“How charming!” she heard her mother exclaim. “Look at the ceiling, ma bébé,” Jasmine said. “How absolutely lovely!”
Autumn raised up her eyes and saw the ceiling was painted to resemble a morning sky, bright blue, its white clouds touched along their edges with pink and gold. A flock of doves fluttered across the firmament. Suddenly she began to cry, unable to help herself.
“What is the matter, ma cherie?” the marquis asked, surprised.
“I am not grand enough for such a beautiful place, Sebastian,” Autumn sobbed. “I am a country lass and this is a palace.”
He gathered her into his arms. “You are the perfect jewel in the crown of Chermont, cherie,” he told her. “Chermont is not a palace. It is your home. Chenonceaux was far grander.”
“But it was supposed to be,” Autumn said, her cheeks wet with the tears that refused to stop flowing. “It is a royal palace! Belle Fleurs is certainly not as grand, and neither is Archambault.”
“Belle Fleurs is a country house,” he explained, “and Archambault has never been modernized, cherie. My mother, who like the old queen came from Firenze, had a great flair for art. She oversaw the design of the public rooms at Chermont and had the marble staircase put in to replace an old twisting and winding one. These were her apartments, Autumn. Now they will be yours, and my mother would approve.”
“Did Elise have these apartments?” Autumn asked, suddenly realizing she was jealous of Sebastian’s first wife.
“Nay,” he said quietly. “She never liked them, and said she believed my mother’s ghost haunted the rooms. It was nonsense, of course, Autumn. If my mother would haunt any place in this chateau, it would be the nurseries where her grandchildren would live.” He caressed her hair tenderly. “Shall we have many children, ma petite?”
“Perhaps,” she sniffed, feeling just a little better.
“Mon brave,” Jasmine said quietly, “show us the rest of this wonderful apartment; and then I believe you should introduce Autumn to those who will serve her, eh?”
The bedchamber was all white and sky blue and gold. The wall panels were painted with floral motifs and the ceiling painting was an evening sky, all pink, lavender, and rosy gold tinting the clouds. Autumn’s eyes widened at her first sight of the bed, but she said nothing. It was a very large bed, draped in a brocade with a cream background woven with gold, rose, and muted sage green threads. The bedposts were carved and gilded with vines and leaves.
“I hope you like your bedchamber,” he said. “I had it redone for you. My mother’s taste was a trifle more flamboyant. I did not think it would suit you, cherie.”
“It’s beautiful,” was all she could say, and it was. She had never seen furniture like this, all carved, painted, and gilded. It was like something out of a fairy tale. The fireplace opposite her bed was made of pink marble, the opening flanked by winged angels. There was a clock made of gilt upon the mantel. A large, carved armoire was set against another wall. Autumn walked across the room and saw the river beyond. She turned back to face him. “I cannot believe I am to live in this exquisite chamber, Sebastian. Just think! Our children shall be created here, and born here.”
“My bedchamber is through here,” he said, touching a molding on a wall panel.
“Your bedchamber?” Autum was very surprised. “Are we not to share this incredible bed, monseigneur?”
“We are,” he agreed, “but certainly your parents had their own chambers at Glenkirk.”
“Jemmie never used his,” Jasmine replied softly.
“We cannot make children if you do not share my bed,” Autumn said frankly. “What nonsense to think you need your own chamber.”
“I will need it to store my clothing, Autumn,” he responded with a twinkle in his silvery eyes. “If you are like other women, you will arrive at my house with enough gowns and other fripperies to clothe an entire convent school. Every bit of space in these chambers will be filled with your possessions quite soon. Am I not correct?”
“Monsieur Reynaud would not have it any other way,” Autumn laughed. “I shall bring trunks and trunks and trunks to Chermont, Sebastian.”
They returned to the main floor, and in the Great Hall the marquis introduced his bride-to-be to her servants. There was Lafite, the majordomo, and his wife, Madame Lafite, the housekeeper. There were eight housemaids; a man named Leon, whose only task was to polish all the silver and gold in the house; another named Pinabel, whose duty was to see that all the candelabras, lamps, and chandeliers were in proper working order. Candles could only be obtained from Pinabel, who kept a strict accounting of his stock. Caron was the chef, and he had half-a-dozen kitchen maids, a boy to scrub pots, and another who sharpened knives, in his charge. There were six footmen. The laundress was a large woman with thick arms and a ruddy complexion named Methina. She had two helpers.
“Will madame le marquis require a maid to serve her? I have a well-trained niece, Orane, who could fill such a position.”
“If Orane would be willing to serve in a secondary capacity to my serving woman, Lily, I would be glad to have her in my service, Madame Lafite,” Autumn replied diplomatically.
“She will be more than happy to serve madame in that capacity,” the housekeeper replied with a pleased smile. “She is quite good with her needle. Madame will certainly be satisfied.” She curtsied.
“You have all made me feel so welcome,” Autumn said. “I know I shall be very happy at Chermont. I already see I will be well taken care of by all of you.”
Dismissed, the household staff departed. In their own hall afterwards Madame Lafite said, “We have all waited for monsieur le marquis to choose another wife. This marquise will do well for Chermont, I can already see it. She loves our master and is a well-brought-up young lady. Within the year we shall have a new generation for Chermont.” Nodding, the servants raised their cups of wine to toast their master and his bride-to-be.
Autumn returned home with her mother, having met the outdoor staff before their departure. There had been Arno, the head groom, and his two undergrooms. The care and feeding of the horses was their duty. There were six stablemen who kept the stables clean and the animals fed. There was Henri, the coachman; Xarles, the game-keeper and head huntsman, who had an assistant; and Yves, the kennel-master, who also had an assistant. There was Florus, the head gardner, who had a staff of ten men under him. There was Marlon, the falconkeeper, and his assistant, who also kept the dovecote.
“I don’t think I shall ever remember all the names,” Autumn said to the marquis.
“You will in time,” he replied with a smile. “These people are only those who serve the household. There are many others who work in the vineyards, and with the farm animals. We are self-sustaining here at Chermont. You will eventually have more to do than just be my beautiful wife and the mother of our children.”
“I don’t think I can do it,” Autumn said as she and her mother rode home to Belle Fleurs late that afternoon. “I did not realize what was involved in marrying Sebastian.”
“It would have been even more difficult with the Duc de Belfort, and little better with the Comte d’Auray,” her mother said. “A woman must manage her household, knowing everything that goes on, learning to delegate authority to her servants but keeping an eye on all. You did very well with Madame Lafite, ma bébé. You might have said Lily was your serving woman, but instead you offered madame’s niece a position, while not exactly what she hoped for, but a respectable position nonetheless. You will do fine, and I will be here to guide you, Autumn. I was not there for either of your sisters, but I will be here for you.”
“What news from England, Mama?” Autumn asked.
“It is not good,” Jasmine said. “I was not going to tell you until after the wedding, but you may as well know now. King Charles marched into England with a Scots army. Do I need to tell you how the English felt about that? Instead of getting the full support he needed from his countrymen, they recoiled in horror at the skirl
of the pipes. All the English could see was an invading Scots army. That their own king was at its head meant little. The English have never really taken to the Stuarts. As much as they may dislike Master Cromwell they hate the Scots far more. It seems to be ingrained in their souls, this tribal hate for the Scots. What a pity the king did not consider the centuries of warfare before he came over the border in kilt and tam.”
“What happened?” Autumn said.
“King Charles was defeated in early September at Worcester,” her mother answered.
“Charlie?”
“I don’t know. Henry sent me the news. He says there was no word that Charlie had been killed, but he has no idea where he may be, or even if he is alive,” Jasmine responded, her voice suddenly hard.
“He’s alive, Mama,” Autumn said firmly.
“What makes you so certain? Henry writes that Worcester was terrible, and many were slain,” Jasmine replied.
“Charlie is the not-so-royal Stuart, Mama. He isn’t a Leslie. He is the Mughal’s grandson. He has luck unlike poor Papa.”
“You may very well be right,” her mother said, and then she blaughed. “Aye, you probably are right, Autumn. My son Charlie could charm even death out of taking him too soon. We will wait, and eventually we will hear what has happened.”
Autumn’s eye caught a movement at the lake’s edge, and she was brought back to the reality of the morning. Her wedding morning. An antlered stag had come from the forest to drink. She watched him, fascinated. Then, as the beast lifted his handsome head, it seemed to look directly at her. Autumn laughed. The stag turned and leapt back into the forest.
“Yer awake.” Lily’s sleepy voice sounded from the trundle bed.
“Aye,” Autumn answered her servant, “and you had best get up, lest Mama finds us lingering. My wedding is planned for ten, so we may have time for a feast and time to travel back to Chermont today. I will want a bath first, and I will need time for my hair to dry.”
Lily clambered from her own bed and quickly pulled her clothes on before emptying the night jar out the window into the lake. Then she hurried off to arrange for hot water to be brought upstairs. Adali, however, had already anticipated Autumn’s wishes, and the water was ready to be hauled from the kitchen to the bedchamber. Lily ran back up the stairs to pull the oak tub from its niche. Autumn climbed back into her bed and drew the curtains for modesty’s sake as the young footmen hurried in with their buckets. When the last of them had gone, leaving several extra buckets of hot water, Autumn came from her bed again, drawing off her night garment as Lily poured a mixture of oil of apricot and oil of jasmine into the steaming water.
Autumn washed herself as she always did, but for her long and supple back, which Lily scrubbed. Then Lily proceeded to wash her mistress’s hair, rinsing it first with vinegar and then clean water from the buckets. Vinegar removed excess soap and gave shine to dark hair. Autumn stood and wrapped her head in a towel as Lily rinsed her body with the remaining clean water. Then the bride stepped from the tub to be enfolded in a warm towel. The two girls squealed as the door to the bedchamber opened, but it was only the duchess.
“Good!” she approved. “You are awake and preparing. Father Bernard says you are excused from early mass because there will be a mass at your wedding. I will have Adali bring you something to eat.”
“I don’t think I can,” Autumn admitted.
Her mother smiled. “You are nervous, but believe me, ma fille, it will be better if you eat. An egg poached in cream and marsala with some fresh bread?” she coaxed her daughter. “A cup of newly pressed cider with a stick of cinnamon?”
“You’ll need your strength, m’lady,” Lily chimed in in an effort to help the duchess.
Autumn sighed. “Well,” she considered, “I suppose I could eat a little something now.”
“A wise decision,” her mother agreed. “After the mass you may be too busy greeting your guests to eat at our little feast.”
“When will Monsieur Reynaud want me to dress?” Autumn asked.
“I will come with him an hour before the ceremony,” her mother said, and then hurried from the chamber.
Autumn sat in the windowseat of her bedchamber while Lily toweled and toweled her long hair until it was just damp. Then the maidservant brushed out the dark tresses, and Autumn sat back as Lily brushed the hair over the sill into the morning air to dry.
When Adali brought the two young women the meal, Autumn found she was more than able to eat. The chef had sent her favorite soft cheese in a small crock, and fresh pears, which she always enjoyed.
“You’ll not fit into your gown,” Lily chided as Autumn reached for another pear. “Put it back. My aunt will have my hide, and poor Monsieur Reynaud will have a fit right before us. ’Twould not be a particularly good omen, m’lady.”
“I’m suddenly hungry,” Autumn insisted.
“ ’Tisn’t food you crave,” Lily said sharply.
“Shame!” Autumn scolded her maid, but Lily just laughed.
“ ’Twas not the flavor of the pear you were just now contemplating as you licked your lips so laciviously, m’lady,” Lily replied. “Come on now, and clean your face, hands, and teeth. Monsieur Reynaud will be here before we know it. You have to be decently clothed when he arrives clucking and crowing,” the servant chuckled.
Now it was Autumn who laughed. The tailor’s name in English might mean fox, but both young women thought of him more as a little bantam cock, strutting and preening.
Autumn had decided not to wear a chemise, but rather a waistcoat, which was like a man’s half-shirt and fashioned of silk. It would not show above the neckline of her bodice, which was cut straight across. She also wore no caleçons, the drawers worn by French-women. She stepped into the twelve silk petticoats one by one, lifting them to sit down, so Lily might dress her hair into an elegant chignon at the nape of her neck. In Scotland her hair would have been left flowing to indicate her virginity, but the French did not hold with such customs any longer. Elegance above all was their rule. Carefully, Lily looped narrow strands of small pearls on either side of the chignon. Then she fastened fat pearl eardrops into Autumn’s ears.
There was a cursory knock at the door. The duchess entered, with Monsieur Reynaud and his assistants in her wake. Jasmine nodded her approval at Lily’s efforts. Then they all set about to get the bride into her wedding gown, which was a very rich cream in color, the underskirt and the bodice being silk, the overskirt looped to the back of velvet. The bodice was boned, and the sleeves tight to below the elbow. The waist of the gown was set au natural, and where the overskirt encircled in back a large velvet bow decorated with pearls had been affixed. It was beautiful and fashionable in its simplicity.
Autumn stood, strangely quiet as they fussed and bustled about her. She suddenly felt as if she was in a dream. That wasn’t really how she had imagined her wedding day. She had always thought she would be surrounded by her sister India and her brothers. Her father would escort her to the altar, where some faceless gentleman would be waiting for her. And afterwards in the Great Hall of Glenkirk Castle her family’s piper would play for them, and her brothers would dance amid crossed swords for the entertainment of the bride, the groom, and their many guests. She would have been wed in Glenkirk Church amid the tombs of her ancestors, by a cleric who had known her since her infancy. It had been only a small dream, but so easily destroyed by Master Cromwell and his wicked Roundheads, who had dragged her country into civil war, caused her sire’s death, and forced her mother to flee.
She should be grateful, Autumn suddenly considered. She had found her true love in Sebastian d’Oleron here in France. Life here was as it should be. While there might be bad men trying to control King Louis’s thoughts and actions, they had been foiled, would be deterred. The boy king, she knew from their brief meetings, was determined and strong. No abusive Parliament would lop off his head.
Her mother’s small chateau had been here to shelter them. Her French f
amily had welcomed them warmly and brought them into the society of the Cher region. They had introduced her to Sebastian. Today she would be married in the little chapel of Belle Fleurs, by a young priest who was thrilled to be performing the ceremony. She would be surrounded by her uncle and the two aunts, and by Adali, Rohana, Toramalli, Red Hugh, Fergus, and Lily. They were every bit as much her family as her siblings, and she was fortunate to have them. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see her mother’s face.
“I miss them too,” Jasmine said softly.
“Oh, Mama, how did you know?” she asked aloud.
“Of all my children, Autumn, you have the most expressive face. You wear your heart on your sleeve, ma petite,” Jasmine answered. “It isn’t forever, you know. One day King Charles will sit upon his throne again, and you will see the others, except for Fortune, whom you do not remember. She always said once she crossed the sea to Mary’s Land she would not come back again. She is the one I regret most.”
“As intolerance has cost you Papa and your home,” Autumn said wisely, “it cost you a daughter too, but I am here for you, Mama. I shall never leave you. Where I go, you must be. That is my promise to you on my wedding day.”
Jasmine hugged her youngest child; then, taking her face in both her hands, kissed her cheeks. “And my promise to you is that only death shall separate us, ma bébé.”
“Madame! The mademoiselle’s skirts! You will wrinkle them,” Monsieur Reynaud fumed.
The women laughed as the duchess stepped back, and even the tailor smiled. Then Adali’s head popped around the door.
“The guests and bridegroom await,” he said.
“Will you and your assistants join us in the chapel, Monsieur Reynaud?” the duchess asked the tailor, who nodded, delighted. How envious his compatriots in Tours would be when he told them that not only had he fashioned Madame la Marquise d’Auriville’s wedding gown, he had been invited to remain to see her take her vows.
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