Darling Jasmine

by Bertrice Small

  “The king will never give you the duke of Lundy,” Kipp said flatly. “Put it from your mind, Piers, or you will suffer another embarrassing disappointment, I fear.”

  “The earl of Bartram has asked for the boy, too,” the marquis told his surprised brother.

  “And did the king tell him no?” Kipp St. Denis refilled his brother’s goblet a second time.

  “The king has not made up his mind,” the marquis replied, sipping thoughtfully now at his wine. “Perhaps we should help him to make up his mind, Kipp, and at the same time checkmate the Leslies of Glenkirk.”

  “How?” Kipp St. Denis was beginning to be interested in what his brother had to say. If it was possible to snatch a victory from his brother’s defeat, why not?

  “What if Bartram were murdered, and the suspicion for his demise fell upon James Leslie and his new wife?” the marquis said.

  “You would take a leaf from Somerset’s book then?” his brother said thoughtfully. “It would have to be very well thought out, Piers.”

  “Aye, of course,” was the reply, “but do you like my idea? Do you think it possible, Kipp? We could remove both possible guardians for the duke of Lundy in one stroke!”

  “That still does not mean that the king would give you the boy,” the practical Kipp said.

  “Who else is there, brother? Who else?” the marquis exulted.

  “Lady Lindley’s grandmother, the old countess of Lundy,” Kipp said. “She is the matriarch of her family. One of her sons is the earl of Lynmouth, another Lord Burke of Clearfields. Her son-in-law, the earl of BrocCairn, is the king’s own cousin. The king likes that fierce old woman because she flatters him. He could give the child to her or any of her children.”

  “She would not live to see the boy grown,” the marquis said. “She is already past her time, and as for her children, the king already has their love and loyalty. He does not need to do anything for them, but he does need to do something for me to recompense me for my public humiliation and my great disappointment.”

  “I wonder if you do not think yourself of more importance to the king than you really are, Piers,” his brother considered. “Villiers, your great rival, charms the king with his sweetness and good nature. You, on the other hand, behave like a spoilt child each time you do not get your own way. Up until now the king has chosen to overlook your infantile behavior, but how long will his goodness last? He is not so big a fool as many would believe.

  “When Bartram advised against giving you a Crown property, what did you do? You sulked and whined until the king was forced into offering you something of greater value, in this case, a chance to win the hand of Lady Lindley, in order to silence you. He should not have done it, but he didn’t know what else to do to make you content again, so he gave both you and Villiers an opportunity.

  “Your rival had the good sense to turn the king’s offer down graciously, declaring his heart engaged somewhere else, then coyly admitting his passion for the very wealthy Lady Katherine Manners. You, Piers, had no such good sense. Now, having failed to gain the prize offered, you have once again gone into a fit of the sulks. The king will certainly tire of your behavior, especially in light of Villiers’s sunnier disposition, brother.”

  “Villiers is a low-born opportunist,” the marquis declared, angrily.

  “Perhaps,” Kipp replied, “but he has great charm, and the king to my eye is fast falling beneath his spell.”

  “Another reason for us to move quickly,” Piers St. Denis asserted. “If I am indeed losing the king’s interest, then I had best strike while I have yet the chance of getting what I want. Once I have the duke of Lundy in my possession, let Villiers have the king’s attention all to himself. It will no longer matter to me, Kipp. Perhaps I shall cultivate Prince Charles. He is furiously jealous of Villiers, you know, and he is the future, not old king fool. That’s it! I shall help to forge a bond between the young Charles and his royal uncle. When the elder becomes king, both shall thank me for it!”

  “Now there is a better reason for obtaining custody of the boy,” Kipp said. “His mother is not really important, but the lad! He is real power, little brother!”

  “We are in agreement then?”

  “Aye!”

  “Then let us consider how best to murder the earl of Bartram, while placing the blame on the Leslies of Glenkirk, Kipp.”

  “Lady Lindley should be advised that the earl of Bartram is seeking to take her child from her,” Kipp suggested.

  “Yesss!” the marquis enthused, “and either she or Glenkirk, or possibly both of them, should face down Bartram publicly. Then when he is found dead under suspicious circumstances, the suspicion will naturally fall upon the Leslies of Glenkirk. The king shall be encouraged to remove his grandson from such unwholesome people, and voilà! I win! Even if Glenkirk and Jasmine are not charged with the death of Richard Stokes, the suspicion alone should do them in even as it did in Somerset and his vindictive wife.”

  “It will take clever planning. How much time do we have?” Kipp asked him. “When is Glenkirk due back from Scotland?”

  Piers St. Denis thought a moment. “I don’t really know, but he has been gone almost three weeks now. Perhaps in another ten days or more he should return. He was sent on a fool’s errand, after all.”

  “I shall inquire about the court,” Kipp said. “Discreetly, of course. You will say nothing further about the duke of Lundy lest suspicion in this crime fall on you, Piers. You do understand that, don’t you? You cannot brag, even to Villiers, that you will obtain custody of the king’s grandson. No one knows but the king, I imagine, and no one else must know.”

  Adali had more than doubled the guards watching over Greenwood House and its parklike grounds. Would there ever come a time when his mistress was completely safe, he wondered? Perhaps this Scotland would offer the sanctuary that they sought. He prayed it would be so.

  The children had arrived from Queen’s Malvern, and but for the absence of James Leslie, Jasmine was happy again. Her two eldest children were much like their father in features, although they both had her dark hair. India, however, had Rowan’s golden eyes, while Henry’s eyes were her own turquoise. It was her second daughter, Fortune, who seemed to be the swan in the duck’s nest. Fortune had bright red-gold hair, which Skye claimed had been the color of her own grandmother’s hair. As the child had Skye’s blue-green eyes, Jasmine had to assume her coloring came from her Celtic ancestors; and indeed she was very much like the children who had played in MacGuire’s Ford, the village on Jasmine’s Irish estates, and little like her elder siblings.

  As for baby Charles Frederick Stuart, he was every bit a Stuart, with his auburn curls and amber eyes so like his grandfather’s, the king’s. Almost three, he visited the court with his brother and sisters dressed in a satin suit of orange tawny with wide collar of delicate Irish lace. He carried a miniature sword with a gold hilt decorated with tiny emeralds and topaz that had been made just for him. Sweeping off his soft-brimmed hat with its three white plumes, he bowed to the king and queen while his proud mama looked on, well pleased by her smallest child’s exquisite manners. Manners, Jasmine knew, she had not instilled in her baby. She silently thanked her grandmother.

  Behind the tiny duke of Lundy, who by virtue of his seniority in rank led his siblings, came Henry Lindley, marquis of Westleigh; followed by his sisters, Lady India and Lady Fortune Lindley. The young marquis was dressed like his little brother, but his suit was turquoise blue satin, his custom-made sword studded with diamonds and aquamarines. His sisters were garbed in gowns of pink silk and lavender silk. As their elder brother bowed, they curtsied deeply, rising slowly and very gracefully to the silent approval of the queen and the court ladies, considered matrons.

  “We are pleased to see ye once again, my dears,” the king said in kindly tones. Then he beckoned to his grandson. “Come here to me, Charlie-boy,” he said, and when the little boy had clambered within reach of his grandfather, James Stuart lift
ed him onto his lap, and reaching out drew his son, Prince Charles, into the child’s view. “This is yer uncle,” he told Jasmine’s smallest son. “Ye are named for him. He is Charles, too. One day, when I am dead, Charlie-boy, this Charles will be yer king, and ye must be loyal to him. Yer a Stuart, laddie, and we Stuarts may fight among ourselves, but we are always loyal to each other in the end.”

  “Aye, sire,” the little boy responded. Then he said to the young prince. “Why you look at me?”

  “Because you look so much like your father, Charlie-boy. Your father was my big brother, like Henry is your big brother,” the prince said. His eyes were filled with tears.

  Charles Frederick Stuart, the duke of Lundy, reached up with a small hand and brushed a tear from Prince Charles’s cheek. “No cry,” he said in his baby voice. “No cry, Unca.”

  The king pulled out a silk handkerchief and blew his own nose, while those nearest the throne who had heard the full exchange sniffled audibly. The queen struggled to hold back her own tears.

  “Play ball?” The child looked hopefully up again at his uncle.

  Then to the amazement of those in the hall, Prince Charles smiled, a rare occurrence indeed and, lifting the child from his father’s lap, took him by the hand. “Aye, I like to play ball,” he said. “Let’s go out into the court, my lord duke.” He looked to the nearest footman. “Fetch us a ball, man,” he said, and then hand in hand the two Charles Stuarts walked from the hall, chatting as if they had always known each other quite well.

  “He’s a braw little laddie, madame,” the king said to Jasmine. “All yer bairns are fine laddies and lassies.”

  “I thank Your Majesty for your kindness to my children, and in particular for the favor you have shown the duke of Lundy,” Jasmine said genuinely. Then she curtsied to the royal couple and, with her three older children, withdrew from the royal presence.

  “Nicely done, my dearie,” George Villiers said, coming up to them shortly thereafter. “You’ve raised some fine kits for such a wily vixen,” he said with a mischievous grin.

  Jasmine laughed and introduced her children to Villiers. “The gentleman will soon reign as the king’s sole favorite,” she told them afterward. “It cannot hurt to have his friendship, but he warned he is not as sweetly simple as he would like you to believe.”

  “He has no title,” her eldest son noted.

  “He will eventually,” Jasmine said. “The king will reward him lavishly, and young Villiers has his eyes on an heiress of excellent family. He will have to be of equal rank with her father, or even higher before she is allowed to marry him, but he will be, I have not a doubt.”

  “He is very beautiful,” Lady India Lindley said.

  “Handsome,” her mother corrected. “A man is handsome, a woman beautiful, my poppet.”

  India shook her head. “He is past handsome, Mama. He is beautiful! I am an heiress, and I would marry him without a title if he would but ask me.” She looked admiringly after George Villiers.

  “I do not like his eyes,” Lady Fortune Lindley said.

  “Why not?” Jasmine asked her younger daughter, curious. It was, she thought, a rather interesting observation for a little girl.

  “They are like your black pearls, Mama. They reflect the light, but I can see nothing in them,” Fortune remarked.

  “You are such a fool, Fortune!” India mocked her. “I think his dark eyes, like a velvet night, filled with stars.”

  “Gracious!” Jasmine note. “You are a very romantic child, India. I think I am going to have to keep a sharp eye on you from now on, miss!” She found her two young daughters’ observations on George Villiers interesting. While she found him amusing, and certainly useful, she tended to agree with her younger daughter, but then Rowan’s posthumous daughter had always been sensible from her birth, she considered thoughtfully. India, on the other hand, had a streak of willful wildness very much like Jasmine’s brother, who was now the Grand Mughal of India. It was to be hoped that she would outgrow such tendencies.

  Prince Charles asked that his small nephew be allowed to stay in his apartments at court with him for a few days. It would have been ungracious of Jasmine to refuse, and Charlie-boy was most anxious to remain with this newfound uncle of his. Adali personally delivered a trunk of the child’s clothing to the royal apartments. The prince, serious in his religious devotions, began teaching his nephew his prayers and his letters. The little child, who had a quick mind, was an excellent student, much to his royal uncle’s great pleasure.

  “It is like your father’s court in that the courtiers scramble for the king’s attention and favor,” Adali wisely observed. “I suppose all royal courts are alike, my lady. Our littlest child fits in quite well, and is very much at ease with his princely uncle.”

  “Both of his grandfathers are kings,” Jasmine observed, “and both of his uncles are or will be kings. If my not-so-royal Stuart had been born his father’s heir, he would have been a king one day.”

  “He will have far less grief in his life being a duke,” Adali said with a small smile, and his mistress laughed.

  “How can you be so happy when I have been away?” James Leslie said, entering the room and surprising them both.

  “Jemmie!” Jasmine squealed, and flung herself into his arms. “You’re back! Ohh, now we can leave London, and go home to Queen’s Malvern! Hooray! Hooray!” Then she kissed him hard, molding her body against his. “Did you miss me, my lord?” she murmured softly, nuzzling against the side of his neck. It was damp, and he had the aroma of horses about him, but beneath it she could scent James Leslie, her Jemmie.

  She felt wonderful in his arms. God, he had missed her! He tipped her face up to his, saying, “Another kiss, madame. I am weary with longing for you.” Then his mouth descended on hers, tasting the softness of her lips, her perfume, the night-blooming jasmine, enveloping him in its seductive scent. She yielded so sweetly in his arms, and, when he finally released her, his head faintly spinning, he grinned happily. “May I take it then that you have missed me, madame?”

  She nodded. “And I have sent the marquis of Hartsfield packing, Jemmie! Most publicly, too. He will not come near me again, I vow.”

  “The king?” His tone was just slightly concerned.

  “Ohh, the king understood perfectly once I explained it to him,” Jasmine replied breezily. “And the children are all here! Charlie-boy has been at court with Prince Charles, who has taken a great liking to our little laddie; and Henry, India, and Fortune have made very good impressions on everyone. Why I’ve had a number of very serious inquiries regarding marriage for them; but now we can go home!”

  The earl of Glenkirk turned to Adali. “What should I know?” he asked the household steward. “Or rather, what hasn’t she told me?”

  “Jemmie!” Jasmine looked somewhat aggrieved.

  Adali grinned, then chuckled. “Actually, my lord, it is just as she has said. You were scarcely gone when the marquis was on our doorstep. He came to take my mistress on an outing. Naturally I accompanied them. Then my good lady caught a chill out on the river that turned into an ague, and could not see the marquis for several days.”

  Glenkirk snickered. What a clever wench Jasmine was.

  “Then the queen had a masque,” Jasmine took up the tale, “and the marquis aroused my ire by luring me into an alcove, and putting his hands all over me as if he owned me! I was forced to take drastic action, Jemmie.”

  The earl of Glenkirk winced, imagining the action she had taken to disengage her unwanted suitor. “Did you geld him forever?”

  “Only temporarily,” Jasmine replied. “I went immediately to the king and asked him to release me from St. Denis’s unwanted attentions.”

  “She knelt,” Adali told the earl. “She prostrated herself before Their Majesties, her skirts spread all about her. It was quite dramatic, my lord, and the king was very moved. Even I could see it from my place at the back of the hall.”

  “Jasmine!” James
Leslie didn’t know whether to be angry or not.

  “Well, it wasn’t fair!” Jasmine declared. “I’m in love with one man, and planning to wed him in just another two weeks, and I’m saddled with an unwanted suitor, Jemmie, who leers at me constantly and paws at me like a stableboy with a dairymaid. I’ve had enough of everyone telling me what to do! When I leave London I’m never coming back again! I hate the court with all its pretentions! And I don’t enjoy most of the people who inhabit the court either. I didn’t like my father’s court, and I like this one little better, Jemmie. I just want to be your wife and a mother to my children. And, of course, I want to involve myself in Grandma’s trading company. We must bring tea to England, and make it popular as the Spanish have done with chocolate, which I think a nasty drink. And there are the horses being raised at MacGuire’s Ford to consider. And there is your own Glenkirk Castle to be looked after, too. We have so much to do together, Jemmie, and there can be no time for court and all its attendant silliness. And somewhere along the way we must have several bairns of our own,” she finished.

  “Aye,” he agreed with her. “We must indeed have several bairns, madame. I am glad you have remembered that wifely duty amid all your wonderful plans for importing tea and raising horses,” he chuckled.

  “Ohh, Jemmie, the bairns come first, I swear it!” she promised.

  “Good!” he replied. “Now, Adali, I want a hot bath and a good dinner, and I want to see the children. Then, madame, it will be an early night for us,” he finished meaningfully.

  “The children first, my lord,” Adali said wisely. He knew that once the bath and the dinner came, there would be no time for anything but passion between Jasmine and James Leslie. Bowing, he hurried off to gather up Henry, India, and Fortune, who were delighted to learn that the earl of Glenkirk had returned from his trip to Scotland.