As their vehicle came to a stop, a man of middle years hurried forward even before Fergus might come down from the box. Opening the coach’s door, he lowered its steps and offered a hand to Jasmine first, and then her daughter. “Welcome, madame la duchesse!” he said. “I am Guillaume. I hope your trip was a pleasant one.” He bowed neatly.
“Very pleasant,” she answered him, impressed by his air of assurance. “The house is ready to receive us?”
“Oui, madame, but I took the liberty of waiting until you arrived to hire more servants. My wife, Pascaline, and I can serve you and your daughter for the next few days. I see you have your own personal staff as well.”
“We will need gardeners to trim the trees and bushes along the entrance way,” Jasmine said, “and the road needs to be raked smooth. It is far too rutted.” She let him lead her into the chateau, followed by the others. They went up a small flight of stone steps past a covered stone porch and found themselves in a wide foyer. “Ahh,” she said with a smile, “it is good to be back.” Then she turned to her caretaker. “I remember my grandmother telling me that there once was another Guillaume here at Belle Fleurs. Are you related to him?”
“My great-grandparents, Guillaume and Mignon, had the pleasure of serving your grandparents, madame la duchesse. It was the lord de Marisco who bought the chateau from a Huguenot gentleman after the St. Bartholomew’s Massacre in Paris following Henri of Navarre’s wedding to the Princess Margot. The previous owner thought it advisable to retire to La Rochelle. Ah, here is my good wife. Come, Pascaline, and meet our mistress and the young mistress. You will show them and their maidservants to their chambers.”
Adali stepped forward. Age had shrunk him somewhat, but he still possessed an air of command about him. “I am madame la duchesse’s majordomo,” he said. “I have been to Belle Fleurs before. Fergus”—he beckoned the man forward—“and his wife, Toramalli, will want quarters together, and such are available, I know. Madame la duchesse’s personal captain will also sleep in the house.” He turned and favored the plump Pascaline with a brief smile. “Madame and the demoiselle will eat in the Great Hall tonight. You are prepared, bonne femme?”
“Oui, M’sieu Adali,” Pascaline said with a curtsey. She recognized authority when she saw it. “The meal is a simple one, but nourishing.”
“Excellent!” Adali said. “Now, mes amies, let us get the baggage unloaded as quickly as possible. I smell rain in the air.”
“Adali is in his glory again,” Autumn chuckled to her mother. “He is really lost without a house to run, isn’t he?”
“This is not Glenkirk,” Jasmine said to her daughter. “This is a small chateau as chateaux go. The kitchens are below us, as are the servants’ quarters. In addition to the Great Hall, there is a small library on this level, and upstairs only six bedchambers. Not apartments with several rooms, but simple bedchambers. Outside you will, when you have time to explore, find stables, a kennel, a falconry, and a dovecote.”
“It is pretty,” Autumn said, “but not very grand.”
“Nay, it is not grand. It is a chateau for lovers, or for a small family. My cousins’ chateau, Archambault, is grand, and eventually I shall take you to see it,” Jasmine promised.
They settled themselves in, and during the next few days Autumn was kept busy arranging her chamber to suit herself and unpacking. Her room overlooked the lake, and the single window had a seat built into it where Autumn found she liked to sit looking out through the leaded panes, sometimes unfastening the window to familiarize herself with the scent of the fertile French countryside. The furnishings were simple, of ancient but well-polished golden oak.
There was a large bedstead with a seven-foot oak headboard carved with flowers and vines, a solid canopy of oak overhead that was held up by the headboard, and the two carved wooden posts at the foot of the bed. It was certainly not as big as the one in Mama’s room, which was enormous. She had a tall oak cupboard called an armoire in which Lily hung her gowns, and a fine oak chest for the rest of her possessions. There was a single little table on one side of the bed that was set opposite a fireplace flanked with carved stone angels.
The bed hangings, which were hung from tarnished brass rings, were made of a faded rose-colored velvet. The cushion in the window seat was a natural colored linen with rose velvet flowers embroidered onto it. The window had a large shutter that could be closed to keep out the cold air, along with linen and velvet drapes. Beneath the bed was a trundle with a thick mattress for Lily to sleep upon, and on the little nightstand a silver taperstick with its own snuffer attached by a delicate silver link. On each end of the narrow fireplace mantel sat small, square porcelain bowls of potpourri that perfumed the chamber. Despite her reservations regarding the social disadvantages of living in such an isolated and small chateau, Autumn liked her bedchamber, and she liked Belle Fleurs.
Adali, with the aid of Guillaume, hired servants for the chateau. Pascaline would be their cook, but she needed two girls to help her, as well as a boy to scrub the pots and sharpen the knives. A laundress and her helper were employed, as well as three housemaids and three footmen. Two men were hired for work in the stables. A head gardener and half a dozen men would work on the grounds, seeing that the gardens were properly kept and the driveway cleared of brush and tree limbs. Guillaume would oversee all who worked outside, and Adali would manage the inside of the chateau. Red Hugh and Fergus were responsible for gamekeeping, and would protect the duchess and her daughter. Within two weeks the household was running smoothly and Autumn and her mother had settled in quite comfortably.
Then one afternoon in early December, a distinguished gentleman rode up to the chateau. Dismounting in the courtyard, he gave his horse to the attending stableman and entered the house. Adali hurried forward.
“Monsieur le Comte, you are most welcome to Belle Fleurs. I shall tell my mistress you are here. Come into the hall. Marc, wine for monsieur le comte!” Ushering the guest into the Great Hall, he hurried off to fetch Jasmine.
“Philippe!” She came into the hall, hands outstretched, a welcoming smile upon her lips.
“Cousine, you have not changed a bit in all the years that have separated us,” he said gallantly, kissing her on both cheeks.
“Liar!” she laughed.
“I was sorry to hear of your husband’s death,” he told her.
“And I of Marie Louise’s passing,” she returned. “Come, Philippe, and sit by the fire. ’Tis a cold day, and you must be chilled from your ride.”
They sat together, and he said, “You have come to France to escape Cromwell and his Puritans, I have no doubt.”
“You cannot imagine how dreadful it is, Philippe,” she told him, and went on to describe the bleak England of Protector Cromwell. “I could bear it for myself, but not for Autumn. There is no society as we once knew it any longer, Philippe. I have come to France to mourn in peace, to escape the joylessness of England today, but most important, I have come to seek a suitable husband for my youngest child. She is just nineteen and probably the most beautiful of all my daughters. There was no one in Scotland for her, and certainly no one in England today who would do. So I have come to Belle Fleurs.”
He nodded, understanding. Then he said, “France has been in turmoil these past years, Jasmine. The king was hardly out of leading strings when his father died. Old Louis was no fool, and he was wise enough to make the queen regent for the boy, but that has caused such difficulty. Anne of Austria is also no fool. She has leaned heavily upon the cardinal, but the princes of the blood hate him and are jealous. I am glad you sailed to Nantes. Had you come via Calais you might never have gotten to Belle Fleurs. We have been fortunate in this little region, for we have seen little fighting, but about us all is conflict.”
“Has it really been that bad, Philippe? We heard little of it at Glenkirk, and in England all we discuss is the king’s murder and the young king’s hopes of restoration.”
“It has been that bad,” he sa
id. “Last January the queen mother had the Prince de Conde, the Prince de Conti, and the Duc de Longueville arrested. Then she had to pacify Normandy and Burgundy. She left Paris in the hands of Monsieur while she went to Guyennne to restore their loyalty. Gaston d’Orleans’s loyalty is insecure at best and treasonous at worst, but he is her brother-in-law. He has never gotten over the fact that Louis XIII made his wife regent and not him.”
“I thought Conde was loyal,” Jasmine said.
“He runs with the hares and hunts with the hounds,” the Comte de Cher said dryly. “The chief troublemaker in all of this is Jean Francoise Paul de Gondi, the Archbishop of both Corinth and Paris. If there is a treasonous plot, you will be certain to find Gondi involved. For all his public piety, he is a very wicked and ambitious man. He has always believed that the queen mother was not fit, by virtue of her sex, to be the regent. If anyone is responsible for the estrangement between Monsieur and Anne of Austria, it is Gondi. So he lures Gaston d’Orleans, and the cardinal tries to convince the Duc de Bouillon, and his brother, Marshall Turenne, to give their complete loyalty to the queen mother. The marshall had some success in an August campaign in Champagne. The cardinal knew that if Turenne declared for Anne in light of his recent victories, it would be good for the young king. Turenne, however, refused, and so the cardinal made certain his next battle would cost him dearly for his presumption. He was beaten at Rethel only this autumn, but now the two Frondes, the first led by Gondi, and the Parisian burghers has joined with that of the princes. Only God knows what will happen now, ma cousine. I am not certain that in coming to France you have not jumped from the frying pan into the fire.”
“When will the king declare his majority?” Jasmine asked.
“Next September, following his thirteenth birthday. That was what his father wanted, and frankly, cherie, if the regency went on much longer, I should fear for King Louis’s life. All Anne and Cardinal Mazarin have to do is keep the boy in their hands until his next birthday. Once he is king in fact as well as in name, these rebels cannot continue on lest they be declared traitors. For now they keep France involved in civil wars under the guise of attempting to protect the king from his mother and the cardinal,” the comte explained.
“What do you think of Mazarin?” she inquired, curious.
“He learned well from Richelieu. This cardinal is a consummate politician, but he is honestly and entirely devoted to young Louis. The men who struggle against Mazarin are driven by self-interest,” Philippe de Saville told her. Then he patted her hand. “There is nothing for you in Paris right now, cherie, but here in this region, life goes on as it always has.” He chuckled. “No patriotic Frenchman would bring war into the vineyards, ma cousine. The early vintage is paramount.”
She laughed, then grew more somber. “But are there suitable prospects for my daughter, Philippe?”
“That is a woman’s matter, cherie. We must ask my sisters, Gaby and Antoniette. They will know, for they have daughters who needed to be married off once. Gaby and ’Toinette are like us, bereft of their mates now, and living with me at Archambault.” He chuckled. “They far prefer the spacious home of their childhood to the little dower houses each would have had to accept. Do you have a dower house at Glenkirk?”
“Nay, but there is one at Cadby, and why the architects of these houses think widows need less room simply because they no longer have husbands is beyond me,” Jasmine said indignantly.
“Mama. Adali said we had guests.” Autumn came into the hall. Her gown was of simple silver-blue damask, both bodice and skirt, with a wide collar of white linen edged in silver lace. Her hair was neat but not dressed, being plaited into a thick braid.
“Tres charmante!” Philippe de Saville said with a smile.
“This is my daughter, Lady Autumn Rose Leslie, monsieur le comte,” Jasmine said formally. Then she turned to the young girl. “Autumn, this is my cousin, Philippe de Saville, the Comte de Cher. With his permission you will call him Oncle Philippe.”
Autumn made her curtsey. “How do you do, Oncle Philippe,” she said, and gave him her hand. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
He kissed the elegant hand and bowed. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, ma petite. How lovely you are. We shall have no difficulty in finding you a husband.”
“Oh, but I mean to go to Paris to court to seek a husband,” Autumn replied frankly. “Certainly no one of importance lives in the provinces, Oncle. I am an heiress, you know, and will accept only an aristocrat of good family with his own wealth, so I may be certain he doesn’t wed me merely for mine, and will not love me.”
Philippe de Saville laughed heartily. “Mon Dieu, ma cousine, she is like every other woman in this family. Outspoken, and most frank. Ma petite,” he then said to Autumn, “your mama will explain the situation to you, but for the moment there is no real court in Paris because of our civil disturbances. Within the next year, however, that will change. In the meantime you will partake of society here in the region, and you will not find it lacking, I promise you.” Rising, he directed his next speech to Jasmine. “Come to Archambault for the twelve days of Christmas, but come before, on St. Thomas’s Day. My sisters will probably come to see you before then, so they may begin their plotting.” He bowed to both women and then took his leave.
“No court?” Autumn looked crestfallen.
“Perhaps it is better that you make your debut into society here first,” the mother soothed her daughter, secretly relieved. Autumn couldn’t know it, but court was such a bother, and the French court was more formal and devious than England’s court. I don’t know if I have the patience for this sort of thing anymore, Jasmine thought.
“I like Oncle Philippe,” Autumn said with a smile.
“You will like his sisters too,” Jasmine promised, “and they will be most valuable in introducing you into society here. You are related by blood through your great-grandfather de Marisco, whose mother was the second wife of the Comte de Cher and great-grandmother of Oncle Philippe.”
“I never knew I had a French family on your side, Mama. Papa would occasionally mention his uncles in France. Where are they?”
“Nearer to Paris. Eventually we shall meet them when the young king reaches his majority and the country is safe.”
“I will need new gowns if I am to go to Archambault,” Autumn said slyly. “You would not want me to appear a poor and unfashionable Scots cousin, Mama.”
Jasmine laughed. “We will wait until my cousins Gaby and Antoinette arrive, which, if the weather remains pleasant, will certainly be in a day or so. They will know just what to do.”
“May I ride this afternoon?” Autumn asked her mother.
“Of course, ma bébé, but remember, do not stray far. You do not know your way yet,” Jasmine cautioned.
Autumn loved the horse she now rode. He was a tall and slender black gelding she had named, simply, Noir. She had changed from her gown into dark green woolen breeches lined in silk to protect her delicate skin from chafing; a white silk shirt that tied at the neck and had full sleeves; and a dark leather jerkin with carved ivory buttons edged in silver. Her boots, which fit to the knee, were of brown leather. The afternoon, while cool, was not cold, and so she wore no cape or cloak.
She followed a trail behind the gardens beyond the low stone wall into the woods. The trees were now bereft of their leaves, which had fallen and dried. They made a pleasant crunching noise beneath Noir’s hooves. Soon the chateau disappeared behind her. About her in the branches, the rooks chattered companionably to each other as they preened. Autumn followed the trail until she came to a brook that rushed swiftly over a rocky streambed. Stopping, she debated whether they might cross it without injury to herself or the horse.
“It is not safe,” a voice suddenly cut into her consciousness.
Startled, Autumn looked across the water and saw a man, dressed as casually as she was, sitting beneath a tree, while his own horse browsed nearby. “How do you know?�
�� she demanded of him. “Have you tried?”
“The bottom is uneven, mademoiselle. It would be a pity for such a fine animal as the one you ride to break his leg and have to be destroyed,” the gentleman said.
“But I am curious as to what lies beyond this brook,” Autumn said, wondering who the man was. Probably a poacher who didn’t want her to know what he was up to, and so was attempting to scare her off.
“The water is the dividing line between the lands belonging to the chateau of Belle Fleurs and the lands belonging to the Marquis de Auriville,” the man said. “You would be trespassing, mademoiselle, should you cross over,” he told her.
“Who are you?” Autumn said boldly.
“Who are you?” he rejoined.
“I am Lady Autumn Rose Leslie. My mama owns Belle Fleurs, and we have come to live here, for England is not a happy place now.”
“Neither is France, mademoiselle. You have merely exchanged one civil war for another, I fear,” he said as he arose from his place and stretched lazily. He was a very handsome man with a long face.
“Are you a poacher?” she asked him, not doubting for a moment that he would lie if he were.
“No, mademoiselle, I am not a poacher,” he said with an amused laugh. How ingenuous Lady Autumn Rose Leslie was, he thought.
“Then who are you?” she again asked him, thinking that he really was very tall. Every bit as tall as her brother Patrick.
“I am a thief, mademoiselle,” he replied.
Not in the least nonplussed, she countered, “What do you steal, monsieur?” He was obviously mocking her. He didn’t look like a bandit at all.
Intrigued Page 8
