“Hearts, cherie,” came the startling reply, and then the man turned, caught his mount and, vaulting into his saddle, blew her a kiss as he rode off.
Astounded, Autumn watched as the man and his horse disappeared into the trees on the other side of the stream. She suddenly realized that not only was her heart racing, but her cheeks felt hot. It was all very confusing. Taking his advice, Autumn turned Noir back toward the chateau. If the lands on the other side of the brook did belong to someone else, then she really did not have the right to ride there unless she gained the owner’s permission first.
When she returned to her home she sought out Guillaume and asked him, “To whom do the lands beyond the brook belong?”
“Why, to the Marquis de Auriville, my lady,” he answered. “Why do you ask?”
“I was curious,” Autumn said with a little shrug. “I considered crossing the stream this afternoon but then worried I might be trespassing.”
“It is a good thing you did not attempt it, my lady,” Guillaume said. “The streambed is very rocky and uneven. Noir could have been injured. I am glad you are so careful with him. He is a fine mount.”
The very next day the Comte de Cher’s two widowed sisters, Madame de Belfort and Madame St. Omer, arrived at Belle Fleurs shortly after nine o’clock in the morning. With small shrieks of glee they rushed into the Great Hall, chattering nonstop.
“Jasmine! Mon Dieu, cousine, you have not changed at all! You have the figure of a young girl, despite all those children you produced for your husbands! And your hair! It is still dark but for those two little silver chevrons on either side of your head!” Gabrielle de Belfort kissed her cousin on both cheeks and plunked her plump figure down by the fire, gratefully accepting a goblet of wine from Adali. “Adali, you are an old man. How could this have happened?” She smiled at him.
“Time, madame, I fear, has finally caught up with me,” he said, returning her smile. “You, however, remain summer-fair.”
“Very late summer,” Antoinette St. Omer said dryly. “Bonjour, Jasmine. You must cease wearing black as soon as possible. Your skin is too sallow for it. Jemmie, I’m certain, would agree with me. Where is your daughter? We have come to inspect her so we may plan how to help you marry her off. Philippe says she is lovely.”
“Adali, go and fetch Autumn. Tell her her tantes have arrived.” Jasmine turned to her two cousins. “I have told her she is to call you both tante, as she has begun to call your brother oncle. We are seeking a husband, but first I think Autumn could use a bit of society, for she had none in the wilds of Scotland. By the time she was old enough for it, England was embroiled in civil war.”
“There will be plenty of festivities at Archambault shortly, and Philippe loves to entertain despite his widowed state. It was really he who planned all the parties, even when Marie Louise was alive. She was best at running the house and giving him his sons,” Antoinette said. While her sister was plump and short of stature, she was tall and spare, with her father’s dark brown eyes, and iron gray hair that was fixed in the latest style of short curls.
“Oh, yes,” Gaby interjected. “Philippe gives marvelous parties! Everyone in the entire area, and even beyond it, wants to come. Fortunately none of the vineyards is owned by any of the grand nobles, so we have escaped the war, and our young men have remained at home.” She shivered delicately. “War is such a nasty and dirty business. I do not know why men want to play at it. I truly don’t!”
“Power does not appeal to my sister,” Madame St. Omer said with a wink at Jasmine. “Ahh, here is the child. Come forward, girl, and let me see you. I am your Tante Antoinette St. Omer, and this is your Tante Gabrielle de Belfort.”
Autumn hurried into the Great Hall to join the three women. She curtsied prettily, saying as she did so, “Bonjour, tantes. I am happy to meet you.”
Madame St. Omer, who had not sat down since she entered the hall, took Autumn’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, turning her head first this way and then that. “The skin is good, in fact excellent,” she pronounced. Reaching around, she drew the thick braid into her hand and fingered its ends. “The hair is a good color and soft, yet not fine.” Releasing the plait, she stared critically at Autumn’s face. “The bones are good, the forehead high, the nose straight, the chin in proportion, the lips perhaps a trifle wide.” Then she gasped. “Mon Dieu, child! Your eyes are different colors! One is the marvelous turquoise of your mama’s, but the other is as green as a summer leaf. Where on earth did you ever get eyes like that?” Obviously overcome, she sat down, finally accepting the wine the footman had been waiting to give her and swallowing down a long draught of it.
“I owe my green eye to my paternal grandmother, Lady Hepburn,” Autumn said with a chuckle. “I have always thought that my features, being so unique, would fascinate the gentlemen, tante. Do you know, or have you ever known a girl with such a feature as my eyes?”
“I have not!” Madame St. Omer answered, “but you may very well be right, ma petite. What others might see as a defect may very well prove bewitching to a suitor. You are shrewd, Autumn Leslie, and that is the French in you!” She turned to her sister. “Is she not lovely, Gaby? We shall have such fun planning her wardrobe. . . .” She stopped, turning back to Autumn. “You have jewelry, ma petite?”
“I have jewelry,” Jasmine spoke up before her daughter might, and her two cousins nodded.
“Oh, what a winter it is going to be,” Madame St. Omer said, pleased. “There are several eminently suitable gentlemen who would make excellent husbands for your daughter, ma cousine. Gaby’s late husband was related to one: Pierre Etienne St. Mihiel, the Duc de Belfort. And then there is Jean Sebastian d’Oleron, the Marquis de Auriville; and Guy Claude d’Auray, the Comte de Montroi. These three are the creme de la creme in our area. All have their own estates and are very well endowed financially, so you need not fear they are fortune hunters. Even at court you could not find better matches.”
“Are they handsome?” Autumn wanted to know.
“Oui,” her aunt said. “I suppose they are, but ma petite, it is not a pretty face you must consider first, but a man’s character and his purse. Jasmine, ma cherie, have you a priest in residence?”
“No, ’Toinette, we do not,” came the reply. They were in France now, and she would revert to the faith of her childhood, although such a thing had never made a great difference to her. Still, she had been baptized a Roman Catholic and taught by her cousin, the Jesuit Father Cullen Butler. He had died the year before on her former estates in Ulster, a man in his mid-eighties.
“Your Guillaume has a son who has just been ordained,” Madame St. Omer told her. “This would make an excellent living for him. You must see to it, Jasmine. Your daughter, I suspect, has been raised a Protestant, n’est-ce pas?”
“Aye, but she was baptized in Ulster shortly after she was born by both a priest and then a minister,” Jasmine said.
“But she does not know her catechism, I am certain. If she is to wed a respectable Frenchman, she must be taught these things.”
Jasmine nodded. “You are right,” she said slowly. “I shall speak to Guillaume immediately. There is a small chapel here in the house somewhere. We will reopen it, and the priest can hold mass each day.” She laughed softly. “How pleased Father Cullen would be.”
“We will bring our own tailor tomorrow,” Madame de Belfort said. “Autumn must have several pretty new gowns for her visit to Archambault. As I recall there is a storeroom beneath the hall, Jasmine. I will wager you will find the materials your grandmother bought stored away there. If not, we shall send to Nantes for some, but la petite must be shown to her best advantage. There are, after all, other young, unmarried girls in the region who are fishing for husbands. She will have serious competition.
“Nonsense!” Madame St. Omer contradicted her sister. “There isn’t a girl in the region as beautiful, and certainly not as wealthy. We shall have all we can do, keeping the fortune hunters away and
seeing that only the right gentlemen are permitted to court Autumn. I am so glad, cher Jasmine, that you have put this matter into our hands.” She smiled at her cousin, displaying her large, almost rabbbity teeth.
After the two sisters had taken their leave, with promises to return early the following day, Autumn said to her mother, “The tantes are so . . .” She struggled to find the right word but could not.
“Overwhelming?” Jasmine supplied with a smile. “Aye, both Gaby and ’Toinette are all-engulfing in their desire to see that everything is done properly. I remember my grandmother saying that they were very much like their mother, but Autumn, we are fortunate to have their good advice. I want you happy, my child, and your father would too.”
Suddenly Autumn’s eyes filled with tears. “I miss him, Mama,” she said brokenly. “Why did he insist on going to war for the Stuarts?”
Jasmine closed her eyes for a long moment so she might manage her own grief. Then, opening them, she said, “You know why, Autumn. James Leslie was the most honorable man I have ever known. He knew it was a fatal mistake for the Leslies of Glenkirk to defend and follow after the Stuarts, but they were his overlords, and related to him by blood. In his mind, even realizing it was likely to be a disaster, he felt compelled to obey their call, particularly as his own distant Leslie kin were involved up to their hips in the muddle. Your father might have pleaded his age, but he would not, and it was there he and I disagreed. I do not believe his honor would have been compromised by refusing to go. He did. It was easier for him to live with my disapproval than his own self-scorn. So he is dead and in his tomb at Glenkirk, and you and I are here in France, attempting to make a new life for ourselves.”
“But what of Patrick?” Autumn fretted.
Her mother laughed now. “Poor Patrick. He always knew that one day he should be the Duke of Glenkirk, but I know he never expected to find himself with all that responsibility so soon. He will survive. Both your father and I were good teachers. Patrick will reach down into himself to find he has both the wisdom and the strength to do what he must. Before I left him I advised him to find a wife to stand by his side. He should have by now had his fill of enjoying the ladies while avoiding his obligations. Now he has no choice in the matter.” She laughed again. “When I left Glenkirk I thought never to return, but now I know that I will one day go back. After all, I do want to be buried next to your father when my time comes.”
“Oh, do not talk of your death, Mama!” Autumn cried, genuinely distressed, throwing her arms about her surviving parent.
“I intend to live to be an old lady, even as my mother is and my grandmother was,” Jasmine soothed her daughter. “I must if I am to see your children and spoil them as Madame Skye spoiled me.”
“Grandmama Velvet never spoiled me,” Autumn said.
“It is not my mother’s way,” Jasmine said.
“And I never knew Papa’s mother, even though I get my green eye from her,” Autumn said. “I remember when I was almost thirteen, her coffin was brought home from Italy. I never knew where she was buried. Papa said it was a secret. Why was that?”
“I suppose it is all right for me to tell you now,” Jasmine said. “Your grandmother’s great love was her second husband, Francis Stewart-Hepburn, the last Earl of Bothwell. He was King James’s first cousin, and poor Jamie was terrified of him, for Francis was everything the king wasn’t. He was highly intelligent, handsome, passionate, and clever. He was called the uncrowned King of Scotland, which of course didn’t please the king or his adherents. His weakness, however, was that when his royal cousin pushed, Francis, I am told, pushed back twice as hard. The king’s counselors had him accused of witchcraft, claiming he was a warlock.”
“Was he?” Autumn was fascinated by this bit of history, which she had never before heard.
“No, of course not,” Jasmine laughed, “and despite the fact that the courts dragged forth several hysterical women—of low birth, I might add—claiming to be witches who identified him as a member of their coven, nothing could really be proved. What no one knew was that the king had a passion for your grandmother. He raped her one night, and she fled to Bothwell, who had been her friend. They fell in love, and eventually, after Lord Bothwell had been exiled and driven from Scotland, your grandmother, who was a widow, joined him, and they were married. It was actually your father who engineered his mother’s escape, and then pretended to know nothing when the king grew angry. Jamie never knew the part your father played.
“When we came to France some years back for the wedding of Princess Henrietta Maria to our king, Charles I, I met your grandmother for the very first and only time. She asked your father when she died to bring her body and Lord Bothwell’s home to Scotland to be buried on the grounds of the old Glenkirk Abbey. He had already predeceased her. Bothwell’s body was removed secretly from its grave in the garden of their villa in Naples. His bones were placed in your grandmother’s coffin with her, and they were, as she had requested, interred together. Your father did not tell me until the coffin was returned to Scotland. Patrick knows now, for I told him before I left Glenkirk, so he would be certain to see the grave was always tended properly. Now you know, Autumn.”
“I think that is the most romantic story I have ever heard!” Autumn said with a gusty sigh.
“And that is not even the entire story,” Jasmine said with a smile, “but it is much too long a tale for today. Now we must consider preparing you for society, and the possibility of your finding a husband. I shall give you one word of advice, ma bébé. Do not marry just to marry. Do not choose a man because everyone else says he is the right man. Marry for love, ma fille. Marry only for love!”
“Why would you marry for any other reason, Mama?” Autumn cuddled next to her mother as they sat before the fire.
“Marriage,” Jasmine began, “is a sacrament, and that is what I was taught; but it is a business arrangement as well. There is property and wealth involved with people of our station. More often than not, love is not considered before marriage. It is hoped that it will come after marriage.”
“But what if it doesn’t?” Autumn asked.
“Then it is hoped that at least the couple involved can respect one another and live together in harmony. My first marriage was arranged by my father. I did not meet Jamal Khan until our wedding day. Fortunately my husband and I fell in love as we grew to know each other. My grandparents arranged my second marriage with Rowan Lindley, but he and I were in love before we wed. My third marriage, to your father, was ordered by King James. You know the story, so I need not go into it with you. Your father and I were fortunate in that we loved one another dearly. I allowed your sisters their heart’s desires, and it has turned out well for both of them. Now you, my youngest daughter, my last child, must find a mate. Choose wisely, Autumn. Your marriage will last until his death, or yours.”
Autumn nodded, then asked, “Am I to become a Catholic, Mama?”
“You were baptized one, although you were not raised in that faith. Such things are not important to me, but here in France they are. I will speak with Guillaume about his son, who is a priest, so you may be taught the faith you must practice and must teach your children one day,” Jasmine told her daughter.
Then, that same day, she spoke with Guillaume about his son.
“Has he found a place yet?”
“No, madame la duchesse, he has not,” answered Guillaume.
“Since I intend making my home here at Belle Fleurs, we must really have a priest,” Jasmine explained. “There is a chapel here in the house, isn’t there?”
“Oui, madame, behind the hall next to the library,” came the reply, “but it has not been used in years,” Guillaume said.
“I shall tell Adali to have the serving girls open it up and clean it. What is your son’s name?”
“Bernard,” Guillaume replied. He could barely stand still, for he wanted to go and tell his wife, Pascaline, of this stroke of good fortune that had befallen th
em.
“Tell Pere Bernard that I shall expect him here before week’s end to take up his duties. He will live in the house until a small cottage can be built for him. I will explain his responsibilities to him when he arrives and is settled. Go and tell your bonne femme now, for I can see in your eyes that you are anxious to do so.” Then Jasmine smiled.
Guillaume bowed several times. “Merci, madame la duchesse, mille merci!” He hurried off in the direction of the kitchens.
They had settled in, and now Jasmine was bringing a priest to the house. France was really going to be her home, she considered. I never thought to leave Glenkirk when I married Jemmie. I have lived so many places in my life. I wonder if this is my final home, or whether fate will surprise me again in my old age. Then she laughed softly at herself. A change made life interesting. She had gotten too complacent with her life at Glenkirk. She had not left there since they had come home from Ulster, and Autumn had been a little baby. Oh, occasionally she would come down into England for an English summer with her mother, but Queen’s Malvern had changed with Charlie’s marriage to Bess. She had been content to remain in her own home.
Now, however, life was taking her by the hand and leading her down a new path. She hoped she had done the right thing, bringing Autumn to France. What if she didn’t find a husband to love? What would happen to her daughter then? Jasmine sighed deeply. She had always considered herself independent and self-reliant. Now she wished Jemmie Leslie, her beloved husband, was still by her side. All these decisions she had made regarding her children she had made with his help and advice. They had looked over their combined family together. She hadn’t done it alone at all. Not until now.
“Damn the Stuarts!” she said softly. “And damn you, Jemmie Leslie, for going off and leaving me alone! Your loyalty to me should have been greater than your loyalty to the Stuarts. What did they ever do for you? Nothing!” Then she began to cry bitter tears.
“My princess, drink this.” Her faithful Adali was by her side, pressing a small crystal of cordial into her hand.
Intrigued Page 9
