“Well, as no one has yet caught India’s fancy, I do not believe we have cause for worry,” Jasmine replied.
The Leslies of Glenkirk had come to France to represent their country at the proxy marriage of the new king, Charles I, to the French princess, Henrietta Marie. King James had sickened, and died unexpectedly on the twenty-seventh of March. The marriage negotiations had already been concluded, although there was some difficulty about the princess’s religion. Charles Stuart had no time to argue with his government. He was suddenly king, and without an heir. While he did not feel he could depart his country to personally celebrate his marriage with his father newly deceased, he felt strongly that the marriage must go forward immediately, and his queen be brought to England.
The marriage, which originally was to have been celebrated in June, was now moved forward to the first of May so Charles’s enemies in the parliament would not have time to marshall their forces, and delay or prevent the match. The duke of Buckingham was to have acted as the king’s proxy at the June celebration, but now he had to remain in England to attend the old king’s funeral, which was set for the end of April, for it was not unusual for a king to lie in state several weeks. Instead, the duc de Chevreuse would act as the English king’s proxy. Chevreuse was related to both the French royal house and the English, through their mutual ancestor, the duc de Guise. He was therefore a suitable choice, and acceptable to both sides.
Most of the English court remained in England, but Charles had asked the duke of Glenkirk and his family to attend his wedding. It would be a far more pleasant occasion than poor old Jamie’s funeral, the duke conceded to his wife, and if his sister, the duchesse de St. Laurent, would ask their mother to come from Naples for a visit, Jasmine and the children could at least meet Catriona Hay Leslie Stewart-Hepburn.
The young king’s reason was more personal. James Leslie himself was distantly related to Charles, and his stepson, little Charles Frederick Stuart, was the new monarch’s nephew, although he had been born on the wrong side of the blanket. Such accidents of birth did not matter to the Stuarts except where the succession was concerned. They had always welcomed, recognized, and considered their bastards legitimate members of their clan. The king wanted some of his family blood at his wedding ceremony, and the Leslies of Glenkirk would acquit themselves, and therefore the Stuarts, quite well. They were also not important enough to be missed at the official mourning ceremonies since they only rarely came to court.
The St. Laurent château was in the countryside two hours from Paris. The Leslies had been included on the guest list for the signing of the marriage contract and the betrothal ceremony on the twenty-eighth of April, as well as the wedding on May first. They would attend with the five oldest children. The St. Laurents, Lady Stewart-Hepburn, and the two youngest Leslie children would come for the wedding only. The Lindley children, and their Stuart half-brother had been too young to participate in King James’s court when Queen Anne had been alive. She had died the year India was eleven. The queen had adored fêtes and masques. She had loved art, music, and dancing. Her dour husband had tolerated her follies, as he called them, for love of his Annie. Once the queen had died, however, James’s court became less entertaining. It was hoped that the new French queen would enliven Charles Stuart’s court even as the late Anne of Denmark had enlivened the court of James Stuart.
Glenkirk and his family were astounded, even openly awed, by the elegant magnificence of the Louvre palace. There was absolutely nothing like it in England. They were met by the two royal English ambassadors, the earl of Carlisle and Viscount Kensington, who quickly escorted them to King Louis’s chamber where the signing would take place. First, however, the proper protocol had to be followed. The two ambassadors handed the contract to the king and his lord chancellor to read. This done, the king signified his acceptance of the terms previously agreed upon, and only then was the princess summoned to her brother’s presence.
Henrietta-Marie arrived, escorted by the queen mother, Marie di Medici, and the ladies of the court. The princess was garbed in a gown of cloth-of-gold and silver, embroidered all over with golden fleurs-de-lys, and encrusted with diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. Once the bride had taken her place, the bridegroom’s proxy was called. The duc de Chevreuse came into the king’s chamber wearing a black-striped suit covered with diamonds. He bowed first to the king and then the princess. Then the duc presented his letter of authority to the king, bowing once again. Accepting it, Louis XIII handed it to the chancellor, and then signed the marriage contract. Other signatories were Henrietta-Marie, Marie di Medici, the French queen, Anne of Austria, the duc de Chevreuse, and the two English ambassadors.
The contract duly signed and witnessed, the formal religious betrothal was performed in the king’s chambers by the princess’s godfather, Cardinal de la Rochefoucauld, the duc de Chevreuse answering for the king of England. The ceremony over, the princess retired to the Carmelite convent in Faubourg St. Jacques to rest and pray until her wedding on the first of May, and the guests departed, the duke of Glenkirk and his family returning to Chateau St. Laurent.
On Henry Lindley’s sixteenth birthday, which happened to be the thirtieth of April, the Glenkirk party, the St. Laurents, and Lady Stewart-Hepburn traveled to Paris for the royal wedding. It was better, the duc said, to go the day before rather than waiting until the first, but the roads were clogged anyway with all the traffic making its way into the city for the celebration. By chance, James’s brother-in-law had a small house on the same tiny street as did Jasmine’s French relations, who would not be coming for the wedding. The de Savilles lived in the Loire region, many miles from Paris, and while of noble stock, they were not important. Besides, it was springtime, and their famous vineyards at Archambault needed tending more than they needed to be in the capital for the princess’s wedding to the English king, so they gladly loaned their little house to their relations.
The wedding day dawned gray and cloudy. By ten o‘clock in the morning it was raining. Nonetheless, crowds had begun gathering outside of the great square before Notre-Dame the previous evening. Now the square was overflowing with people eager to see the wedding. The archbishop of Paris had gotten into a terrible row with the Cardinal de la Rochefoucauld. It was the cardinal who had been chosen to perform the wedding ceremony, despite the fact that the cathedral was the archbishop’s province. The royal family had brushed aside the archbishop’s protests as if he had been no more than a bothersome insect. Furious, the archbishop had retired to his country estates, not to return until after the wedding. He could not, however aggravated he might be, deny the princess the use of his palace, which was close by the cathedral, and so at two o’clock that afternoon in the pouring rain, Henrietta-Marie departed her apartments in the Louvre for the archbishop’s residence in order to dress.
Fortunately a special gallery had been constructed from the door of the archbishop’s palace to the door of the cathedral. It was raised eight feet above the square and set upon pillars, the lower half of which were wrapped in waxed cloth, and the upper half in purple satin embroidered with gold fleurs-de-lys. At the west door of the cathedral was a raised platform which was sheltered by a canopy of cloth-of-gold that had been waxed to prevent the rain from penetrating it. At six o’clock in the evening, the bridal procession began streaming out of the archbishop’s palace, moving down the open-sided gallery toward the cathedral.
The bridal party was led by one hundred of the king’s Swiss Guards. The first two rows were a mixture of drummers and soldiers with blue and gold flags. Following the guards came a party of musicians. Twelve played upon oboes. There were eight drummers who were followed by the ten state trumpeters playing a fanfare. Following the royal musicians was the grand master of ceremonies behind whom strode knights of the Order of the Holy Ghost in jeweled capes. Next came seven royal heralds in crimson-and-gold-striped tabards.
The bridegroom’s representative, the duc de Chevreuse, was proceeded by three ranking nobleme
n. He was garbed in a black velvet suit, slashed to show its cloth-of-gold lining. On his head was a velvet cap sporting a magnificent diamond that glittered despite the dullness of the late afternoon. Behind him were the earl of Carlisle and Viscount Kensington in suits of cloth-of-silver.
The populace standing in the pouring rain on either side of the gallery struggled against each other, attempting to get the best glimpse of the wedding party and the court. Cries of “God bless the king” and “Good fortune to the princess” were heard by those moving along the gallery toward the platform and the cathedral. Most of the guests would pass through the raised, canopied flooring, and take their places within the cathedral. Only certain chosen ones would remain upon the dais to see the ceremony performed. Because the king of England was considered a Protestant, it was necessary to perform the wedding ceremony before the doors of the cathedral, but as all weddings had once been performed in this manner, little was thought of the arrangement. Afterward, a mass would be celebrated within Notre-Dame.
Among the chosen to view the wedding, India Lindley stood shivering as she drew her cloak about her. She should have worn her rabbit-lined cape, but it was not nearly as fashionable as the one she was wearing. She looked at the French courtiers in their magnificent clothing. She had never seen anything like it. It was utterly spectacular, and she felt like someone’s poor country relation. Her mother, of course, had fabulous jewelry which covered a multitude of fashion sins, but she and Fortune looked positively dowdy even in comparison to the bosomless eleven-year-old Catherine-Marie St. Laurent, whose claret-colored silk and cloth-of-gold gown was delicious.
“Here comes the bride,” Fortune singsonged next to her. Fortune was enjoying every moment of this colorful and marvelous show. It didn’t matter to her that her mother and sister looked like a pair of burgher’s daughters.
India focused her eyes upon Henrietta-Marie, who was escorted by both of her brothers, King Louis XIII, resplendent in cloth-of-gold and silver, and Prince Gaston, elegant in sky blue silk and cloth-of-gold. The petite sixteen-year-old bride was dressed in an incredible gown of heavy cream-colored silk embroidered all over with gold fleurs-de-lys, pearls, and diamonds. The dress was so encrusted with gold and diamonds that it glittered as she walked. On her dark hair was a delicate gold-filigreed crown, from whose center spire dripped a huge pearl pendant that caused the watching crowds to gasp.
“I have better,” murmured the duchess of Glenkirk, and her mother-in-law restrained her laughter.
Behind the bride and her brothers came the queen mother, Marie di Medici, wearing, as always, her black widow’s garb, but dripping with diamonds in recognition of the occasion. Finally came France’s queen, Anne of Austria, in a gown of cloth-of-silver and gold tissue, sewn all over with sapphires and pearls, leading the French court. The few English guests had already been brought to the raised and canopied dais to await the arrival of the bridal party now come.
The cardinal performed the wedding ceremony, and then the bride, her family, and the French court were escorted into the cathedral for the celebration of the Mass. Inside, the cathedral was filled with other invited guests: members of the parliament, other politicians, and civic officials, garbed formally for this occasion in ermine-trimmed crimson velvet robes. The walls of the cathedral were hung with fine tapestries, and the bridal party was seated upon another canopied, raised dais. Having settled the bride upon a small throne, the duc de Chevreuse departed her side to escort the two English ambassadors and the few English guests to the archbishop’s palace for they would not attend the Mass.
“Ridiculous!” Jasmine muttered beneath her breath.
“Be silent!” James Leslie said softly, but sharply. While he agreed with his wife that this prejudice between Roman and Anglican, Anglican and Protestant, was absurd, it was a fact they had to live with, and to involve one’s self in the sectarian fray was to make enemies. It was better to remain neutral. Lady Stewart-Hepburn nodded her approval of her son’s wisdom.
“Did you see the gowns?” India said excitedly to her mother. “I have never seen such clothing!”
“A bridal gown should be beautiful,” Jasmine replied.
“Nay, not the bridal gown,” India responded. “It is lovely, of course, but it is the gowns worn by the women of the French court that I am envious of, Mama. Your jewels, naturally, always overshadow anything you may wear, but Fortune and I look like two little sparrows compared to the French ladies. Why, even flat-chested Catherine-Marie outshines us. It is most embarrassing! We are here to represent our king, and we look like two serving wenches!”
“What’s wrong with our gowns?” Fortune asked her elder sister. “I think we look quite nice. I do like Queen Anne’s short hair, though. Can I cut my hair like that, Mama?”
“No,” Jasmine said. “Your hair is beautiful, child. Why would you cut it? If this Spanish queen of France would cut and frizz her own hair, it is because her hair is not as fine as yours, Fortune.”
“Nor as red,” Fortune grumbled.
“I am going to have an entire new wardrobe made when I get home to England,” India said. “I shall dazzle King Charles’s court, Mama, with my French fashions and their vibrant colors. Our countrymen wear such dull colors. Pale blue, rose, brown, and black. And, Mama, you have so much jewelry. Would you not let me have some of it, please?”
“She is certainly not shy about asking for what she wants, is she?” Cat said to her son. “She has been, I imagine, quite a handful to raise, Jemmie, eh?”
The duke of Glenkirk smiled. “She is nae worse, Mother, than any other girl,” he told her. “She hae always been an obedient lass.”
“Give her what she wants, and then find her a good husband,” was his parent’s advice. “She will not be obedient much longer, I think.”
“I agree with your mother,” Jasmine said. “There is a wild streak in India that I have never really recognized before. Perhaps I have not wanted to see it because it reminds me of my brother, Salim. But suddenly I see familiar traits in India, and I remember that my father indulged Salim, even when his disobedience was unforgivable. And yet our father forgave him. Drunkenness, lechery, theft. Even murder. There was only one thing my father would not forgive him.”
Curious, Lady Stewart-Hepburn asked, “What?”
“Salim desired me as a man desires a woman. My father could not countenance it, and I was married to my first husband, Prince Javid Khan. Salim had him murdered, and knowing he was near death, my father smuggled me out of India. When I was India’s age I was about to be wed to my second husband, who was India’s father.”
“Then you must find a husband for India,” Cat said. “It is obvious it is time for her to be settled before she causes a scandal. I wish I knew a suitable match for her in Naples.”
“Oh, no!” Jasmine cried. “I should not want her so far away from us. Like my grandmother, I want my family about me, and we have all our family in England and Scotland, madame. All but my Uncle Ewan O’Flaherty, who lives in Ireland. And, you, madame, who remain in the kingdom of Naples. Jemmie has told me of your, ah, difficulty with the late king, but now that James Stuart is dead and buried, would you not consider coming home to Scotland again? There is a place for you at Glenkirk always.”
“Bless you, my dear Jasmine,” Cat said, her voice thick with emotion, “but my beloved Bothwell is buried in Naples, at the foot of our villa’s garden, and that is where I will lie one day, beside him in death as I was in life. Besides, my old bones are too used to the warmth of the south to tolerate the damp and chill of Scotland any longer.”
“Your great-grandmother returned home from a warm climate,” the duke said quietly.
“I am not Janet Leslie,” Cat said as quietly.
Outside the salon where they were waiting, a canon boomed.
“It would appear the Mass is finally over,” the earl of Carlisle noted dryly.
“Took long enough,” Viscount Kensington responded. “Do these Catholics
really think God is going to overlook their fornications and other mischief just because they spend so much time in church on their knees? Well, let’s hope this little queen we’ve gotten proves as fecund as her old mother.”
“Come to the windows,” the earl called to them. “The rain has finally stopped, and there are fireworks being shot off.”
They stood watching as the rockets soared into the skies, bursting red or green, gold or blue sparkles against the darkness. The wedding party and its guests made their way to the archbishop’s palace where a banquet was to be held in the great hall, which had been newly decorated for the occasion with tapestries from the Louvre.
A banquet table stretched from one end of the hall to the other. The king had been placed in its center beneath yet another embroidered cloth-of-gold canopy. To his right sat his mother. To his left, his sister, England’s new queen. The proxy bridegroom was placed on Henrietta’s other side. The bride was served by a high-ranking nobleman, her old friend from childhood, Baron Bassompierre, and two French marshals.
When the meal had at last ended, all the guilds of Paris paraded before the new queen, and her brother’s Swiss Guards performed an intricate drill. At eleven o’clock, the exhausted bride retired back to the Louvre. For the rest of the week, all Paris rejoiced, and celebrated the marriage that united England and France. There were balls and banquets so numerous it was difficult to get to them all. The finest, however, was given by the Queen Mother in her new and magnificent Luxembourg Palace.
Then, suddenly, George Villiers, the duke of Buckingham, arrived in France. He had come, he announced grandly, to escort England’s new queen home. Buckingham was very tall, and extremely handsome. His dark eyes when fixed upon a woman made her feel she was the only woman in the world. His wife was devoted to him, and while he was considered a terrible flirt, Lady Villiers had no cause for jealousy. Buckingham had such beautiful features that the late King James had given him the nickname of Steenie, because the old monarch said George Villiers had the face of St. Stephen, who had been noted for his beauty.
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