to young Louis. The men who struggle against Mazarin are driven by self-interest,” Philippe de Saville told her. Then he patted her hand. “There is nothing for you in Paris right now, cherie, but here in this region, life goes on as it always has.” He chuckled. “No patriotic Frenchman would bring war into the vineyards, ma cousine. The early vintage is paramount.”

She laughed, then grew more somber. “But are there suitable prospects for my daughter, Philippe?”

“That is a woman’s matter, cherie. We must ask my sisters, Gaby and Antoniette. They will know, for they have daughters who needed to be married off once. Gaby and ’Toinette are like us, bereft of their mates now, and living with me at Archambault.” He chuckled. “They far prefer the spacious home of their childhood to the little dower houses each would have had to accept. Do you have a dower house at Glenkirk?”

“Nay, but there is one at Cadby, and why the architects of these houses think widows need less room simply because they no longer have husbands is beyond me,” Jasmine said indignantly.

“Mama. Adali said we had guests.” Autumn came into the hall. Her gown was of simple silver-blue damask, both bodice and skirt, with a wide collar of white linen edged in silver lace. Her hair was neat but not dressed, being plaited into a thick braid.

“Tres charmante!” Philippe de Saville said with a smile.

“This is my daughter, Lady Autumn Rose Leslie, monsieur le comte,” Jasmine said formally. Then she turned to the young girl. “Autumn, this is my cousin, Philippe de Saville, the Comte de Cher. With his permission you will call him Oncle Philippe.”

Autumn made her curtsey. “How do you do, Oncle Philippe,” she said, and gave him her hand. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

He kissed the elegant hand and bowed. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, ma petite. How lovely you are. We shall have no difficulty in finding you a husband.”

“Oh, but I mean to go to Paris to court to seek a husband,” Autumn replied frankly. “Certainly no one of importance lives in the provinces, Oncle. I am an heiress, you know, and will accept only an aristocrat of good family with his own wealth, so I may be certain he doesn’t wed me merely for mine, and will not love me.”

Philippe de Saville laughed heartily. “Mon Dieu, ma cousine, she is like every other woman in this family. Outspoken, and most frank. Ma petite,” he then said to Autumn, “your mama will explain the situation to you, but for the moment there is no real court in Paris because of our civil disturbances. Within the next year, however, that will change. In the meantime you will partake of society here in the region, and you will not find it lacking, I promise you.” Rising, he directed his next speech to Jasmine. “Come to Archambault for the twelve days of Christmas, but come before, on St. Thomas’s Day. My sisters will probably come to see you before then, so they may begin their plotting.” He bowed to both women and then took his leave.

“No court?” Autumn looked crestfallen.

“Perhaps it is better that you make your debut into society here first,” the mother soothed her daughter, secretly relieved. Autumn couldn’t know it, but court was such a bother, and the French court was more formal and devious than England’s court. I don’t know if I have the patience for this sort of thing anymore, Jasmine thought.

“I like Oncle Philippe,” Autumn said with a smile.

“You will like his sisters too,” Jasmine promised, “and they will be most valuable in introducing you into society here. You are related by blood through your great-grandfather de Marisco, whose mother was the second wife of the Comte de Cher and great-grandmother of Oncle Philippe.”

“I never knew I had a French family on your side, Mama. Papa would occasionally mention his uncles in France. Where are they?”

“Nearer to Paris. Eventually we shall meet them when the young king reaches his majority and the country is safe.”

“I will need new gowns if I am to go to Archambault,” Autumn said slyly. “You would not want me to appear a poor and unfashionable Scots cousin, Mama.”

Jasmine laughed. “We will wait until my cousins Gaby and Antoinette arrive, which, if the weather remains pleasant, will certainly be in a day or so. They will know just what to do.”

“May I ride this afternoon?” Autumn asked her mother.

“Of course, ma bébé, but remember, do not stray far. You do not know your way yet,” Jasmine cautioned.

Autumn loved the horse she now rode. He was a tall and slender black gelding she had named, simply, Noir. She had changed from her gown into dark green woolen breeches lined in silk to protect her delicate skin from chafing; a white silk shirt that tied at the neck and had full sleeves; and a dark leather jerkin with carved ivory buttons edged in silver. Her boots, which fit to the knee, were of brown leather. The afternoon, while cool, was not cold, and so she wore no cape or cloak.

She followed a trail behind the gardens beyond the low stone wall into the woods. The trees were now bereft of their leaves, which had fallen and dried. They made a pleasant crunching noise beneath Noir’s hooves. Soon the chateau disappeared behind her. About her in the branches, the rooks chattered companionably to each other as they preened. Autumn followed the trail until she came to a brook that rushed swiftly over a rocky streambed. Stopping, she debated whether they might cross it without injury to herself or the horse.

“It is not safe,” a voice suddenly cut into her consciousness.

Startled, Autumn looked across the water and saw a man, dressed as casually as she was, sitting beneath a tree, while his own horse browsed nearby. “How do you know?” she demanded of him. “Have you tried?”

“The bottom is uneven, mademoiselle. It would be a pity for such a fine animal as the one you ride to break his leg and have to be destroyed,” the gentleman said.

“But I am curious as to what lies beyond this brook,” Autumn said, wondering who the man was. Probably a poacher who didn’t want her to know what he was up to, and so was attempting to scare her off.

“The water is the dividing line between the lands belonging to the chateau of Belle Fleurs and the lands belonging to the Marquis de Auriville,” the man said. “You would be trespassing, mademoiselle, should you cross over,” he told her.

“Who are you?” Autumn said boldly.

“Who are you?” he rejoined.

“I am Lady Autumn Rose Leslie. My mama owns Belle Fleurs, and we have come to live here, for England is not a happy place now.”

“Neither is France, mademoiselle. You have merely exchanged one civil war for another, I fear,” he said as he arose from his place and stretched lazily. He was a very handsome man with a long face.

“Are you a poacher?” she asked him, not doubting for a moment that he would lie if he were.

“No, mademoiselle, I am not a poacher,” he said with an amused laugh. How ingenuous Lady Autumn Rose Leslie was, he thought.

“Then who are you?” she again asked him, thinking that he really was very tall. Every bit as tall as her brother Patrick.

“I am a thief, mademoiselle,” he replied.

Not in the least nonplussed, she countered, “What do you steal, monsieur?” He was obviously mocking her. He didn’t look like a bandit at all.

“Hearts, cherie,” came the startling reply, and then the man turned, caught his mount and, vaulting into his saddle, blew her a kiss as he rode off.

Astounded, Autumn watched as the man and his horse disappeared into the trees on the other side of the stream. She suddenly realized that not only was her heart racing, but her cheeks felt hot. It was all very confusing. Taking his advice, Autumn turned Noir back toward the chateau. If the lands on the other side of the brook did belong to someone else, then she really did not have the right to ride there unless she gained the owner’s permission first.

When she returned to her home she sought out Guillaume and asked him, “To whom do the lands beyond the brook belong?”

“Why, to the Marquis de Auriville, my lady,” he answered. “Why do you ask?”

“I was curious,” Autumn said with a little shrug. “I considered crossing the stream this afternoon but then worried I might be trespassing.”

“It is a good thing you did not attempt it, my lady,” Guillaume said. “The streambed is very rocky and uneven. Noir could have been injured. I am glad you are so careful with him. He is a fine mount.”

The very next day the Comte de Cher’s two widowed sisters, Madame de Belfort and Madame St. Omer, arrived at Belle Fleurs shortly after nine o’clock in the morning. With small shrieks of glee they rushed into the Great Hall, chattering nonstop.

“Jasmine! Mon Dieu, cousine, you have not changed at all! You have the figure of a young girl, despite all those children you produced for your husbands! And your hair! It is still dark but for those two little silver chevrons on either side of your head!” Gabrielle de Belfort kissed her cousin on both cheeks and plunked her plump figure down by the fire, gratefully accepting a goblet of wine from Adali. “Adali, you are an old man. How could this have happened?” She smiled at him.

“Time, madame, I fear, has finally caught up with me,” he said, returning her smile. “You, however, remain summer-fair.”

“Very late summer,” Antoinette St. Omer said dryly. “Bonjour, Jasmine. You must cease wearing black as soon as possible. Your skin is too sallow for it. Jemmie, I’m certain, would agree with me. Where is your daughter? We have come to inspect her so we may plan how to help you marry her off. Philippe says she is lovely.”

“Adali, go and fetch Autumn. Tell her her tantes have arrived.” Jasmine turned to her two cousins. “I have told her she is to call you both tante, as she has begun to call your brother oncle. We are seeking a husband, but first I think Autumn could use a bit of society, for she had none in the wilds of Scotland. By the time she was old enough for it, England was embroiled in civil war.”

“There will be plenty of festivities at Archambault shortly, and Philippe loves to entertain despite his widowed state. It was really he who planned all the parties, even when Marie Louise was alive. She was best at running the house and giving him his sons,” Antoinette said. While her sister was plump and short of stature, she was tall and spare, with her father’s dark brown eyes, and iron gray hair that was fixed in the latest style of short curls.

“Oh, yes,” Gaby interjected. “Philippe gives marvelous parties! Everyone in the entire area, and even beyond it, wants to come. Fortunately none of the vineyards is owned by any of the grand nobles, so we have escaped the war, and our young men have remained at home.” She shivered delicately. “War is such a nasty and dirty business. I do not know why men want to play at it. I truly don’t!”

“Power does not appeal to my sister,” Madame St. Omer said with a wink at Jasmine. “Ahh, here is the child. Come forward, girl, and let me see you. I am your Tante Antoinette St. Omer, and this is your Tante Gabrielle de Belfort.”

Autumn hurried into the Great Hall to join the three women. She curtsied prettily, saying as she did so, “Bonjour, tantes. I am happy to meet you.”

Madame St. Omer, who had not sat down since she entered the hall, took Autumn’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, turning her head first this way and then that. “The skin is good, in fact excellent,” she pronounced. Reaching around, she drew the thick braid into her hand and fingered its ends. “The hair is a good color and soft, yet not fine.” Releasing the plait, she stared critically at Autumn’s face. “The bones are good, the forehead high, the nose straight, the chin in proportion, the lips perhaps a trifle wide.” Then she gasped. “Mon Dieu, child! Your eyes are different colors! One is the marvelous turquoise of your mama’s, but the other is as green as a summer leaf. Where on earth did you ever get eyes like that?” Obviously overcome, she sat down, finally accepting the wine the footman had been waiting to give her and swallowing down a long draught of it.

“I owe my green eye to my paternal grandmother, Lady Hepburn,” Autumn said with a chuckle. “I have always thought that my features, being so unique, would fascinate the gentlemen, tante. Do you know, or have you ever known a girl with such a feature as my eyes?”

“I have not!” Madame St. Omer answered, “but you may very well be right, ma petite. What others might see as a defect may very well prove bewitching to a suitor. You are shrewd, Autumn Leslie, and that is the French in you!” She turned to her sister. “Is she not lovely, Gaby? We shall have such fun planning her wardrobe. . . .” She stopped, turning back to Autumn. “You have jewelry, ma petite?”

“I have jewelry,” Jasmine spoke up before her daughter might, and her two cousins nodded.

“Oh, what a winter it is going to be,” Madame St. Omer said, pleased. “There are several eminently suitable gentlemen who would make excellent husbands for your daughter, ma cousine. Gaby’s late husband was related to one: Pierre Etienne St. Mihiel, the Duc de Belfort. And then there is Jean Sebastian d’Oleron, the Marquis de Auriville; and Guy Claude d’Auray, the Comte de Montroi. These three are the creme de la creme in our area. All have their own estates and are very well endowed financially, so you need not fear they are fortune hunters. Even at court you could not find better matches.”

“Are they handsome?” Autumn wanted to know.

“Oui,” her aunt said. “I suppose they are, but ma petite, it is not a pretty face you must consider first, but a man’s character and his purse. Jasmine, ma cherie, have you a priest in residence?”

“No, ’Toinette, we do not,” came the reply. They were in France now, and she would revert to the faith of her childhood, although such a thing had never made a great difference to her. Still, she had been baptized a Roman Catholic and taught by her cousin, the Jesuit Father Cullen Butler. He had died the year before on her former estates in Ulster, a man in his mid-eighties.

“Your Guillaume has a son who has just been ordained,” Madame St. Omer told her. “This would make an excellent living for him. You must see to it, Jasmine. Your daughter, I suspect, has been raised a Protestant, n’est-ce pas?”

“Aye, but she was baptized in Ulster shortly after she was born by both a priest and then a minister,” Jasmine said.

“But she does not know her catechism, I am certain. If she is to wed a respectable Frenchman, she must be taught these things.”

Jasmine nodded. “You are right,” she said slowly. “I shall speak to Guillaume immediately. There is a small chapel here in the house somewhere. We will reopen it, and the priest can hold mass each day.” She laughed softly. “How pleased Father Cullen would be.”

“We will bring our own tailor tomorrow,” Madame de Belfort said. “Autumn must have several pretty new gowns for her visit to Archambault. As I recall there is a storeroom beneath the hall, Jasmine. I will wager you will find the materials your grandmother bought stored away there. If not, we shall send to Nantes for some, but la petite must be shown to her best advantage. There are, after all, other young, unmarried girls in the region who are fishing for husbands. She will have serious competition.

“Nonsense!” Madame St. Omer contradicted her sister. “There isn’t a girl in the region as beautiful, and certainly not as wealthy. We shall have all we can do, keeping the fortune hunters away and seeing that only the right gentlemen are permitted to court Autumn. I am so glad, cher Jasmine, that you have put this matter into our hands.” She smiled at her cousin, displaying her large, almost rabbbity teeth.

After the two sisters had taken their leave, with promises to return early the following day, Autumn said to her mother, “The tantes are so . . .” She struggled to find the right word but could not.

“Overwhelming?” Jasmine supplied with a smile. “Aye, both Gaby and ’Toinette are all-engulfing in their desire to see that everything is done properly. I remember my grandmother saying that they were very much like their mother, but Autumn, we are fortunate to have their good advice. I want you happy, my child, and your father would too.”

Suddenly Autumn’s eyes filled with tears. “I miss him, Mama,” she said brokenly. “Why did he insist on going to war for the Stuarts?”

Jasmine closed her eyes for a long moment so she might manage her own grief. Then, opening them, she said, “You know why, Autumn. James Leslie was the most honorable man I have ever known. He knew it was a fatal mistake for the Leslies of Glenkirk to defend and follow after the Stuarts, but they were his overlords, and related to him by blood. In his mind, even realizing it was likely to be a disaster, he felt compelled to obey their call, particularly as his own distant Leslie kin were involved up to their hips in the muddle. Your father might have pleaded his age, but he would not, and it was there he and I disagreed. I do not believe his honor would have been compromised by refusing to go. He did. It was easier for him to live with my disapproval than his own self-scorn. So he is dead and in his tomb at Glenkirk, and you and I are here in France, attempting to make a new life for ourselves.”

“But what of Patrick?” Autumn fretted.

Her mother laughed now. “Poor Patrick. He always knew that one day he should be the Duke of Glenkirk, but I know he never expected to find himself with all that responsibility so soon. He will survive. Both your father and I were good teachers. Patrick will reach down into himself to find he has both the wisdom and the strength to do what he must. Before I left him I advised him to find a wife to stand by his side. He should have by now had his fill of enjoying the ladies while avoiding his obligations. Now he has no choice in the matter.” She laughed again. “When I left Glenkirk I thought never to return, but now I know that I will one day go back. After all, I do want to be buried next to your father when my time comes.”

“Oh, do not talk of your death, Mama!” Autumn cried, genuinely distressed, throwing her arms about her surviving parent.

“I intend to live to be an old lady, even as my mother is and my grandmother was,” Jasmine soothed her daughter. “I must if I am to see your children and spoil them as Madame Skye spoiled me.”

“Grandmama Velvet never spoiled me,” Autumn said.

“It is not my mother’s way,” Jasmine said.

“And I never knew Papa’s mother, even though I get my green eye from her,” Autumn said. “I remember when I was almost thirteen, her coffin was brought home from Italy. I never knew where she was buried. Papa said it was a secret. Why was that?”

“I suppose it is all right for me to tell you now,” Jasmine said. “Your grandmother’s great love was her second husband, Francis Stewart-Hepburn, the last Earl of Bothwell. He was King James’s first cousin, and poor Jamie was terrified of him, for Francis was everything the king wasn’t. He was highly intelligent, handsome, passionate, and clever. He was called the uncrowned King of Scotland, which of course didn’t please the king or his adherents. His weakness, however, was that when his royal cousin pushed, Francis, I am told, pushed back twice as hard. The king’s counselors had him accused of witchcraft, claiming he was a warlock.”

“Was he?” Autumn was fascinated by this bit of history, which she had never before heard.

“No, of course not,” Jasmine laughed, “and despite the fact that the courts dragged forth several hysterical women—of low birth, I might add—claiming to be witches who identified him as a member of their coven, nothing could really be proved. What no one knew was that the king had a passion for your grandmother. He raped her one night, and she fled to Bothwell, who had been her friend. They fell in love, and eventually, after Lord Bothwell had been exiled and driven from Scotland, your grandmother, who was a widow, joined him, and they were married. It was actually your father who engineered his mother’s escape, and then pretended to know nothing when the king grew angry. Jamie never knew the part your father played.

“When we came to France some years back for the wedding of Princess Henrietta Maria to our king, Charles I, I met your grandmother for the very first and only time. She asked your father when she died to bring her body and Lord Bothwell’s home to Scotland to be buried on the grounds of the old Glenkirk Abbey. He had already predeceased her. Bothwell’s body was removed secretly from its grave in the garden of their villa in Naples. His bones were placed in your grandmother’s coffin with her, and they were, as she had requested, interred together. Your father did not tell me until the coffin was returned to Scotland. Patrick knows now, for I told him before I left Glenkirk, so he would be certain to see the grave was always tended properly. Now you know, Autumn.”

“I think that is the most romantic story I have ever heard!” Autumn said with a gusty sigh.

“And that is not even the entire story,” Jasmine said with a smile, “but it is much too long a tale for today. Now we must consider preparing you for society, and the possibility of your finding a husband. I shall give you one word of advice, ma bébé. Do not marry just to marry. Do not choose a man because everyone else says he is the right man. Marry for love, ma fille. Marry only for love!”

“Why would you marry for any other reason, Mama?” Autumn cuddled next to her mother as they sat before the fire.

“Marriage,” Jasmine began, “is a sacrament, and that is what I was taught; but it is a business arrangement as well. There is property and wealth involved with people of our station. More often than not, love is not considered before marriage. It is hoped that it will come after marriage.”

“But what if it doesn’t?” Autumn asked.

“Then it is hoped that at least the couple involved can respect one another and live together in harmony. My first marriage was arranged by my father. I did not meet Jamal Khan until our wedding day. Fortunately my husband and I fell in love as we grew to know each other. My grandparents arranged my second marriage with Rowan Lindley, but he and I were in love before we wed. My third marriage, to your father, was ordered by King James. You know the story, so I need not go into it with you. Your father and I were fortunate in that we loved one another dearly. I allowed your sisters their heart’s desires, and it has turned out well for both of them. Now you, my youngest daughter, my last child, must find a mate. Choose wisely, Autumn. Your marriage will last until his death, or yours.”

Autumn nodded, then asked, “Am I to become a Catholic, Mama?”

“You were baptized one, although you were not raised in that faith. Such things are not important to me, but here in France they are. I will speak with Guillaume about his son, who is a priest, so you may be taught the faith you must practice and must teach your children one day,” Jasmine told her daughter.

Then, that same day, she spoke with Guillaume about his son.

“Has he found a place yet?”

“No, madame la duchesse, he has not,” answered Guillaume.

“Since I intend making my home here at Belle Fleurs, we must really have a priest,” Jasmine explained. “There is a chapel here in the house, isn’t there?”

“Oui, madame, behind the hall next to the library,” came the reply, “but it has not been used in years,” Guillaume said.

“I shall tell Adali to have the serving girls open it up and clean it. What is your son’s name?”

“Bernard,” Guillaume replied. He could barely stand still, for he wanted to go and tell his wife, Pascaline, of this stroke of good fortune that had befallen them.

“Tell Pere Bernard that I shall expect him here before week’s end to take up his duties. He will live in the house until a small cottage can be built for him. I will explain his responsibilities to him when he arrives and is settled. Go and tell your bonne femme now, for I can see in your eyes that you are anxious to do so.” Then Jasmine smiled.

Guillaume bowed several times. “Merci, madame la duchesse, mille merci!” He hurried off in the direction of the kitchens.

They had settled in, and now Jasmine was bringing a priest to the house. France was really going to be her home, she considered. I never thought to leave Glenkirk when I married Jemmie. I have lived so many places in my life. I wonder if this is my final home, or whether fate will surprise me again in my old age. Then she laughed softly at herself. A change made life interesting. She had gotten too complacent with her life at Glenkirk. She had not left there since they had come home from Ulster, and Autumn had been a little baby. Oh, occasionally she would come down into England for an English summer with her mother, but Queen’s Malvern had changed with Charlie’s marriage to Bess. She had been content to remain in her own home.

Now, however, life was taking her by the hand and leading her down a new path. She hoped she had done the right thing, bringing Autumn to France. What if she didn’t find a husband to love? What would happen to her daughter then? Jasmine sighed deeply. She had always considered herself independent and self-reliant. Now she wished Jemmie Leslie, her beloved husband, was still by her side. All these decisions she had made regarding her children she had made with his help and advice. They had looked over their combined family together. She hadn’t done it alone at all. Not until now.

“Damn the Stuarts!” she said softly. “And damn you, Jemmie Leslie, for going off and leaving me alone! Your loyalty to me should have been greater than your loyalty to the Stuarts. What did they ever do for you? Nothing!” Then she began to cry bitter tears.

“My princess, drink this.” Her faithful Adali was by her side, pressing a small crystal of cordial into her hand.

She swallowed the potent liquid down and then said, “What am I to do without him, Adali? What if I have made the wrong move in this chess game of life?” She looked up at the old man, now past eighty.

The kindly brown eyes met hers without hesitation. “His loss is great indeed, my princess, but we survived before him and we will survive now. There was nothing for your daughter in Scotland or England. If her fate is here, we will know it soon enough. If not, we will go where we are directed, even as we have always done. You are strong, my princess. You have always been strong. Rohana, Toramalli, and I have been by your side since your birth to aid you. None of us will desert you now.”

“We are old, Adali,” she said. “I am past sixty.”

He made an elegant swirl of motion with his hand. “Age, my princess, is but a number. Oh, the body grows old, but it is what is in the heart that keeps us young.”

She was forced to smile now. “Then like Grandmama, I shall remain forever young, Adali, even if I eventually turn into a wizened crone.” She swallowed down the rest of the cordial. “I think I have finished feeling sorry for myself now. Thank you.”

He bowed slightly from the waist. “I overheard the two mesdames, and I have been to the storerooms in the cellar below the kitchens. It is filled with trunks holding absolutely magnificent fabrics. The trunks were cedar, and lined in copper. The fabrics are free of mildew, or mold. They will, of course, need airing to disperse the cedar fragrance, but other than that, they will be fine. I shall have them brought to the hall. The chapel was locked, and I could not find the key for it, but relying on some of my old skills, I managed to open the door. We shall take the lock to the blacksmith and have a new key made.”

“You will not let me rest, Adali, will you?” Jasmine said with a chuckle, and she patted his arm lovingly.

“Time will not wait for us, my princess, no matter how much we wish it,” Adali said. “We have work to do if young Autumn is to be ready for her debut into French society.”

The Duchess of Glenkirk arose from her chair by the fire. “Very well, Adali, lead on,” she told him, and together they departed the Great Hall.