Darling Jasmine

by Bertrice Small

  “Have you food for yourself and the bargemen, Adali?” Jasmine inquired of him, setting her lavender skirts about her on the grass.

  “Yes, my princess,” he answered her, bowing.

  “Then you may leave us to eat your own meal,” Jasmine told him. “I believe that we may trust the marquis to behave himself, Adali.”

  “I will be within earshot,” Adali responded, and moved away from them back to the barge, where the rowers awaited his further instructions.

  “Will he always be with us?” Piers St. Denis asked her, sitting down.

  “It will keep you from foolish misbehavior, I think,” Jasmine teased him wickedly. “If I were forced to defend myself, I could harm you.”

  He laughed. Despite the fact she was the most irritating women he had ever met, she was also incredibly desirable. “Jasmine, for I intend even without your permission to call you by your name, if you will but give me a chance, you will find I am a most charming fellow. I should make you an excellent husband. I will manage your affairs every bit as well as Rowan Lindley managed them when he was married to you. Now, I’ll have a bit of everything, for I am quite hungry, and your cook is obviously very good. Your Adali was right to send my poor basket away. It was much too common.”

  Now it was Jasmine’s turn to laugh. She began preparing a plate for him as she spoke. “You may call me by my name, if you choose, my lord,” she told him. “As for your managing my affairs, I had best tell you that I manage my own affairs. While I did, on occasion, ask Rowan for his advice, all decisions regarding my wealth abide in my hands. They will continue to remain in my charge.” She handed him a full plate and, pouring a goblet of wine, passed it to him as well.

  “Glenkirk has agreed to such a thing?”

  “I should not have agreed to marry him had he not,” Jasmine replied, putting two chicken wings, a slice of ham, and some bread and cheese on a plate for herself. “Is the wine good? It comes from the French branch of the family at Archambault in the Loire.” She sipped at her own filled goblet appreciatively.

  “You have French relations?”

  “Aye.” She gnawed on a chicken wing.

  He grew silent, eating his food instinctively. This was not a simple woman, he thought again. She was educated. She was independent. She had traveled extensively. She had been the beloved of a prince who, had he lived, would have been England’s next king. She had his son. She was fabulously wealthy. All of this far outweighed his other concerns, but he needed time to rethink his plan of attack. Jasmine was obviously not one bit afraid of the king’s power, nor did she stand in awe of Piers St. Denis, the marquis of Hartsfield. How could he control her? What would frighten her into obeying him? How could he gain control over her wealth? Glenkirk was either a fool, or he had agreed to her wishes intending to get his hands on Jasmine’s wealth after their marriage. He needed time to think.

  When they had finished their meal there was nothing left to do but to return to Greenwood. He could hardly woo her on the riverbank with her bargemen and the disapproving Adali looking over his shoulder. As they progressed back down the river Jasmine began to sneeze. After a bit she started to sniffle. Her eyes grew heavy, and she was much less talkative than she had been when they had begun their journey to the picnic site.

  “Are you ill?” he nervously ventured.

  “I think I may be developing an ague, my lord,” she said unhappily. Then she sneezed several times again. “It is so damp on the river, and it is still spring. Perhaps an outdoor luncheon was not such a good idea after all. AhhhhhChooo! Oh dear!” She fumbled for her handkerchief, shivering visibly as she did so, blowing her nose noisily.

  “We are almost back to your home,” he said, irritated. Good Lord! An ague! What if it was one of those fatal agues? What if she died, and he was held responsible! God’s foot, how Villiers would laugh at his misfortune, all the while sympathizing with the king over her untimely demise. Then he should never get either Jasmine, her wealth, or the power to be had by being the little duke of Lundy’s guardian. “Adali!” Piers St. Denis leaned forward, tugging at Adali’s silk coat.

  “My lord?” Adali had quickly turned about.

  “Your mistress is ill, Adali. Have the rowers row more quickly. She should not be out in this damp air, I fear!”

  Adali peered into the cabin, his face impassive. “Indeed, my lord, my mistress does appear flushed. An ague, I think.” He turned away and ordered the bargemen to a faster pace.

  Reaching the Greenwood quai, Adali immediately took charge, lifting Jasmine from her seat and carrying her up the lawn to the house. “The barge will take you wherever you wish to go, my lord,” he called after the marquis, effectively dismissing him.

  Piers St. Denis stopped dead in his tracks halfway up the lawn. Adali had put him in an untenable position. He could hardly run after Jasmine under the circumstances. He had been given only one choice. Turning about, he walked back down to the barge and climbed into it. “Whitehall,” he said to the bargemen.

  From the library windows she watched him depart, chuckling to herself, well pleased. “Carrying me into the house from the barge was a very nice touch, Adali,” she praised him.

  “I thought so too, my princess,” Adali replied. “How long do you intend suffering with the ague?”

  “I think several days at least, and then I shall allow the marquis a brief bedside visit,” Jasmine replied.

  “Do not be too clever,” Adali warned her. “If the king does not believe his young friend has had enough time to court you, he is quite capable of postponing your wedding to Lord Leslie. I know that you do not want that, nor does your family.”

  “I do not like the marquis,” Jasmine told him. “I told you that he reminded me of Salim, and now I realize why. Do you remember how my brother would say things as if they were absolute fact? I will have you. It was not just words for Salim. It was fact. He wanted me. He would have me. There wasn’t the slightest doubt in his mind that what he wanted he would have. Piers St. Denis behaves exactly the same way. In the face of my open and avowed dislike of him; in the face of my impending marriage to the earl of Glenkirk; he is absolutely and utterly oblivious. He will have me. He truly believes he will, and it is irritating beyond all, Adali!

  “Time I otherwise might have spent with Jemmie, I must now spend with the marquis. I did not wish to remain in London at all, but rather to go home to see my children, from whom I have been separated for many weeks now. I wanted to visit my grandfather’s grave and bid him farewell. All the things I would otherwise occupy my time with, I cannot because I must remain here and allow that obviously greedy little royal sycophant to play at courting me. James Stuart is a meddlesome and sentimental old fool, but it is the last time he will interfere in my life, Adali! I have had enough!”

  Adali could see that his lady was careening into a dangerous temper. He knew that he had to prevent it lest she unwittingly worsen the situation in which she now found herself. If only she had married the earl of Glenkirk two years ago, there would be no difficulty now. “Why do you not send for the children?” he suggested.

  “What?” She looked surprised.

  “We will send a message to your grandmother tomorrow requesting the children be brought to London. The marquis of Hartsfield should, I believe, be exposed to your offspring. After all, does he not seek to become their guardian and stepfather?” There was a twinkle in Adali’s dark eyes. “Little Lord Henry and my Lady India will understand the situation if we tell them. They will like the marquis a little better than you do. As for my Lady Fortune, she will follow the lead of her elder siblings and be the naughtiest of them all. Taking it all in will be the youngest, Duke Charles. Recognizing his brother’s and sisters’ dislike of the marquis, he will reject him, too, when St. Denis, believing himself clever, approaches your son to win his favor. Little ones his age have very strong likes and dislikes, my princess.”

  “It is brilliant!” Jasmine cried. “And the king will be absolutel
y delighted to have some time with his grandson. Send a pigeon at first light, Adali!” Then she clapped her hands and laughed. “I cannot wait to see Piers St. Denis’s face when he is set upon by my children!”

  “I shall write the message to Madame Skye myself,” Adali said. And he did, even before first light, slowly, painstakingly forming the tiny letters on the parchment. It was not necessary to inform the matriarch of the family of everything that had happened since Jasmine’s return to England from France. Adali had already done that, for he always kept in communication with Skye when they were apart. She knew of the king’s new foolishness, of Jasmine’s irritation, of Glenkirk’s trip to Scotland. Now using the code they had devised several years earlier, he told her that the children were needed to help their mother discourage her unwanted suitor. They must leave for London upon receipt of the message. Then, stuffing the tightly rolled parchment into its silver container, he affixed it around the leg of a Queen’s Malvern pigeon and, going to the window, released the bird into the predawn sky. He watched as it turned for home, its wings beating strongly in the cool air.

  For the next three days Piers St. Denis arrived at Greenwood, beribboned bouquet in hand, only to be turned away by Adali. His mistress, the formidable servant reported, was yet too ill to receive visitors. No, a leech had not been called. His mistress did not believe in leeches. Perhaps tomorrow she would be well enough to receive him. On the fourth day, just as the marquis was becoming irritable, Adali greeted him with a broad smile, saying that his mistress would be happy to see the marquis, but only for a few moments. Beckoning the visitor to follow him, he led him up the two flights of stairs to Jasmine’s apartments.

  As he followed Adali, Piers St. Denis’s eyes flickered back and forth, catching glimpses of the rooms above the main level, for he had never been allowed upstairs before. An open door revealed a large library, but the other doors on the second level were closed to his sight. Greenwood was not a particularly large house, and he wondered at its location at the end of a row of homes belonging to the high and very mighty. Its furnishings were fine, but not ostentatious by any means. He might have even called it simple but that the tapestries, the carpets, and the silver were so obviously rich and of the finest quality. They had reached the third floor of the house, and Adali ushered him through the doors into Jasmine’s apartment, through a dayroom, and directly into her bedchamber.

  “My lord!” She held out her hands in welcome to him. Her dark hair was loose about her, and she wore a modest chamber robe with a round, high neckline. He was relieved to see she appeared recovered.

  “You are well?” He kissed the two hands offered him, then, without being invited, sat upon the edge of her bed.

  “I am weak yet, but the fever and chills have gone, I believe,” Jasmine assured him, withdrawing her hands from his grip. “And I have received wonderful news from my dear grandmother. My children are coming to London to be with me!”

  “Your children?” The marquis of Hartsfield did not look particularly pleased. “I thought your children lived in the country.”

  “Ohhh no, my lord! My children have always lived with me. I am not one of those mothers who but spawns her offspring, then leaves them entirely to the mercy of servants. Gracious no! My little ones are in the country because Grandmama brought them back from France so Jemmie and I might have a bit of time alone together; but now I want them back with me again, particularly as Jemmie is gone and I am so alone. Besides, you seek to be my husband, so you should really meet my children, don’t you think? And, of course, the king will be absolutely delighted to see my little not-so-royal Stuart.” She gave him a dazzling smile. “I do believe I am better just knowing my little ones are coming.”

  Piers St. Denis was not pleased. He had gotten rid of James Leslie so he might be alone with Jasmine, and the earl was gone a week now, and he had yet to be alone with her. Now her blasted brats were coming to take up her time, and when would he have his chance with her at all? This was something he could not complain to the king about, for the king was totally sentimental where family was concerned. He would be delighted to see his grandson and the other three little beasts as well. Aggravated as he was, he smiled back at her. “Of course I should meet the children,” he said. “Aren’t the two eldest old enough to be fostered out? As we are to spend our life at court, Jasmine, we should begin to consider your children’s futures as well.”

  “I will not foster my children out, my lord,” she said. “I consider it a nasty custom, giving one’s offspring to other families to raise. My children are wealthy, titled, and of impeccable lineage. They will be considered quite eligible marriage partners when the time comes, and without being sent away into other households.”

  “I think, perhaps,” Adali interrupted, “that we should conclude your visit, my lord. Agitation is not good for my lady, as I know you realize. You will be welcomed back tomorrow, however.”

  St. Denis rose from her bedside and bowed to Jasmine. “The queen sends you her regards,” he told her. “I will be back tomorrow, madame. There is a masque at the end of the week, and I would escort you to it if you are well enough, and I hope that you are.”

  “We shall see,” Jasmine murmured, falling back upon her pillows.

  “Farewell then, my love,” he replied.

  “Farewell, my lord,” she responded as he departed her chamber. His love? There was Salim’s distant voice again, she thought, and shivered.

  Chapter 10

  “Her Majesty, the queen,” Adali said, ushering Queen Anne into Jasmine’s dayroom.

  Jasmine arose quickly from her chair by the fire and curtsied low. “You honor me, madame,” she said.

  “Let me look at you, child,” the queen said, as the younger woman came forward. She took Jasmine’s face between her thumb and her forefinger, turning it first this way, and then that. “As I thought,” Queen Anne finally pronounced. “What a dreadful little fraud you are, my dear, but now you must cease your willfulness. I cannot help you if you will not help yourself. St. Denis has already begun to whine to the king that he has not enough time in which to court you. I have only just managed to prevent the king from doing something very foolish. You will have to let him dance attendance on you for the next few weeks, I’m afraid.”

  “If only the king . . .” Jasmine began.

  “I know, I know,” the queen soothed her. “If only my well-meaning Jamie had not interfered just as you and the earl of Glenkirk had come to a comfortable understanding. He’s quite in love with you, you know. You do love him, don’t you?”

  Jasmine nodded.

  “Let us sit down,” the queen said, and turning to Adali, she continued, “Do bring us something nice to drink, Adali, won’t you?”

  Adali bowed. “Of course, Majesty.”

  They sat together by the fire, and the queen spoke once again. “Both Steenie and I are in agreement. We are your allies in this matter, my dear. And now another element has been added to the brew. The earl of Bartram has suggested to His Majesty that custody of little Charles Frederick Stuart be assigned to him.”

  “Who is he?” Jasmine asked.

  “A protégé of Robert Cecil’s who has worked in His Majesty’s service for many years. He began his career in the reign of the late queen. He has recently lost favor with my husband thanks to the greed and the jealousy of Piers St. Denis and the foolishness of the countess of Bartram, who is obviously sillier than I am. He seems to believe if he can get the king to grant him the care and custody of our grandson, he will have been restored to our favor. Jamie, of course, has absolutely no intention of any such thing, but you know how softhearted he is. He cannot come right out and say no to poor Lord Stokes. While he will not return him to favor, and indeed will soon dispense with his services altogether, for the man has Puritan leanings; he is yet mindful of the many long and loyal years of service Richard Stokes has rendered the crown. He is seeking a kind way to retire him.

  “In the meantime, however, Ste
enie and I thought we might use Lord Stokes ourselves in a rather clandestine manner, implying to St. Denis that the king is indeed considering transferring the guardianship of your son to Lord Stokes. The marquis will, of course, attempt to learn if it is true from the king, but Jamie will dither about until he has made up his mind how to rid himself of the earl of Bartram in a considerate manner. This will but add to the confusion. St. Denis will not have as much time to court you, which will relieve you of his company. Then, too, he will be desperately trying to decide which is more to his advantage: a rich wife or a powerful connection.” The queen’s laugh tinkled about the chamber, and she gratefully accepted a silver goblet of fruity wine from Adali. Sipping it, she declared, “You have the best cellar in London, my dear Jasmine! Well, what do you think of our little plot?”

  Jasmine was not certain what she thought of the queen’s intrigue. She was silent a long moment. Then she said, “I think that you and George Villiers may underestimate the marquis. I think he could be dangerous in certain circumstances. For the moment all he has to contend with is James Leslie, and he has managed to send him away; but if he believes someone else might gain custody of my son . . .” Jasmine grew silent again, a single finger tapping thoughtfully upon the arm of her chair.

  “St. Denis? Dangerous?” Her laughter tinkled once more. “Oh, no, my dear. Piers St. Denis is simply an ambitious young man seeking to better himself, very much like our dear Steenie. In the end you will choose Glenkirk, and we will give him another heiress to wife with our royal blessing. He will then return to his holding and never be heard of again.”