“Except his mother,” India responded bitterly. “How could you, madame? You of all people, who was forcibly taken from her own natural mother. How could you rob me of the only thing I had left of Caynan Reis? At least my grandmother had the comfort of knowing that you were with your father, and your foster mother was her dear friend, Rugaiya Begum. I have no such comfort. My lawful husband is dead in an uprising, our son is stolen from me, and I am to be sent as wife to some stranger. I want my child returned to me!” She had not spoken so much, or so very passionately, since they had brought her back to Glenkirk from A-Cuil.
“I do not know where Rowan is,” Jasmine repeated. “I am trying to find out, India, but I am not capable of miracles. Jemmie has been most adamant in this matter. As for your betrothed husband, you have little time left to dissemble on the subject. Your marriage has been arranged, and you will go to England as soon as you can travel. No later than the end of the month, your father says.” She caught her daughter’s hands in hers, and looked into those dreadful, dead eyes India now possessed. “It is a good match, India, and he agreed to all our terms. Considering your age, we are very lucky.”
“I was content to take my child, find my own home, and live a quiet, discreet life, madame,” India replied. She was ready at last to voice her anger.
“How would you have explained Rowan?” her mother asked.
“Why would I have to explain my son?” India snapped. “Did not my great-grandmother return from Algiers enceinte? And who dared to challenge her story of a Spanish merchant who had been her husband? Aunt Willow was accepted to polite society. She even served the old queen as a maid of honor, and married quite well, too. Why was I not believed? Why was my son ripped from my breast just hours after his birth and hidden away as if he was something shameful?”
“There has never, ever been any question regarding my aunt’s parentage,” Jasmine said defensively.
India snorted derisively. “I suppose it was a simpler time,” she said mockingly. “It would have been better if I had lived then rather than now. Then I should have my child with me.”
“I am doing my best,” Jasmine wearily told her daughter.
“Your best is not good enough, madame,” India answered her coldly. “You should have prevented your husband from kidnapping my son.”
“India, your father did what he thought was right to protect you!” Jasmine cried.
“James Leslie is not my father, madame. Rowan Lindley was my father. As for you, you may have given me life, but I should have been better off being raised by a she-wolf as by you. You, who played the strumpet before the whole court with Prince Henry and bore his bastard openly and proudly. You, who kept the child of that liaison, yet, I, who was lawfully wed to my husband, has been robbed of our child. Now you want me to marry a husband of your choosing, and go off to England as if everything is perfect so the bloody Leslies of Glenkirk, and their overproud duke, will not be put to scorn and shame. Well, madame, I shall indeed go, and do your bidding, but for one reason, and one reason alone. To get away from you and James Leslie. You will never be welcome in my home. I never want to see either of you again once I have departed this place!”
Jasmine staggered back as if her daughter had physically assaulted her. India’s words, cold, hard, unforgiving, battered her. Her chest felt tight, and she could barely breathe with the pain.
“Who is he?” India demanded.
“What?” Jasmine croaked the single word.
“Neither you, nor your husband have bothered to tell me who this paragon is that I am to wed,” India said. “Who is he?”
“The earl of Oxton,” Jasmine began, only to be interrupted by a screech from her outraged daughter.
“The earl of Oxton? Adrian’s father? He is a dying man, and he has a wife!” India shrilled.
“Adrian’s father is dead. He died some months ago,” Jasmine murmured. “His second wife, the Italian woman, was returned to her family by the current earl, Lord Deverall Leigh.”
“Adrian’s brother? The murderer? Really, madame, this is too much, even for you and your husband to have done!” India was outraged to her very core. They would marry her to a murderer?
“Lord Leigh has been cleared of all the charges concerning Lord Jeffers’s death,” Jasmine began hesitantly, waiting for India to shriek again, and when she didn’t, continued hurriedly. “He returned to England several months ago with the information that exonerated him, and the king gave him a pardon. He was reunited with his father, who died shortly thereafter. The dowager countess was then sent to Italy, banished by royal command from ever entering England again. Lord Leigh saw you at court when you were a child. He inquired regarding your marital status, and when he learned you were not wed, offered for you. It is an ideal arrangement, India. Despite the royal pardon, he is slightly tarnished by the matter that threatened his good name for so long. Respectable families will not consider him as a son-in-law. As for you, while there is no firm ground upon which you may be charged with misbehavior publicly, there are too many suspicious, and enough wagging tongues who remember your less-than-discreet conduct regarding Adrian Leigh, which renders you equally difficult to match no matter your vast wealth and excellent connections,” Jasmine concluded.
“You would not let me marry Adrian, but you will allow me to marry his wastrel half-brother? I am confused,” India said sarcastically.
“The earls of Oxton are a reputable family,” Jasmine explained, ignoring her daughter’s caustic tone. “Deverall Leigh’s mother was Susanne Deverall, daughter of the marquise of Whitley, another eminent family. The unfortunate Adrian had a foreign mother of less-than-distinguished lineage. According to Lady Stewart-Hepburn, the di Carlo family in Naples were merchant-traders less than two generations ago.”
“Both the Leslies and the O’Malley family are in trade,” India said. “What makes us any different from the di Carlos?”
“Really, India,” Jasmine answered her daughter, surprised. “Our families were noble first, and merchant-traders only because we enjoy it, and the gold that flows into our coffers from our endeavors. Had the di Carlos not helped some duke avoid a scandal, they could not have climbed as high as they did, and they have come no further. Had not their daughter’s youth and beauty captivated the late Lord Charles Leigh, who knows what would have happened to her. As it was, she was no better than a whore in her behavior, which undoubtedly drove poor Lord Charles to his death. His eldest son, however, is a very suitable match for you. He is, I am told, a pleasant-looking man, whose youthful exuberance has been long since tempered by his adventures.”
“It matters not,” India said stonily.
“He wants children,” Jasmine said softly.
“Do you think another man’s child will make me forget my firstborn?” India replied icily. “Did Grandmother really ever forget you, madame? How many tears did she weep in hidden silence? I will weep far more not even knowing the fate of my son.”
“I will find him, I swear it!” Jasmine promised her daughter.
The dead eyes flicked over the older woman. “I expect a trousseau, madame, and all my possessions, jewels, plate, linens, furs, whatever is mine I will take with me, for I shall never return here again.”
“You shall have everything, everything you want, dearest,” Jasmine said. “You are an heiress in your own right, and the duke of Glenkirk’s stepdaughter. We will not allow you to go to your husband in a beggarly fashion.”
“I wish to leave the thirtieth of May. I shall go to Queen’s Malvern first. Where is Oxton Court, madame?” India asked.
“Not far from Queen’s Malvern, but not in Worcester, in Gloscester,” Jasmine told her daughter. “The estate is very lovely and rural, I am informed. I believe you will like it there.”
“It matters not if I do, or nay,” India replied. “It will be my home until I die and am reunited with my beloved Caynan Reis.”
“If you die,” Jasmine said pithily, “then what will become of yo
ung Rowan Lindley? Will you not live on the hope of finding your little son one day, India? Perhaps if the earl of Oxton is a kind man, and you win his favor, the child can come and live with you. Do not, I beg you, tell your stepfather that I said that! He would be angry with me for even thinking it, and then I would have no chance of finding your son for you, my daughter.”
“Do you think it possible?” India asked, her voice hopeful for the first time.
“If you gain your husband’s love and trust, it might be possible,” Jasmine encouraged her daughter.
“I must tell him immediately, else he wonder why I am not a virgin,” India said. “I am certain that the duke has not even considered my predicament in that matter. How am I to explain such a thing if I have never been wed? He will think me a wanton, but your husband did not think of that, did he? All he considered was a good offer and a chance to rid his conscience of my presence!”
Jasmine had no answer to her daughter’s accusation, for the truth of the matter was, India was absolutely correct. James Leslie had been so delighted by a decent offer for India that he had snatched at it like a drowning man at a straw. When she had brought up the fact of India’s womanly condition, her husband, in one of his maddeningly rare bouts of Scots logic, had suggested ways to give India the appearance of virginity, and Jasmine should see to them. The duchess of Glenkirk had swallowed back her humorous retort, because she could see her Jemmie was deadly serious, and that he wanted this match for India.
“I think,” she said carefully, “that you might tell the earl of Oxton that you contracted a marriage while abroad, but that your bridegroom died shortly thereafter. There are ways of restoring the tightness of your love sheath, India, and I would advise we consider them. There is no reason you should not like your husband. Mayhap you will come to love him. As you are aware of the pleasures a man and a woman’s bodies can give each other, you will surely want to give the earl sweet enjoyment. It cannot help but win him over so that he will want to please you in all matters, even that of little Rowan.”
“And when do I explain that to my new husband?” India asked, half sarcastically, half warily.
“Only when you have gained his full respect and confidence,” her mother advised. “India, wherever your son is, he is safe. Jemmie may be a hard man, but he has never been deliberately cruel. The child is unharmed, and well cared for by some cotter’s wife, delighted to have the extra income. This woman knows she must take good guardianship of her ward else she lose the silver paid her and be severely punished. Remember, the duke’s own man brought her the child. I have told you, and you cannot say I ever broke a promise to you, that I will find your Rowan. Then I will begin to make personal visits to him, impressing upon his caretaker the importance of this child, his health and his happiness. While I am doing that, it is up to you to make your husband love you, or, at the very least, want to please you enough so you may ask to have little Rowan brought to you.”
“I shall tell the earl before we wed that I have a son,” India said stubbornly. “I cannot be happy without my child, and I cannot marry this man unless he agrees to allow me to have Rowan with me.”
“India, in God’s name,” the duchess of Glenkirk pleaded with her daughter, “wait before you inform Lord Leigh of your child! If you ruin this proposed marriage, where will you be? Jemmie will lock you up in Glenkirk’s highest tower, and you will never see your child again. He will make certain of that. If you are clever, you can gain everything your heart desires. Do not spite yourself, and your son, simply to gain a moment’s revenge on your stepfather.”
India was silent for what seemed a very long time to her mother. Then, at last, she said, “You are correct, madame. I would be very foolish indeed should I act in haste. Now, tell me, when is my marriage to be celebrated, and where?”
“Here, at Glenkirk, by proxy, prior to your departure,” Jasmine answered. “The earl has left the choice of a proxy to you.”
“Since neither Henry nor Charlie are here, I think the best choice would be my brother, Patrick Leslie,” India said. “It will be good practice for him when he weds one day. Patrick and my younger brothers seem to know little of the niceties of polite society, although I know you strive hard with them, madame. Still, they persist in being wild Scots. Fix the day for the thirtieth of May, at dawn, and then I shall depart immediately thereafter for England. Will the earl send an escort for me?”
“You will be escorted as far as the border by Glenkirk men, and the earl’s men will meet you there,” the duchess told her daughter.
“I am taking Meggie with me, and Diarmid More-Leslie would come, too. He and Meggie have asked my permission to wed. I have given it. They will marry immediately after I have been wed. It is far more practical that they travel as man and wife.”
Jasmine nodded, agreeing with her daughter. “Your father . . . stepfather, must give his permission to Diarmid,” she said.
“Surely he can have no objection,” India replied.
“Oh, I am sure he does not,” Jasmine replied quickly lest India fly into a temper again.
“We haven’t a great deal of time, madame. We should begin my trousseau immediately,” India announced. “And I will want a full accounting of my possessions as well. Nothing of mine is to remain at Glenkirk.”
“I am giving you the Stars of Kashmir as a wedding gift,” Jasmine said softly. “You are my eldest child, and my first daughter. When your first daughter weds one day, see that you give the jewels to her. They are to remain in the female line. Jamal Khan’s father gave them to his mother, and he gave them to me. Now I give them to you, India.”
“Mama!” India was overwhelmed. “Surely you do not want to part with the Stars of Kashmir now, do you?”
Jasmine laughed. “I always meant them for you,” she said. “Besides, we live simply here at Glenkirk. I have no occasion to wear them anymore, and they simply lay alone in their case. You will enjoy them, I am sure. Perhaps the earl will take you to court, and you can dazzle everyone there with them.”
“It would be amusing to visit court as the countess of Oxton,” India remarked. “I hope, however, this earl prefers the country. I will not leave the raising of my children to others.”
Jasmine nodded in agreement.
The next day, seamstresses arrived from the local villages to prepare the trousseau India would be taking with her to England. She stood patiently, being measured, and pinned. She chose the finest and richest fabrics in the castle storerooms: jewel-toned velvets, and rich brocades, and silks. The farthingale was no longer fashionable. Skirts were flowing. Numerous under-petticoats were required to support the gown skirts. These were made of fine lace-trimmed cotton, and soft white flannel. The skirt petticoats, which topped the under-petticoats, were of silk and brocade. There were chemises perfumed, and plain but for a lace frill at the neck. The necklines were cut low with a short V opening in front where it was tied with silk ribbons. The large, balloon sleeves of the chemises were finished with lace ruffles. India also insisted upon a dozen pairs of calescons, or silk drawers, and a matching number of half-shirts. She had at least two dozen nightgowns, all lavishly trimmed with lace.
“There shall be nothing left in the storerooms for my trousseau,” Fortune complained, watching enviously as the bejeweled bodices and matching skirts, the fur-trimmed capes and newly made leather boots and shoes with silver buckles piled up. The bodices had beautiful buttons of precious stones, as well as ivory and bone. There were combs with pearls around the arch, lawn handkerchiefs trimmed in lace, muffs of fur, and luxurious fabrics, beautiful fans, and painted masques.
The duchess had gathered all the jewelry that had been given to her by her second husband, Rowan Lindley, the marquis of Westleigh. The pieces that belonged to the Lindley family she put aside for the bride her son, Henry, the current marquis, would choose one day. The jewels that Rowan had given her, she divided equally between their two daughters, India and Fortune. Dark-haired India favored the sapphir
es and rubies. Flame-haired Fortune preferred the emeralds and diamonds.
There were other things that belonged to India as well. Large carved chests of embroidered linens, featherbeds, pillows, and bed coverings, with matching draperies. There were silver candlesticks, and candelabra, as well as ornate silver salt cellars. There were decorated cups of both silver and gold, Florentine forks, table knives with bone handles, and silver spoons. Porcelain bowls, plates, and matching cups. Silver bowls. All were gathered and packed carefully. The days flew by with a rapidity that even surprised India.
“She will nae forgie me, darling Jasmine, will she?” the duke sadly said to his wife.
Jasmine shook her head. “Nay, Jemmie, she will not forgive you, and you cannot blame her that she does not. Do you think a husband can make up for the loss of her firstborn son?” The duchess of Glenkirk touched her husband’s face with a gentle hand. “I love you, Jemmie Leslie, but I agree with my daughter. You have been monstrously unkind. Even I don’t know where our grandson is. It would be better if I knew, so I might make certain that he is well cared for, my lord. A man’s eye is never as keen as a woman’s in matters like this. I should know if the cottage was truly clean, and if the woman into whose hands you have put our grandson is really kind-hearted, or an abusive slattern. India says the laddie was born in true wedlock, and I believe her. Our grandson cannot be raised nameless, or of little account, Jemmie.”
He nodded. He did not tell her but he had been to see the child several times now. His grandson was safe, but in a remote area of the estate lands. The cotter’s wife thought his interest in the lad stemmed from the fact that the duke was his father. She treated the child kindly, envisioning an even greater reward one day. It was not necessary that James Leslie enlighten her otherwise. Rowan was a bright wee bairn, his blue eyes darting about at every sound, a thatch of black hair upon his tiny head. “When India is safe away in England,” James Leslie said to his wife, “I will tell ye where the bairn is. I know ye well, darling Jasmine, and ye’ll nae be satisfied until ye can see him again for yourself.” He caught the hand that caressed his cheek, and kissed it.
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