Darling Jasmine

by Bertrice Small

  “Possibly,” he agreed, then said, “We must talk, madame.”

  “Not before the children, I beg you, my lord,” Jasmine replied. Her voice was soft, her glance pleading. “We seem to end up shouting at one another, and I do not want to do so before my little ones.”

  “Of course, madame,” he answered her. “You are correct that the children should not be involved in our difficulties. I understand, but nonetheless we must talk, and at least for your children’s sake resolve our differences.” His green-gold eyes regarded her dispassionately.

  She met his gaze directly. “Would it not be better if we renewed our acquaintanceship again, my lord, before we spoke on serious matters? And I would seek my grandmother’s advice as well.”

  James Leslie swallowed a mouthful of egg poached in cream sauce and marsala wine and seasoned with peppercorns. It was a particularly tasty dish, and he wondered if the cook was Jasmine’s, or belonged to the château. Wiping his mouth with his napkin, he said, “The last time you consulted with your grandmother regarding our future relationship, madame, you fled England. I am not certain her counsel is a wise one.”

  “The idea to go was not hers, but mine,” Jasmine said quietly, “and she only allowed it because she thought I would return by summer’s end. Please don’t blame my grandmother for my actions. Besides, do you think me some mindless ninny that I cannot reason the consequences of my own actions? Please, sir, do not insult me.”

  “Your thought has merit,” he told her. “Just how, madame, do you suggest we renew our familiarity with one another?” Although his voice was neutral, Jasmine thought the look he gave her both mocking and challenging. And was that a twinkle in his eye?

  She struggled to maintain her equilibrium, determined not to show anger before her son and daughters, although she secretly longed to smack him. “I thought when you were finished eating,” she began, “we might go and see Prince Henry’s son, my lord.” She would ignore his childish innuendo. It was not deserving of a reply.

  The earl of Glenkirk swallowed back a chuckle. So, he could not get her to rise to his bait, eh? He realized how very little he really knew her. The idea of remaining in France and truly getting to know Jasmine was actually beginning to appeal to him. He swallowed a piece of ham, washing it down with a goblet of excellent cider, and said to her, “Is my youngest ward in good health, madame?”

  “As all my children are, my lord,” Jasmine answered. “I have kept my grandmother fully informed, and she in turn has kept the queen fully informed. I did not want Hal’s parents fretting over his son, particularly given the distress the scandal involving Robert Carr and his wife is causing them now.”

  James Leslie was about to make a retort when his eye was caught by young Henry Lindley, already halfway down the hall. “My lord of Westleigh,” he called to the boy. “Where are you going?”

  Henry turned. “I have finished my meal, sir,” he said.

  “You have left the table without asking your mother’s permission to be excused, sir,” the earl said sternly. “Come back at once, and do so. In future I will expect that you remember this courtesy.”

  Henry Lindley returned to stand before the highboard. He bowed politely, saying to his mother, “Madame, may I now be excused from your board? The meal was most delicious.”

  “You are excused, Henry,” Jasmine replied formally, nodding to her son. “Where are you going?”

  “To the stables, madame. My pony needs attention.”

  “Take him an apple,” Jasmine told her son with a smile.

  “Thank you,” Henry Lindley said, bowing again to his mother and then to Lord Leslie before running off.

  India and Fortune were before the highboard now. “May we be excused too, Mama?” India spoke for them both.

  Jasmine nodded. “Go and tell your great-grandmother that I will join her shortly.”

  “Yes, Mama,” India said primly, and she and Fortune curtsied to the two adults.

  “India,” Jasmine said to her daughter, “you do not need my instruction in the art of curtsying. You and your sister do it quite perfectly.” Then she smiled at her two little daughters, who, with delighted faces, tripped out of the hall.

  “Your children love you,” he noted.

  Jasmine looked surprised. “Why would they not?” she wondered.

  “Many mothers among our class are not maternal,” he said. “They prefer spending their time at court and entertaining their own pursuits to mothering their bairns. That difficult task they leave to their servants, I fear,” he replied.

  “My mother did not,” Jasmine said. “The mother who raised me was a Mughal princess, and while we had servants to serve us, never did Rugaiya Begum neglect me. I but follow her example and that of my other mother, Lady Gordon. One cannot expect one’s children to grow into responsible men and women if one does not see to their education personally, my lord. While I have allowed my sons and daughters the freedom to run while here at Belle Fleurs, I will see that they are brought up properly so that they will not embarrass themselves when we return home to England. They are still, after all, quite small. I want them to enjoy their childhood years and not be overburdened with adult matters before their time.” She arose from the highboard. “Shall we go and see little Charles Frederick, sir?”

  He was impressed by her reasoning and her strong sense of responsibility toward her family. His memories of her were bound up in a single passionate night of love; of a stolen moment he had spied between her and Prince Henry Stuart at Whitehall several years back; of walks in her grandparents’ snowy London garden when it was believed he might wed her stepsister, Sybilla. So much time had passed, and he really didn’t know her at all, but he thought now that he wanted to know her. She was, after all, the woman he was to marry. James Leslie followed Jasmine to the nursery, where the king’s grandson, Charles Frederick Stuart, was in residence.

  The child was his father’s image, all red-gold curls and wide blue eyes. He was garbed in a blue velvet dress trimmed in lace, and his face lit up at the sight of his mother. “Maaaaa!” he crowed, holding out fat, dimpled baby arms, and leaning from his nursemaid’s careful embrace.

  “Charlie-boy,” Jasmine greeted her youngest son, and took him into her arms, kissing his fat cheek.

  “Who he?” the wee boy demanded, pointing a finger at Lord Leslie, his eyes suddenly suspicious. “Who he, Ma?”

  “Who is he,” Jasmine corrected the child. “This, my not so royal little Stuart, is Lord Leslie. Your grandfather, the king, has sent him to be my husband and your new papa. Please greet him as I have taught you, my son. Henry and your sisters have already shown Lord Leslie what fine manners they have. It is your turn.”

  The princely bastard looked James Leslie directly in the eye, and, holding out a small hand, said, “How d’do, sir.” Then he smiled, showing his small pearly teeth, and the earl of Glenkirk saw Prince Henry Stuart all over again, and his heart contracted a moment.

  Taking the little hand in his, he replied, “How do you do, my lord duke. I am honored to meet you at last.”

  “Play ball!” Charles Frederick Stuart said, squirming to escape his mother’s arms and finally succeeding. He ran to fetch a small brightly colored wooden globe, looking hopefully up at the earl. “Play ball?” he repeated, his blue eyes bright.

  Chuckling, James Leslie seated himself upon the floor, cross-legged. “Aye, laddie. We’ll play ball,” he replied grinning.

  The little boy rolled the shiny orb across the floor to the earl, who stopped it neatly and rolled it back to him.

  “I shall leave you to entertain each other,” Jasmine said. “Grandmama will be waiting.” She hurried from the nursery, leaving James Leslie to entertain her son. She had been surprised by his easy agreement to Charlie’s request to play ball. She had been touched to see them both seated upon the floor rolling the round toy back and forth between them. James Leslie did indeed have a heart, at least where her children were concerned. Absently Jasm
ine stroked the silky head of the spaniel she had once again picked up. “What do you think, Feathers? Is this is a man we can live with?”

  The dog looked up at her with soulful brown eyes.

  Jasmine moved along the corridor of the upper hallway to her grandmother’s bedchamber and, knocking, entered. Skye was comfortably ensconced in the large bed, her eyes closed. Daisy had just removed the breakfast tray. “Is she sleeping again?” Jasmine whispered.

  “I am quite awake, darling girl,” Skye said, opening her eyes, “and well rested. I always sleep well at Belle Fleurs.”

  “I wanted to put you in the master chamber last night, but Daisy told Adali no,” Jasmine began, putting the dog down.

  “And quite right, too!” came the reply. “I do not need to be reminded of your grandfather, Jasmine. He is always and forever in my heart. To sleep in that magnificent bed he commissioned built for us when we were wed would have undone me entirely. I have no memories of this room. Some of the children slept here, but I do not recall which of them. It was so long ago. Adam and I were happy here.”

  “I am so sorry, Grandmama,” Jasmine said. “I did not say it last evening when you arrived. I was so stunned by your news, and then by Lord Leslie’s arrival. I allowed my own problems to overwhelm me. I should have been at Queen’s Malvern for you, Grandmama. I should have been there for Grandfather. Now I shall never see him again.”

  “Neither will I,” Skye said softly. “Of all of them, I loved him best of all, darling girl, but don’t ever say I said such a thing, for your aunts and uncles would be heartbroken.”

  “I understand,” Jasmine said. “I loved my first husband, Jamal, and yet I loved Rowan Lindley better. No disrespect can be intended in such an admission.” The younger woman climbed onto the bed next to the older. “What am I to do about Lord Leslie, Grandmama?” she asked. “Oh, I know I must wed him now, and this morning he has shown himself to be kind and patient with the children, but what am I to do about him? He really is most arrogant. Do you know he told me he is descended from an Ottoman sultan, and is as royal as I am? Is it true, I wonder?”

  “I wondered about his lineage,” Skye said, fascinated by her granddaughter’s revelation. “A Scot without a doubt, but there is that slight, almost imperceptible slant to those green eyes of his. A tiny bit of Tartar in the blood. Interesting, indeed. Now what to do about him indeed, darling girl. Since you must wed him, you have no choice but to win him over, I think.”

  “Would the king not reconsider, Grandmama?” Jasmine wondered.

  “Nay, he would not. James Stuart is every bit as intractable as his late cousin, Elizabeth Tudor, and the truth of the matter is that you must have another husband, Jasmine. I would have liked it if you could choose for yourself this time, but it is not to be. You must marry James Leslie, so the sooner you begin to soothe his ruffled feelings the better. I think I may have an idea,” she chuckled.

  “What?” Jasmine asked, curious in spite of herself.

  “I think that you and the earl would do better without the encumbrance of an old lady and four children,” Skye said. “In a week or two I shall take the children to visit their relations over at Archambault, and then we shall go on to Paris. By then the worst of winter will be over, and I shall return to England with my great-grandchildren. You and James will follow when you will. You will have all the time in the world that you need to become reacquainted. Then when you return to England to marry it will be a happy occasion. I would like you wed at Queen’s Malvern, and I shall make my desire known to the earl.”

  “He wants us wed before the entire court,” Jasmine said glumly.

  “A wish hatched in the heat of anger,” Skye replied. “If I say Queen’s Malvern, he will acquiesce,” she concluded with a smile.

  Jasmine laughed at the arch tone in her grandmother’s voice. “Even at your age, madame, no man will refuse you,” she said. “God’s blood, I wish I were more like you!”

  “You are too much like me, I fear,” Skye chuckled. “I hope you will attain a degree of wisdom far sooner than I did. I look back upon my life, with all its wildness and adventures, and I am amazed that I am here today to tell the tale, darling girl.”

  Jasmine looked up into her grandmother’s face. “Don’t ever leave me,” she said quietly.

  Skye patted the younger woman’s hand comfortingly. “One day I will go,” she said, “but not yet, darling girl; and even when this weary old body of mine has released its hold upon my soul I shall yet be with you, Jasmine. You will only have to remember me, and I will be there to whisper in your ear.” Then she chuckled again. “There is one very good thing about your marriage to Lord Leslie,” she told her granddaughter. “You shall not have to change your monogram. Lindley and Leslie both begin with L!”

  Jasmine laughed in spite of herself. “You are extraordinary!” she said to Skye.

  “Indeed I am,” the older woman agreed. “And you are not the first to tell me so, darling girl. Oh, no! You are not the first.”

  “Shameless when she was young, and still shameless,” said Skye’s elderly tiring woman, Daisy Kelly. “Well, lady, are ye going to lie abed the whole day, or shall I prepare yer bath?”

  “A bath, you old harridan,” Skye told her servant and friend. Then she turned to Jasmine. “Where is himself?”

  “In the nursery,” Jasmine replied, “playing ball with Charlie. He is quite amazing with the children. I came into the hall this morning to find him teaching Henry a proper court bow, and both of the girls are taken with him, too. How many children did he have, and how did he lose them?” she wondered. “You know, grandmama, ’tis the only time I see him soften, with the children. He is hard otherwise.”

  “You cannot rely upon the children to soften him,” Skye counseled wisely. “They will grow up and leave you together. If you have nothing to begin with, there will be nothing when the children are gone. Now as to James Leslie’s history, I can remember this. He was wed to a cousin, a Gordon, I believe. There were two sons, and his wife was with child a third time when she took her lads and went visiting at a nearby religious house. The place was attacked by fanatics belonging to the Calvinist faith. They raped, slaughtered, and burned. The young countess and her sons were murdered along with the rest of the nuns. Although the king ordered a full investigation, and demanded the miscreants be caught and punished, none ever were. Naturally, James Leslie was very bitter about it. He still is, I suspect.”

  “And he has never remarried,” Jasmine said thoughtfully.

  “His family has certainly implored him to,” Skye replied. “It has been fifteen years since his wife and children died. His sons would have been grown by now. ’Twas a terrible tragedy he suffered.”

  “Grandmama, when the king first ordered me to wed with the earl I remember that James Leslie told me he had come to Greenwood to ask your permission to court me after that tiny scandal we caused several days earlier. He said you sent him away because you had already arranged my marriage to Rowan. He said you told him it was best I not even know he had been there. Is that true, Grandmama?”

  “Aye,” Skye admitted without hesitation. “The earl does not lie.”

  Jasmine looked reflective, then she sighed. “I’ve been very foolish,” she admitted. “I should not have run away.”

  “Do not distress yourself, my darling girl. You needed more time than it appeared James Leslie was willing to give you. Where you made your mistake was in staying away so long,” her grandmother told her. “And I hold myself responsible for that. Instead of enjoying myself helping you to intrigue against the earl, I should have offered you wise counsel and insisted you return home. The deed is done, and now there is help for it. You must win James Leslie over if you are to have a happy marriage. To that end you will agree with my plan of action, Jasmine. Shall I take the children and wend my way home?”

  “Stay at Belles Fleurs a bit, Grandmama, then we shall spring this little idea of yours upon the earl as if we had just th
ought of it,” Jasmine said. “If he does not agree, we cannot do it, I fear.”

  “And he is apt to say nay if we spring it upon him too soon,” Skye agreed. “We will, however, have to keep the little ones out of the way while they remain here. I know! We shall find them a tutor, and they shall begin their lessons. That way they will be well occupied while I help you to soften up the earl. Then, when he is susceptible, we shall gain his permission, and I shall take the children back to Queen’s Malvern. Left alone, you may seduce the handsome devil, darling Jasmine, and once he is under your sweet spell you’ll wed and live happily ever after,” Skye finished triumphantly. “Ahhh, how such a strategy takes me back to my own youth!”

  Little girl, little girl! Do not interfere so.

  Skye stiffened. She had heard his voice! She had distinctly heard Adam’s voice. Or had she?

  “Grandmama?” Jasmine’s look was a concerned one.

  Skye shook off the eerie feeling. “ ’Tis nothing,” she said, wondering if she was going mad. Then she pushed the sensation far into the back of her consciousness as, filled with new enthusiasm, she began to design in her head new schemes to help her favorite grandchild. Enchanting a man and stealing his heart was not all that difficult, and when a woman was as beautiful and as clever as Jasmine, why it would be almost too easy, the old lady considered. A rival! Yes, the earl of Glenkirk definitely needed a rival for Jasmine’s affections. There was nothing like another man, eager and ready to woo, to make a prospective bridegroom even more anxious. Of course Jasmine could not know, for if James Leslie needed to fall in love with Jasmine again, so Jasmine needed to fall in love with James Leslie as well.

  It would have to be a very handsome man, but a man who was perhaps a trifle shallow and nowhere near as principled as the earl. Her granddaughter was no fool, Skye knew, and would not be taken in by a less honorable man. And just to be absolutely certain Jasmine would not fall in love with the wrong man the rival should be married. Aye! It was a brilliant plan!

  “Run along now, my darling girl,” Skye told Jasmine. Then to Daisy, “Is that bath finally ready, or am I to wait until Michaelmas for it?” She shifted herself from the bed, waving Jasmine off as she did so. “God’s boots! I had forgotten how damp this château gets in the winter. Put more wood on the fire, Daisy. I’m chilled to the bone.”