The Earl of Welk was a spare man of medium height and sallow complexion. His severe black garb did little to alleviate an impression of meanness. He turned to the Dowager Duchess of Glenkirk. “Well, madame?”
“My son and our grandchildren were here several weeks ago, but where they are now, my lord, I have not the faintest notion. I told Charles that I did not want to know, in order that I might protect his safety, and that of our shared grandchildren. Surely you can understand.”
“Your son is not fit to care for my grandchildren, madame!” came the angry reply.
“Indeed, my lord, and what makes you think such a thing?” Jasmine demanded in haughty tones. “My son is their father.”
“Your son is profligate, a wastrel,” the earl answered.
Jasmine laughed. “Even in his callow youth Charlie could neither be called profligate nor wastrel by any. And once he had met your daughter, my lord, once his heart was engaged, there was no one for him but Bess. He was loyal, loving, and faithful to her from the moment they met, and you, my lord, know it well.”
“My daughter would be alive had she not been wed to your son,” the earl responded.
“Your daughter spent the happiest years of her young life with Charlie and their children. She is dead not because of my son but because of the actions of one of your godly parliamentary troopers. They burst into her home and battered her majordomo to death. When Bess protested, this devil, without a word, shot her dead. My own daughter witnessed the entire incident and would, herself, have been killed had the captain of these men not entered the house. When he did, the trooper was stripping the rings from your dead child’s stiffening fingers. These are the creatures you and your ilk have loosed on England, my lord! Thieves and murderers of the innocent.”
“The Stuarts are not innocent,” the earl muttered.
“The Stuarts, for all their royalty, are like the rest of us, John Lightbody. They are human, and subject to human frailty. The king was a bad king, but he was a good man. You were not satisfied with deposing him. Nay, your ilk had to murder God’s own annointed, and then mouth piously to excuse your crime. Shame on all of you!”
“It is easy to see where your heart lies, madame,” the Earl of Welk said grimly.
“My heart, sir, lies in a tomb at Glenkirk with my husband, who died at Dunbar in defense of king and country. I espouse no cause, nor did my not-so-royal Stuart son. As to our grandchildren, as I have told you, I do not know where Charlie has taken them, but wherever it is, it is for their safety’s sake. Their surname would, it now appears, have made them targets of your godly parliamentarians. Given the way in which they treated Charlie’s little cousin, the Princess Elizabeth, I understand the necessity to hide his own children. Your people did not care properly for the princess. She died of exposure, for you would not allow her chambers to be properly heated; and she died of hunger, for she was ill fed. Is that a fate you wish for Sabrina, Frederick, and wee William, my lord?”
“In the care of my wife and myself, loyal citizens, our three grandchildren would be safe,” he told her.
Jasmine laughed scornfully. “You are truly a fool if you believe that, my lord. The children belong with their father, and that is where they are. Do not make an enemy of my son, sir, for one day, I guarantee you, the king will be restored to his throne, and when that time comes, you will be glad of a friend at court who is the king’s dearly beloved cousin.”
“The Stuarts will never return to England’s throne,” the Earl of Welk said.
Again Jasmine laughed. “Oh, but they will, sir. I do not know how long it will take, but they will return to rule England one day. Be certain you are not on their personal list of traitors.”
“I shall go to the courts!” the earl cried, frustrated.
“Go then. I’m certain your parliamentary courts will be eager to learn of the unjustified murder of an innocent woman by one of their soldiers, who then attempted to steal from her. Already two of the commandments you hold dear are broken: thou shalt not kill and thou shalt not steal. My daughter is not the only witness to this crime. Sir Simon Bates was captain to the troop that invaded Queen’s Malvern. He, personally, executed the soldier involved. He cannot deny it lest he perjure himself. Your godly officers would not lie, I am certain.”
“Madame, there is something wicked about you, but to my regret your logic is flawless. If you hear from your son, will you contact me?”
“Alas, sir, I will not be able to do so. My daughter and I leave for France shortly. I could not remain in Scotland, for my memories overwhelmed me. The dower house here at Cadby is mine, of course, and I thought to end my days here, but again, I am engulfed by my remembrances. My grandmother left me a small home in the French countryside. My daughter and I shall go there to mourn the loss of James Leslie. My son, Henry, however, will, of course, send any word to you that he receives. Do not wait for it, though, sir. I suspect Charlie will not reveal his hidey-hole to any, lest his children be endangered again.” She smiled sweetly at him and held out her hand for him to kiss.
He was dismissed and he knew it. His gloved hand took her beringed one, and his lips offered the customary salute to her rank. “I thank you, madame, for seeing me,” he said, “and I bid you good day.”
“Good day, my lord,” Jasmine replied. “My felicitations to your exemplary lady wife.” Then Jasmine turned and departed the Great Hall of Cadby.
The Earl of Welk turned to the Marquis of Westleigh. “Your mother is a formidable woman, my lord.”
Henry restrained a smile. “She is, sir,” he replied with the utmost seriousness.
“You will contact me?”
“Should I receive any communication from my brother, sir, of course,” the marquis responded immediately. Not that he meant to keep such a promise, but he must appear to be sympathetic and cooperative. His own family had to be considered, but he would never betray any of his siblings. His mother was correct in her estimation of John Lightbody, Earl of Welk. He had neither the power nor the wealth, nor powerful friends who would pursue the issue for him. Still, Henry Lindley considered, there was no use making enemies. With charm and a smile, he bid the Earl of Welk a good day, watching as Lightbody left his home.
“You are clever,” his sister Autumn said, arising from her chair by the fire, where she had been seated the entire time. “Mama is clever in a haughty way, as her royal heritage dictates, but you, Henry, are clever in a different way. I will wager that Bess’s father actually believes that you will contact him if Charlie should send a message to you. He left you in a far calmer state than our mother left him,” she concluded with a chuckle.
Henry smiled a slow smile. “There is no sense making enemies one does not need,” he said. “Now Welk will return to his wife with a reasonable explanation for his failure to obtain custody of Charlie’s children. The man is a fool to believe our brother would relinquish his offspring to them under any circumstances.” He shrugged. “Where is Mama now?”
“Back in her house, overseeing the repacking of her trunks. She will leave some of her possessions there, I believe, as it is now her home in England. Tell me about Belle Fleurs, Henry. You were there once, I know. Is it big? Is it pretty?” Autumn asked her eldest brother.
“Aye, we were there as children,” he said, “when Mama was attempting to avoid marrying your father because she was annoyed that King James and his wife had ordered it. She had no idea how deeply he loved her and hid us all there until one day he found us.” The Marquis of Westleigh smiled with his memories. “I was close to seven then, and India eight, Fortune five, and Charlie still in nappies. It was long ago, and yet it seems like yesterday,” he chuckled. “What fun we had there! Mama allowed us to run wild, which we did. We almost forgot our native tongue. Then our great-grandmother came, with news that our great-grandfather had died; and close on her heels was your father, whom we quickly began to call Papa, because the truth was, we all wanted a father most desperately.
“Be
lle Fleurs is small and exquisite. I remember it had wonderful gardens. It is near Archambault, which as you know is the home of our French relations. I do not think Mama’s been back to Belle Fleurs in over thirty years. I know, however, she has always kept staff on to see the place was kept up. I believe India and her family went there one summer, and Charlie took Bess there for their honeymoon. Still, it has been years since the family went to Belle Fleurs for any extended stay. I imagine it will now be your home, Autumn.”
“I will return to England and Scotland when the king is restored,” Autumn said.
“You might wed a Frenchman,” her brother told her “and besides, no matter what Charlie and Mama say, it will take much skill and not just a few years to remove Master Cromwell from his place and restore Charles II to his throne.”
“But the majority of the people hate pocky Cromwell and his minions!” Autumn said.
“The people, dear little sister, have no real power, whatever the politicians may say. The people do what they are convinced to believe is the right thing to do. Power, Autumn, is the headiest aphrodisiac of all. Few can resist its lure. In times past it was the king’s own council who held the greatest power. Today it is the Parliament. England has not had quite its cropful of Master Cromwell and his adherents quite yet. Go to France, dearest sister, and make a new life for yourself. What a wonderful adventure you have ahead of you, Autumn! Do not be afraid of it.”
“But what will become of you, Henry, and the others?” Autumn wondered aloud, with regard to her siblings and their families.
“In Ulster our brothers have married and continue to do what they can to protect their people from Cromwell’s men, although they do little damage in the north. Fortune, Kieran, and their family are safe in Mary’s Land. Charlie has gone to join the king. Patrick will not, I am certain, but rather draw in his Glenkirk people for their own safety’s sake. India and Oxton, like me, will remain on our estates, attempting to remain neutral but doing whatever we must to protect our lands and families. We aren’t important families and with luck will survive this storm intact. And you, darling girl, will go with Mama to France to find your true love, and your fortune.”
Suddenly Autumn was weeping against her brother’s black velvet doublet. “I l-liked it better in the old days, when we were all together and no one was fighting or afraid,” she sobbed.
Henry Lindley, Marquis of Westleigh, sighed softly and stroked his sister’s mahogany-colored hair. “So did I, Autumn,” he said sadly, “so did I.”
Chapter 3
Sir Simon Bates rode alone as his horse traveled up the gravel driveway that lead to Cadby. Several days after the unfortunate incident that had resulted in the death of the Duchess of Lundy, he had returned to Queen’s Malvern to see if Autumn was all right. The beautiful young woman had touched him, and he was still amazed that she had had the courage to shoot the trooper who had killed Lady Stuart. Queen’s Malvern, however, was bereft of its family. Only the servants remained, and the duke’s beautiful horses, grazing in their pastures.
“Lady Autumn has gone to join her mother, the Duchess of Glenkirk,” Becket informed Sir Simon in his plummiest tones. He moved to close the house’s door.
Sir Simon Bates jammed his booted foot into the opening and said, “And just where is that?”
“I am not certain, sir,” Becket replied.
“Surely you know. You must know! And where is your master, and his children?” Simon Bates could feel his anger rising at being bested by this servant. He was the government’s representative.
“The Duchess of Glenkirk may be with her oldest son, the Marquis of Westleigh, or with her oldest daughter, the Countess of Oxton. All the household was informed was that young Lady Autumn would be joining her mother. As for my master and his children, I have no idea where they have gone. The duke wished it that way, as he felt your attack on his home last week, and the murder of her grace, was because of his connection with the king and his family. Now, sir, if you will remove your boot from the door . . .” Becket finished, looking directly into Sir Simon’s fathomless dark eyes.
“Which is closer?” Sir Simon persisted, “Cadby or Oxton?”
“They are equidistant from Queen’s Malvern, sir,” Becket said.
Sir Simon Bates removed his foot from the door and found it immediately slammed shut in his face. The insult passed unnoticed, for his mind was considering where he might find Autumn Leslie. He cared nothing for where the duke and his offspring had fled. That was the business of the government, and as far as he knew Charles Frederick Stuart was not wanted for any crime against the state. His wife’s murder had been an unfortunate accident. Mounting his horse, he considered, and decided that the girl would have gone to her brother for protection, and not her brother-in-law. He turned his horse toward Warwickshire.
Now he could see, as he arrived several days later, that Cadby was every bit as impressive as Queen’s Malvern. It was madness that had brought him here. He had no right to be chasing after this girl, he knew. He was hardly the social equal of Autumn Leslie, but one look and he had been bewitched by her. He had to know she was well, and could one day be happy again.
Again he was greeted by a protective servant. And then it was Henry Lindley who came from somewhere in the house and cautiously asked him his business here.
“I am Sir Simon Bates,” he began, only to be abruptly cut off.
“I know who you are, sir,” Henry answered him. “What do you want of us?”
“Your sister—she is well?” He knew he sounded like a perfect fool, but he was suddenly witless and tongue-tied.
“I have three sisters, Sir Simon, but I am assuming you refer to my youngest sister, Lady Autumn. She is with our mother, mourning the loss of her father and our dearest sister-in-law.”
“I wonder,” Sir Simon ventured boldly, “if I might see her to convey to her my apologies once again.”
Henry’s first instinct was to have Sir Simon Bates ejected from his house immediately, but he thought better of it. There was no need offending this man, and thereby possibly endangering his family. Autumn would send him packing quickly enough, and she would be gone on the morrow. “I will take you to the dower house, where my mother now lives,” the Marquis of Westleigh said. “My sister is there.”
Surprised to have been granted his request, Sir Simon Bates followed Henry Lindley from his house and through the gardens, on the other side of which stood a beautiful small stone house, two stories in height. They entered without knocking, the marquis calling out to his mother to come to her salon. An elderly serving man, dressed all in white, a strange cap upon his head, hurried forth.
“My lord Henry.” He bowed.
“Adali, this is Sir Simon Bates, and he has come to inquire after my sister’s health,” the marquis said, a twinkle in his eye.
“Indeed, my lord,” Adali replied.
Sir Simon was unable to restrain himself. “What is that you wear upon your head, man?” he asked.
“It is called a turban, sir,” was the frosty reply.
“You are a foreigner. I thought so,” Sir Simon said.
“I have lived in this land longer than you have been alive, sir,” Adali answered him, “but you are correct in your assumption that I was not born here. My father was French and my mother, Indian. I have been in my mistress’s service since her birth.” He then turned to the marquis. “I will fetch her ladyship, my lord,” he said, bowing, and then he withdrew from the room.
“How did your mother come to have a foreigner for a servant?” Sir Simon asked the marquis.
“My mother was born in India. Her father was its emperor,” Henry Lindley said quietly, rather irritated by the query.
Fergus More-Leslie entered the salon bearing a tray with a decanter and several goblets. He wore no livery, but rather dark breeches, a white shirt, and a well-worn leather jerkin that matched the deep brown of his equally worn leather boots. “I hae brought ye some whiskey, my lord, and wine for
the ladies when they come. Shall I pour, or will ye want to be doing it?” He set the tray down upon a small table.
“We will wait for Mama and my sister, thank you, Fergus,” the marquis said.
“Verra well, my lord,” the reply came, and Fergus withdrew from the salon.
“A Scot? Your mother has a Scot for a serving man?”
“My stepfather was a Scot, Sir Simon,” Henry said tightly.
“Oh, yes, of course.” Simon Bates knew he was in over his head. He had been a fool to come here.
The door to the salon opened again, and two women entered. The Duchess of Glenkirk went immediately to her son and embraced him. Then she looked at Sir Simon. “Did Adali understand you correctly, Henry? Is this indeed Sir Simon Bates?”
“I am, your grace,” Sir Simon answered eagerly.
Jasmine Leslie turned icy eyes on the man. “I was not addressing you, sir, but since you have had the temerity to speak to me I shall tell you what I think of you.”
“Mama!” Henry’s voice held a warning.
“Do not mama me, Henry. This man could not control his troopers and is responsible for Bess’s death and that of a loyal servant. And, if that were not enough, remember what else he did in giving my poor, innocent daughter a pistol! How dare you come here, sir, and for what reason, may I inquire?”
“To make certain your daughter was all right, your grace,” Sir Simon Bates replied. “The incident at Queen’s Malvern was regrettable, but these things happen in war, I fear. I am not a monster, madame, and I have two young sisters of my own.” God’s blood, how old was this woman? he wondered. She was utterly beautiful, with hardly a line on her face. She was every bit as lovely as her daughter, who stood pale and silent by her side.
Intrigued Page 5
