Darling Jasmine

by Bertrice Small

  “He has suggested to me, madame, that he will remain at court after his marriage,” Jasmine told the queen. “I believe Your Majesty’s assessment of him to be correct in that he is ambitious. I think he is a man who desires power more than anything else.”

  “Do you? How interesting,” the queen answered vaguely. She had said what she had come to say and, having emptied her mind, was now at a loss. She looked anxiously at Jasmine. “You will cooperate with us, my dear, won’t you? You will just slightly encourage St. Denis for a short time? Between us we can keep him quite confused.”

  “If it pleases you, madame, of course I will cooperate, for I wish for only one thing, to be James Leslie’s wife,” Jasmine replied.

  “Oh, good!” The queen quaffed down the remainder of her wine, and, rising, said, “I must go now, my dear. I am happy to see you looking so well, and I shall, of course, expect you at my masque on Saturday night at Whitehall.”

  “Madame.” Jasmine had arisen, too. “The children will be here in a few days from Queen’s Malvern. I thought a good way of keeping St. Denis off guard was to introduce him to my little band of rebels.”

  “How deliciously ingenious.” The queen chuckled. “I suspect that St. Denis will detest the competition of your offspring.”

  “Aye,” Jasmine smiled. “He has already suggested that India and Henry are old enough to be fostered out. Of course, I told him I should not foster out my bairns to strangers.”

  “Unnatural monster!” the queen pronounced. “Of course not! You know how I feel about fostering children out. You were absolutely correct to say so.” Then, kissing Jasmine’s cheeks, Queen Anne departed Greenwood House to return to the palace.

  Jasmine’s next visitor was St. Denis, who once again came bearing a beribboned bouquet. She did what was expected of her. Burying her nose in the colorful flowers, she exclaimed over their lovely fragrance, thinking all the while that St. Denis lacked imagination. He always brought flowers but nothing else, which meant he was either without funds or mean-spirited. She suspected a combination of both.

  “The queen has been to visit me,” she said brightly. “She came to see how I was and to invite me to her masque on Saturday evening. Will you escort me, my lord?” She gave him a smile.

  “What will you wear?” he asked her excitedly. “We must match our costumes, of course!”

  “I cannot have a decent costume made in so short a time, my lord,” Jasmine told him. “I shall wear a beautiful gown of royal blue silk instead. I shall leave the selection of a mask to carry to you, however. I want the most beautiful mask possible. We must outshine everyone else, eh, my lord?” She smiled again.

  He could scarcely believe it. She was being most cooperative, and she was even asking him a small favor. “You shall have the finest mask in London,” he promised her. And when he had left her and returned to his own house, he told his brother. “I believe she is beginning to weaken in her resolve to hate me, Kipp. She was so amenable toward me today. The queen had just left her, and I think she may have advised Jasmine to seriously consider my suit. I thought the queen was Villiers’s ally, but perhaps I was mistaken. Who makes the best masks in London?”

  “A fellow named Barrow, near St. James,” Kipp replied.

  “You must go to him and order two of his absolute best creations, Kipp. They must be ready for Saturday’s masque at the palace,” the marquis of Hartsfield said to his half brother.

  “They will be horrifically expensive, especially considering how short a time you are allowing the craftsmen,” Kipp answered him.

  “He will not refuse the king’s favorite,” Piers St. Denis said with self-assurance. “Besides, when I have married Jasmine Lindley I will be the wealthiest man in England,” he concluded with a grin.

  “If you wed her,” Kipp cautioned him.

  “I will marry her!” the marquis insisted. “And on our wedding night you and I will punish her for her arrogance, eh, Kipp?”

  “How?” Kipp goaded his sibling.

  “We will put her over the correction bar, her legs spread. Then I shall tawse her bottom until it is pink and shining. She will weep fiercely, I have not a doubt. And while I strap her, you will play with her beautiful breasts so that she is caught between pain and pleasure, which I have not a doubt she will soon learn to like. When I deem her ready, I shall have her, still bent over the bar.”

  “And will you share her, Piers, as you usually do with your women?” his brother asked.

  “Not fully, not at first, not until I am bored with her; but I will permit you to take your pleasure within her mouth, Kipp. Together we will teach this proud beauty who is the master. And afterward, in a year or so, when she is well trained, and obedient, we shall allow her to learn this same art of domination we practice. Think of it, Kipp! We shall, the three of us, lure beautiful young maidens and handsome young men into our web of forbidden love. It will be wonderful!”

  “I should have known you would have it all planned out,” his half brother said admiringly.

  The marquis of Hartsfield smiled. “Go and order the masks,” he said. “And tell this Barrow fellow there will be an extra payment for his trouble. But I want his best!”

  “Naturally,” Kipp replied, and hurried off to do his brother’s bidding.

  Jasmine’s gown for the queen’s masque was a magnificent creation. Of royal blue silk, the skirt ankle-length, its undergown was of cloth of silver embroidered with sparkling tiny blue stones in a spiral design. The neckline of the gown was quite low and square, with a draped collar of delicate silver lace. The sleeves showed cloth of silver through their slashes, and silver lace cuffs accented her delicate wrists. Her shoes were matching blue silk with silver roses decorating them; and her hair was twisted into an elegant chignon, with a lovelock tied with a silver ribbon over her left ear. From her ears dripped sapphires, and about her neck was Jasmine’s famous sapphire necklace.

  The marquis of Hartsfield’s mouth fell open in admiration when he saw her, his eyes fastening upon the necklace in particular. Wordless, he handed her her mask, an exquisite creation of silver and gold with white feathers.

  “They are called the Stars of Kashmir,” Jasmine told him, one hand going to her throat. “My first husband, Prince Jamal, gave them to me. The lake where I grew up, upon which our palace was located, is just this shade of blue. There was an additional stone found at the same time these were mined in Ceylon. It was a large teardrop-shaped sapphire called the Wular Blue, after that same lake. We gave it to my father upon the celebration of his fiftieth year as emperor.” Reaching out with her other hand, she took the mask from him. “It is lovely, my lord, and quite perfect with my gown, do you not agree?”

  He nodded, his throat aching, his mind desperate to say something clever that would gain her approval. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he finally managed to croak, realizing how mundane a thing it was he had just said. She knew she was beautiful, and had undoubtedly been told it a thousand times.

  “How gallant you are, my lord,” she responded graciously. Then, “We will take my barge, with your permission. It is more comfortable than any others in which I have traveled.”

  “Of course,” he agreed, almost drowning in her smile. This was how he had imagined it would be. She with her blue-black hair, pale gold skin, and turquoise eyes. He, tawny-haired, fair-skinned and blue-eyed. They were perfect together! His costume of cream-colored silk, silver and gold, was an ideal foil for her royal blue and silver gown. They looked as if they belonged together, and they did! Taking her arm, he followed the ever-present Adali down to the quai, where the barge was awaiting them. Strangely, he did not mind the servant’s company any longer. Adali, in his white clothing and turban, gave them a certain cachet that no one else at court had.

  Whitehall was ablaze with lights. They joined the throngs of other courtiers entering the hall where Their Majesties sat. The queen, as always, was overdressed, but a charming and gracious hostess.
The king slumped morosely on his throne. He hated his wife’s fetes. He would remain for a brief time, then disappear with a few friends to drink whiskey and play at dice. The sight of Jasmine on the arm of the marquis of Hartsfield, however, brought a smile to his sad face, and he beckoned them forward to the foot of his throne. They made their obeisances, and, as she rose, Jasmine saw Prince Charles standing next to his father’s chair.

  “Ahh, Piers, ye hae brought Lady Lindley at last,” the king enthused. “She’s a rare beauty, is she nae?”

  “Indeed, my liege,” the marquis replied. “I am grateful to Your Majesty for this opportunity.” St. Denis then bowed to the queen and nodded to the prince.

  Jasmine smiled at Prince Charles. He was a small but dignified young man, who, until his brother’s death, had stood very much in his shadow. “My lord,” she said, “it is very good to see you once again.” Then she curtsied low.

  A tiny smile touched Charles Stuart’s mouth. He was not a young man who showed his emotions, but he did remember his elder brother’s mistress with fondness. It had been Jasmine who had taught him how to bandy words with his brilliant older sibling, how to win arguments with Henry, much to the elder’s delight, for Henry Stuart had loved his little brother, although until Jasmine had explained her Hal’s nature to young Charles, he had not believed it. The heir to England’s throne was almost fifteen, and while he was considered prim by his father’s court, he was quite fond of music and drama, as was his mother.

  “I am h-happy t-to see you again, m-madame,” he acknowledged Jasmine. The prince sometimes stuttered because he was basically shy.

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” Jasmine responded, curtsying prettily. Then she said, “Your namesake will be here in a few days, sir. May I bring the duke of Lundy to see his uncle?”

  “Oh, yes, m-madame!” the young man said. “I did not see him when your g-grandmother b-brought him last. I have not seen him since he w-was a bairn.”

  “He is much like his father,” she told the prince with a smile.

  “I like children,” the prince replied. “I w-would have a b-big family one d-day.”

  “You must choose the right wife,” Jasmine told him.

  “I hae an eye on the Spanish infanta,” the king said.

  “A French princess would be better,” the queen murmured. “Jasmine, my dear, come and sit on a footstool by me while we watch the masque. St. Denis, you may stand behind me.”

  The masque that followed was a salute to springtime and the coming summer. It had not the imagination of the masques that Jasmine and Prince Henry had taken part in several years before. It was more music and dancing, with little story, although the costumes, as always, were lovely. Jasmine recognized none of the young people involved. Times are changing, she thought, and I am getting older. After the masque ended, there was dancing. The marquis of Hartsfield made to lead Jasmine out onto the floor, but Prince Charles stepped forward.

  “The first dance is mine, I believe, my lord,” the young man said. He did not stutter once.

  “Of course, Your Highness,” Piers St. Denis answered, stepping back and bowing to the royal prince.

  Charles Stuart took Jasmine’s hand, and they began to dance a stately country dance. “You are not going to marry him, are you, m-madame?” the prince asked.

  “I most certainly am not going to marry him,” Jasmine said. “Because your father is so insistent, I must play at letting him court me, but I detest Piers St. Denis, Your Highness, and I love Glenkirk.”

  “W-why did you run away then?” He twirled her gracefully.

  “Like Your Highness, I am a king’s child. I do not like being told what to do, and I had not finished mourning Hal. I was not ready to marry again. Not so soon. Now, however, it is different. Lord Leslie loved me even before I wed with my beloved Rowan Lindley. He loves me now, and I have come to love him. Try to love the girl you finally marry, Your Highness. It is so important to a woman to be loved.” She dipped and, lifting her skirts, pranced three steps.

  He lifted her lightly, swinging her about, and then replaced her on the floor, where they moved in the final elegant precise steps of the dance. “I d-do not like St. Denis. There is s-something unwholesome about him. And I like Villiers e-even less. He t-takes my father’s attention from m-me. S-still, if I had to choose, I suppose Villiers is b-better. He is greedy, but h-harmless.”

  “I agree, Your Highness. You are very wise for a young man,” she praised him. Then she curtsied deeply, the dance over.

  He returned her to St. Denis, nodding curtly at the marquis. Piers St. Denis could hardly contain his excitement. The royal family treated Jasmine as if she were one of their own! It was not only the child, but its mother as well who would bring him power. With a broad smile he led her into the figure of the next dance.

  He was, she thought, an excellent dancer. It made the evening more pleasant than she had anticipated. He suggested a small interlude after a time, fetching them chilled wine and leading her to a cushioned alcove in a window where they might sit and be restored.

  “The king and his family hold you in high esteem,” he told her approvingly. “You will, in time, wield a certain amount of power here at court because of your excellent connections.”

  “When I marry Glenkirk,” she said, “I will not remain at court.”

  “Why do you persist in this fantasy that you will marry the earl of Glenkirk?” he demanded of her angrily. “I am the man you will marry, Jasmine. And we will make our life at court.”

  “My lord,” she said patiently, “the choice is mine to make, as you well know. This evening is the fantasy, and it is yours, not mine!”

  “I can delay your marriage indefinitely, Jasmine. The king will do it if I beg him. I can convince the king to change his mind and give you to me,” the marquis threatened.

  She laughed. There was nothing else for it but to laugh. It was either that, or she would scream. “The king is weak where his favorites are concerned, my lord, but he will never go back on a word so publicly given,” Jasmine told him with complete candor.

  In response he forced her back against the stone sill of the window and kissed her fiercely. One hand dived down the low front of her dress to capture a breast and squeeze it hard. His lips worked feverishly against hers. His tongue forced its way into her mouth.

  Taken unawares, Jasmine struggled with herself a moment to maintain her calm and not panic. His kiss was abhorrent. She gagged on his tongue. The hand fumbling with her breast was repellent, and he was hurting her. She would be bruised. She bit down on his tongue, shoving him away from her at the same time, then slapping him hard.

  “How dare you lay hands on me!” she hissed furiously.

  He tried to pinion her again, but Jasmine, ready for him this time, shoved her knee hard into his groin. Hearing his gasp of both pain and surprise, she pushed him aside to escape from the windowed alcove. Grasping at the skirt of her gown, he momentarily restrained her, preventing her flight.

  “You will be mine!” he half groaned, nausea sweeping over him from the pain she had inflicted on his private parts.

  “Let go of my gown, my lord,” she said through gritted teeth. “What must I do to convince you that I do not welcome your suit? Must I kill you, my lord? I am fully capable of it, you know. I personally hanged Rowan Lindley’s murderer in the very same hour as my husband’s death.” Jasmine’s anger rose. “You repel me, my lord. I would just as soon slit your handsome throat as look at you! I will not play this game any longer! I will, under no circumstances, marry you, my lord St. Denis!” Then, with a determined hand, she smacked his grip away and moved off swiftly across the hall.

  Reaching the area where the royal family was seated, she curtsied low to the king. Her color was very high. “My liege?” she said in a quiet, but firm voice obviously directed at James Stuart.

  “Aye, lassie, what is it?” he asked her.

  “My lord, I beg you, do not force me to wed with the marquis of H
artsfield,” she said, sinking dramatically to her knees.

  “Nah, nah, lassie, I said the choice was to be yers,” the king replied, genuinely distressed by her flamboyant action.

  “Then I beg you, accept my decision in the matter. Your Majesty was absolutely right two years ago when your chose James Leslie for my husband. I need a man to whom I can look up, and I do look up to the earl of Glenkirk. I need a man whom I can love, and who loves me. That man is the earl of Glenkirk. I have pledged myself to him before God Almighty; and having to endure the embraces of another man seeking to have me to wife under such circumstances makes me feel as if I am being dishonorable. Please, I plead with Your Majesty to accept my decision in this matter! I will not take any man for my husband but James Leslie, the earl of Glenkirk!

  “I know how Your Majesty values the friendship of the marquis of Hartsfield. That is why I ask that you choose another suitable woman for his wife. If you love him, as I know you do, then find him a wife who will honor him and appreciate Your Majesty’s kindness, and the marquis of Hartsfield as well. Unfortunately, that woman is not me. You have said that the choice of a husband is mine. I can say no more plainly than I have said that it is James Leslie whom I choose.”

  “God’s foot,” murmured George Villiers to the queen, “she has chanced all with a single throw of the dice! What incredible style!”

  The king sat stupefied, not certain of what he should do. He had promised Jasmine the choice. He had promised Piers St. Denis the opportunity to court her; but here she was, troublesome lassie, refusing to cooperate once again. She had made it so publicly plain that she would not have St. Denis, poor sweet laddie, that he really couldn’t force her to continue to accept the marquis’s advances.

  “Father?” Young Charles Stuart spoke softly to his sire.

  The king started. “Aye, my bairn, what is it?”

  “While Lady Lindley has made her decision sooner than you would have wished, I think you knew she would choose Glenkirk in the end. The marquis is foolish if he believed otherwise, for in his heart he surely knew it also. Be gracious and generous, as only you know how, Father. I like Lady Lindley, and Hal loved her deeply. He would want you to give her this boon, and I know he liked Glenkirk.”