Intrigued

by Bertrice Small

  He bowed to her. “We will anxiously await your coming, madame la marquise,” Lafite said gravely.

  Chapter 16

  Autumn stared from the hillsides at her brother’s home, Queen’s, Malvern. It looked deserted and forlorn. It was all overgrown. The wing that had been set afire by the Roundheads those years back was a burnt ruin. Autumn’s horse shifted beneath her and, reaching out, she touched her brother’s hand.

  “God’s blood, Charlie, is it habitable? It looks absolutely wretched. I’m glad we left Mama and the children in Worcester.”

  “If it isn’t, little sister, it soon will be,” her brother assured her. “Thank God I don’t have to petition the king for the monies to restore Queen’s Malvern. Poor Charles, who is poor enough himself, is being beseiged by those returning supporters and those who remained here in England faithful to him. He says I am the only one among his friends and family who have not asked him for something,” the Duke of Lundy chuckled. “I think my task will be far easier than his.” He kicked his stallion into a walk. “Come on, Autumn, let’s go down and see what we can see of my home.”

  They rode down the hill to the house, dismounted, and tethered their horses to a bush. Charlie drew forth a large key from his pocket and, putting it into the old iron lock set in his front door, turned it. To his surprise, it operated quite smoothly.

  “Someone has been keeping the lock in order,” he said almost to himself as the door swung open, and they stepped into the hallway. To their surprise the house was clean; the floors, bare of their carpets, swept clean, the wood polished. As they moved from room to room, they found the furniture swathed, the windows covered by their heavy draperies through which just enough light penetrated to allow them to move freely. The duke drew a drape aside, and sunlight filled the room. “Queen’s Malvern has been cared for,” he noted aloud to his sister.

  “And why would it not be, sir?” a voice behind them said. As they turned, the man fell to his knees before Charlie and caught up his hand to kiss it. “Welcome home, my lord duke,” Becket said. There were tears in his eyes that overflowed, falling upon the threadbare black fabric of his garment.

  Charles Frederick Stuart, Duke of Lundy, bent down and raised up the man before him. Their eyes met, and Charlie said two words to the faithful servant: “Thank you!” Then he gave Becket his hand to shake and clapped him on the back. “How have you managed to keep the house in such incredible condition, Becket? Did not the Roundheads give it over to one of their people?”

  “They did, your lordship. Some self-important little lordling with overpious ways called Dunstan. Oh, how delighted they were to be here, but determined to put their own stamp upon the house. The first thing they did was remove the portraits of Lord and Lady de Marisco that hang in the family hall. Lady Dunstan said to me that she had heard he was a pirate, and she no better than a common . . . well, you know what she said, my lord. Well, sir, it was right after that that things started happening. Doors would open and close before you, and no one there. The portraits of Lord and Lady Dunstan that replaced those of your great-grandparents kept falling from the wall, no matter how hard we tacked ’em up. Once the fireplaces all began to smoke, and yet none of them had a fire in ’em. The servants the Dunstans brought with ’em began to swear that they had seen a dark-haired woman with startlingly bright blue-green eyes walking the halls of the house. What really sent those interlopers scampering, however, happened on Twelfth Night, my lord, and as I seen it myself I can honestly attest to it. Lord Dunstan suggested they toast Protector Cromwell. Well, my lord, before you could say God Bless, both Lord and Lady Dunstan’s goblets rose straight off the table and poured themselves out over their heads!”

  Autumn burst out laughing.

  Becket grinned and continued his tale. “Well, my lord, after a moment of shocked silence, Lady Dunstan jumped up and told her husband she wouldn’t spend another night in this house. It was obviously haunted by demons, and they could have the place for all she cared. It was too old-fashioned and drafty to suit her, she said. Then their portraits fell from the wall again with a horrible bang, and she ran shrieking from the hall. Her maid packed the essentials and she was gone from Queen’s Malvern within the hour. By the following day they were both gone, bag and baggage, I’m happy to say. After that no one came here. My wife and I closed the place up, and we’ve kept it ready for your lordship’s return. As soon as the Dunstans were gone, I rehung the portraits that belonged in the family hall. They ain’t ever fallen,” he finished.

  “How soon can the house be ready for occupancy, Becket?” the duke asked him.

  “By tomorrow, your lordship,” replied the majordomo. “I’ll call the servants back, them that aren’t too old to work, and I’ll replace the rest with their relations. We’ve all been waiting for you to come home, my lord. Are we to expect your children?”

  “No, not yet. Just myself, my mother and sister, and Lady Autumn’s two little girls, Becket. They are in Worcester, but we shall ride back today and return tomorrow. Get the gardeners working on all that growth outside, and tell those too elderly to return to their places that there will be cottages and pensions for all. I do not forget those who have served my family so well in good times and bad,” the duke told Becket. He turned to his sister. “Come, Autumn.”

  “Your ladyship . . .” the majordomo said.

  “Yes, Becket?”

  “I never welcomed you home, your ladyship, but I do most heartily,” the majordomo said. “Will your husband be joining you?”

  “Thank you, Becket, and in answer to your question, no. I am a widow. I am now Madame la Marquise d’Auriville.”

  “Very good, your ladyship,” Becket replied, and he bowed to her.

  “One more thing, Becket,” the duke said. “The Dunstans—have they ever been back since they departed? The king has promised that no one will be dispossessed, and I should hate to have the house fall out of the family’s hands.”

  “They were killed, my lord, leaving Worcester. Their coach horses were startled by something and bolted from the inn yard before their driver was on the box. It overturned several miles down the road. They had no children to mourn their passing, and as no one knew from whence they had originally come, they were buried in the cathedral graveyard. Their serving people disappeared with their possessions, and the church took what was in the coach and Lady Dunstan’s jewelry to pay for their graves and coffins.”

  Charlie nodded, pleased that he should not have to annoy his cousin the king in an effort to retrieve his family’s home. “We will return tomorrow, Becket,” he said. Then he and his sister departed the house to ride back to Worcester town.

  They returned the next day, the two coaches and the baggage carts rumbling down the hill to Queen’s Malvern. The doors of the house were flung open and a troop of young footmen in the duke’s livery hurried out to open the coach doors, put down the steps, and help the occupants out. Becket hurried forward to welcome them, but his warmest welcome now was for Adali, the duchess’s majordomo. He helped the elderly gentleman from the carriage, smiling and chattering.

  “Do I have my old room, Becket?” Autumn asked him.

  “Yes, your ladyship, and your wee ones are next to you. There is a connecting door,” Becket answered. “The duchess will be in her old suite. Everything will be as it once was,” he concluded happily.

  “I miss my pony,” Madeline complained.

  “You shall have another,” her uncle promised.

  “Speak English,” her grandmother said sharply. “You are in England now, my child. And you, also, Margot.”

  “I want to go home,” Madeline whined as they entered the house. “I don’t like England. I want to go to Chermont.”

  Autumn stopped, and then she picked up her eldest daughter and set her on a chair so that they were eye to eye. “You will go home to Chermont, Maddie, but not now. I am a Scot, and our king has now been restored to his throne. Uncle Charlie is the king’s cousin. You sh
ould be honored to be here in this house. We are going to remain in England for a time. Most of my family is here. Perhaps we shall even go up to Scotland, and you and Margot can see the castle where I was raised. I have told you this before. I shall not tell you again. You have Marie with you, and Margot has Giselle. Do not upset your little sister, Maddie. You know she copies everything you do, and if you make yourself unhappy, she will be unhappy. And that would make me unhappy. You may speak French in your chambers, but all other times you will speak English. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Mama,” Madeline said as her mother set her on the floor once again. “Will I get to see your king?”

  “Perhaps if you are very good,” Autumn answered. Then she turned to her daughters’ nursemaids. “I expect you both to enforce my will,” she said. “And you will not encourage the girls to complaints or comparisons between England and France. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, madame,” the two nursemainds chorused, curtseying.

  They settled into Queen’s Malvern, although Charlie had to go off to court to stand by their king. Back in England, Autumn realized that for all her wealth she had nothing here. She had no home of her own. She had no title other than her French one.

  Henry and his family came to welcome them home, and Autumn was astounded to see how old her brother had gotten. He was now over fifty, and three of his five children were grown. Her nephew, Henry, was already married, as was her niece, Anne. Then it occurred to Autumn that she, the baby of her siblings, would be twenty-nine on her next birthday, which was only a few months away.

  She had thought she had gotten over missing Sebastian. Perhaps it had just been easier in France, at Chermont, at Chambord one month a year with Louis. For the first time since her husband’s death almost five years earlier, Autumn began to consider the possibility of remarriage. But who would have her? she wondered. She wasn’t her mother, with a James Leslie madly in love with her and pursuing her to the ends of the earth to make her his wife. She was the widow of a foreign nobleman who had a bastard child by the French king. What was she to do?

  She could spend several months visiting with her family, but she had no place of her own in England or Scotland. She could return to France, but Chermont belonged to her daughter. Maddie was almost seven now. Before she knew it, Autumn thought, her daughter would be of marriagable age. Chermont had no dower house. Was her fate to be to remain in her daughter’s chateau, barely tolerated, but with nowhere else to go? And would King Louis, despite his marriage, insist on having his sweet idyll with her every October and November? Would that be her only chance at passion? And what if he no longer wanted that sweet idyll? Contemplating her future, Autumn found it very bleak. She might as well be dead. Who would miss her?

  Charlie, returning in mid-October from court, noticed the change in his little sister and asked his mother what was wrong.

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” Jasmine admitted to him. “I have asked her, but she says I am imagining it. That there is nothing wrong at all, but there is. Perhaps you can find out what is troubling Autumn. I will admit I feel quite helpless.”

  The Duke of Lundy invited his sister to walk with him. They found themselves in the family burial ground, where the graves of the family and their faithful servants were located. Charlie sat down on a marble bench that was set between his great-grandparents, Skye O’Malley and her husband, Adam de Marisco. He patted the space by his side, and Autumn joined him. They sat silently for several minutes.

  Then Charlie said, “You may deny it, but both Mother and I know there is something wrong, Autumn. What is it?”

  “I have nothing,” Autumn told him, her voice tinged with sadness. “No home. No life. Nothing.” She sighed despairingly. “Chermont is Maddie’s, not mine. I don’t even know if I want to go back to France, although my daughters must eventually. Everyone has a home but me, Charlie. I am truly alone.”

  Charlie didn’t know whether to laugh or weep at this revelation. While he understood the depression his sister was suffering now, she was in reality a fortunate woman. When Sebastian had died, she had suddenly had the entire responsibility for Chermont thrust upon her, not to mention her orphaned daughter. And then came the French king, who determined to be her lover, and their child. There had been no time for Autumn to mourn or come to terms with herself over her husband’s death five years ago.

  Despite the fact that her mother had been there to comfort and aid her, it had all been, Charlie could now see, too much for his youngest sister. While their sister India had been headstrong and adventurous and their sister Fortune practical and determined, Autumn had not had enough experience with life to find herself. But he could easily tell that she was a survivor. Back in her own land she was heavy-hearted and filled with melancholy. Remaining here at Queen’s Malvern would not help her to rise above her doldrums.

  “You are coming to court with me,” Charlie announced.

  “What?” She certainly couldn’t have heard him right.

  “You are coming back to court with me,” the duke repeated.

  “But the children . . .” Autumn protested

  “Have Mama, Marie, Giselle, and a houseful of servants to look after them, spoil them, and dote upon them, little sister. You need gaiety and a change of scene. There is no better place to find it than at Cousin Charlie’s court. And, madame la marquise, you have never been to court. You are facing your twenty-ninth birthday, and you have never been to court!”

  “There hasn’t been a court,” Autumn reasoned.

  “But there is one now,” he replied and, leaping up from the bench, he pulled her to her feet. Taking her hands in his, he danced them about. “I have just celebrated by forty-eighth birthday, little sister, and I remember the courts of my grandfather, King James, and my uncle, King Charles the First. There was laughter and music and masques and dancing, Autumn. Everyone wore marvelous clothing, and all was light and gaiety. Then those joyless damned Puritans came with Master Cromwell and it was gone. Well, now it is back again, little sister. I shall take you there, and introduce you to the king and the most important of the courtiers. Perhaps you’ll even find a new husband, eh?” Charlie teased her, and then he collapsed upon the bench, puffing with his exertions.

  Autumn fell into his lap, laughing. She hadn’t laughed in so long, and it felt so good. “I should like to go to court, Charlie. I always wanted to see it just once, although I truly believe I am a country mouse at heart. I’m not like her,” and Autumn pointed to the grave of Lady de Marisco.

  “No one,” Charlie said softly, “is like her.”

  “Do you remember her?” Autumn asked. “You must. How old were you when she died?”

  “Thirteen,” he said. “She would approve of your going to court, Autumn. Our great-grandmother wasn’t a woman to stand still. She was always moving forward, seeing new adventures, peeping around corners to see what tomorrow would bring.” He chuckled.

  “When are we going?” Autumn demanded of him.

  “How long will it take your maids to pack up your lavish French wardrobe?” he asked her with a smile.

  “I have no idea,” Autumn replied. “I don’t know what I will need for court. And where will we stay in London?”

  “I have apartments at Whitehall,” Charlie said. “You may stay there or, if you prefer, at Mama’s house, Greenwood.”

  “I think I should prefer to stay there rather than at the palace,” Autumn told him shyly. She stood up. “Come on, big brother. Let’s ask Mama what I will need to go to court, and how long it will take us to pack it.”

  Jasmine was delighted that her son had managed to draw Autumn from her miseries. When she learned what it was that had been distressing her daughter she absolutely agreed with her son’s solution to the problem. Her two ancient maidservants, Toramalli and Rohana, advised that Lady Autumn was going to court, went immediately to teach Lily and Orane how they must pack and what they must take. Jasmine had Adali bring her jewel cases to her bedc
hamber and, with Autumn by her side began to sort through her fabulous jewels for items her daughter might wear.

  “Oh, let me borrow the rubies!” Autumn begged. “I have always loved your rubies, Mama.”

  “Kali’s Tears, the necklace and the earbobs,” her mother said. “They are called Kali’s Tears, and you may have them, my darling. I have given emeralds to Fortune, although in the new world she lives in I doubt she has any use for emeralds. India has been given sapphires. I had magnificent sapphires, didn’t I, Adali?”

  “Indeed, my princess,” the old man agreed, “you still do.”

  “But nothing like the Stars of Kashmir,” the duchess said. She picked up a scarlet velvet bag and handed it to Autumn. “Your rubies, my darling. Enjoy them. I have always enjoyed my jewels. Now, what else?” She began pouring through the cases while Autumn watched.

  After a week’s time, Autumn was packed and ready to depart for London with her brother, Her daughters had adjusted quite well to their new surroundings. They weren’t in the least distressed that their mother was leaving them—particularly as their grandmother had promised that without her they would have a most marvelous time.

  They reached London after several days traveling, and in that they were fortunate. The weather had been pleasant and the roads dry. Had it been otherwise, the coach would have had a terrible time. As their vehicle drew up before the gates of Jasmine’s London house, Greenwood, a gatekeeper stepped forth and bowed.

  “I was not told anyone was expected,” he said politely.

  “I am the Dowager Duchess of Glenkirk’s son, the Duke of Lundy, and inside the carriage is my sister, the Marquise d’Auriville. My sister will be staying here while she is visiting at court,” Charlie said, and then he waited for the gates to be opened.

  The gatekeeper looked very uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, your grace, but Greenwood was confiscated by the Protectorate. It is now the property of the Duke of Garwood, who is currently in residence.”