“Can’t go home soon enough for me,” Daisy grumbled.
“ ’Twill be soon enough,” her mistress promised. “I just have one or two little things to do, and then we’ll be off.”
“You’ve got that look in yer eye,” Daisy said. “I haven’t seen that look in twenty years, I haven’t!”
“What look?” Skye feigned innocence.
“That look,” Daisy replied. “His lordship wouldn’t be pleased at all, he wouldn’t. I always knew that once he was gone you’d be up to yer old tricks again, my lady. Now why can’t ye settle back and enjoy the years left to ye with yer grandchildren and great-grandchildren?”
“I’ll outlive you, you nosy old busybody,” Skye said.
“Aye, ye probably will,” Daisy agreed, “and when I’m gone there’ll be none to keep ye in check.”
“I want my bath,” Skye snapped.
Daisy shook her head. “We’re both too old for this,” she said.
“Maybe you are, but I’m not,” her mistress replied. “I’ll not curl up my toes just because I’m an old woman, Daisy Kelly.”
Daisy shook her head again. Perhaps she should have let that slovenly Martha come with her lady this time. Heaven only knew what mischief she was up to and how it would all end.
Chapter 4
“Ma chérie!” Alexandre de Saville, comte de Cher, greeted his sister-in-law with a kiss upon each of her cheeks. “I had not thought to see you again in this life, for I love Archambault and scarcely leave it; and for you it is the same with your beloved Queen’s Malvern.”
“Adam is dead,” Skye said without further preamble, allowing the servants to take her fur-lined and trimmed wool cloak.
“Ahhh, ma pauvre soeur,” the count said, his face collapsing with his sadness. “But he was not ill?”
“He was old, Alexandre,” Skye replied. “Thirteen years older than you, and ten years older than me.”
“When?” The count escorted his guest into a bright salon, where a warm fire burned, and seated her. Almost immediately a servant was at their elbow with wine.
“Twelfth Night,” Skye answered him. “Nay, he was not ill, and he was in the midst of his family. One moment he was laughing at a jest, and the next he was gone. It was quite a shock for us all, and for Adam most of all, I imagine,” she finished with a small touch of humor.
“ ’Twas a beautiful death as you describe it,” the count said. “God assoil my brother’s good soul.” He bowed his head a moment.
Skye sipped her wine, marveling at the delicacy of the vintage.
His silent prayer over, the count raised his silver head, and looked at his sister-in-law. “It was kind of you to bring us this news personally, but I imagine ’tis not your only reason for being in France. You have come to take Jasmine and her children back to England, have you not, ma soeur?”
Skye nodded. “ ’Tis past time, Alexandre.” Then she went on to explain how Lord Leslie had followed her to Belle Fleurs. “Once he loved her, but now I do not know,” she concluded. “At least he is fond of the children, and that is a beginning, I think.”
“But not enough,” the count observed wisely. “What will you do to help our beautiful Jasmine, ma soeur, for you will do something. Of that I am quite certain.” He chuckled.
Skye laughed. “Am I so transparent in my old age then, Alexandre? You are correct, of course. I do want to help my darling girl. I thought if I can obtain Lord Leslie’s permission, I would bring the children here for a visit, then take them to Paris, and finally home. This way my granddaughter, and her husband-to-be will be forced to renew their friendship and work out their difficulties. Perhaps after I am gone you will invite them to Archambault. A bit of time alone together, and who knows what may transpire.”
“Ahhh, l’amour,” the count agreed. Then he said, “Of course you may bring Jasmine’s children for a visit, chérie. Helene and I would be delighted to have you. We, too, are great-grandparents. Our grandson, Phillippe, the next comte de Cher, has a little son, Antoine, named after my father. He will enjoy his cousins from England.”
“I was saddened to learn of your son’s death,” Skye said.
“These damned religious wars,” Alexandre de Saville replied irritably. “My son, Adam, had nothing to do with any of it, and yet he fell victim to the madness on his way home from a visit to Nantes. His wife, Louise, succumbed of melancholy shortly afterward, poor girl. They had but one child. Phillippe is a good man, however. He married early, and sired Antoine, and his baby sister, Marie, and his wife is again with child. He and Jasmine are of an age. We will let him entertain her, and Lord Leslie, while Helene and I just sit back enjoying the young people. There are certain compensations to old age, chérie, eh?”
“Damned few,” Skye replied, and she laughed. “Where is Helene?” I cannot return to Belle Fleurs without paying my respects.”
“Come with me then, chérie,” the comte said. “I will take you to her. The damp weather makes her bones ache, and she keeps to her apartments.”
“Where have you been, Grandmama?” Jasmine demanded of Skye on her return to the château. It had been a horrific week. She and James Leslie seemed to have nothing in common but her children, and could not seem to speak to one another unless one of them was involved. It did not bode well, and now Skye had disappeared, sending her granddaughter into a panic.
“I have been to Archambault,” Skye said calmly. She handed her cloak to a servant and settled herself in a chair before the fire, sipping thirstily at the wine handed her. “Well, my lord, have you and Jasmine had a good day?” She beamed toothily at James Leslie, who was seated opposite her, glowering into the flames.
“It stopped raining long enough for us to take the children out into the gardens,” the earl replied glumly.
“My brother-in-law, the comte de Cher, had the most delightful idea,” Skye continued on breathlessly. “He has suggested that I bring the children to Archambault for a visit and leave you two alone to become reacquainted again without the distraction of your family. I hope you will let us go. His grandson, Phillippe, is Jasmine’s contemporary, and has a little son a bit older than Charlie, and a tiny bit younger than Mistress Fortune. It would be so good for the children to get to know the French side of their family. Who knows! We may have a French princess for a queen one day.”
“How far is Archambault?” the earl asked.
“But a few miles across the fields,” Skye said brightly. “The comte, Alexandre de Saville, is Adam’s half brother. His son, named for my husband, was killed, and so it is his grandson, Phillippe, who is his heir. They are a lovely family.”
“How long a visit, madame?” the earl inquired.
“A week, or perhaps two,” Skye ventured, refusing to acknowledge her granddaughter’s outraged look.
“I will think on it, madame,” James Leslie said.
“It is a ridiculous idea!” Jasmine burst out. “Why should it matter if my children know the de Saville children? Once we have returned to England it will not matter at all. Besides, Charlie is not quite weaned yet. I couldn’t possibly let them go, Grandmama.”
“The decision is not mine to make, my darling girl,” Skye said with a nod in the earl’s direction. “And as for little Charles Frederick, it is past time, Jasmine, that he was weaned. Why the lad will be three in the autumn. I never nursed any of my children for so long a time. As for your children, and the de Saville children, one never knows when one might need help from a relation. ’Tis better to know one’s relations, even the distant ones, if possible. Alexandre de Saville is your great-uncle. His son, Phillippe, is your cousin. It could one day prove a valuable connection. Why I believe even Lord Leslie has relations here in France. Is that not so, sir?”
“Indeed, madame, it is. Two of my father’s uncles wed Frenchwomen. Their families live near Fontainebleau, southeast of Paris. I am acquainted with both branches,” the earl answered.
“There, you see!” Skye crowed. “The earl kn
ows his French relatives.” Her smile took them both in with its warmth.
“I do not want my children separated from me,” Jasmine said stubbornly. Her look was definitely mutinous, her turquoise eyes angry. “I am their mother, and it is up to me what they do.”
“Nay, madame, it is up to me as their legal guardian,” James Leslie replied. “I think your bairns should go to Archambault to visit with their cousins. As for young Charlie, ’tis past time, madame, that he was separated from your tit. He’s got teeth to chew his food, and you’ll make a mother’s boy out of him if you continue on as you have.”
“Ohhhhhhh!” Now Jasmine looked truly affronted.
“My dears,” Skye quickly spoke. “I do not want Alexandre’s little suggestion to be the cause of dispute between you. Jasmine, my darling girl, be reasonable. The children have been cooped up here with you at Belle Fleurs for months. They need a change, and they need to be with other children of their own class. It will give them a chance to practice their manners and deportment before their return to England, when they must take their place in our society. You know that at one time or another they will go to court. Would you have them at a disadvantage? They will not thank you for it. Manners learned young are manners learned forever. Let them go to Archambault.”
“Well,” Jasmine amended, “ ’tis only a little way away.”
“Aye,” Skye purred in kindly tones, “and I shall be with them the whole time. I shall enjoy it, for it has been many years since I have visited with Adam’s family. Ahhh, what fine times we had at Archambault when your grandfather and I were young and ripe!” She sighed gustily, and her hand went to her heart.
“Do not overplay your part, madame,” the earl of Glenkirk murmured softly in her ear.
Skye’s face never betrayed her surprise at his remark. Well, well, she thought, he is brighter than I gave him credit for, is this earl of Glenkirk. Aye! I am doing the right thing in taking the children away, and forcing these two together to work out their problems. She would discuss the Paris leg of their journey later on, but not now.
“Oh, very well,” Jasmine decided, “but not for a week. It will take at least a week to make certain their clothing is in good repair, and to tutor them in their deportment.”
“I agree with you, madame,” James Leslie said with a small smile.
“You do?” Jasmine was somewhat surprised.
“We cannot always disagree,” he replied, a twinkle in his eye.
“Perhaps not,” she answered him, not certain what he exactly meant by the wry remark.
It was ten days before Jasmine was satisfied that her children were ready to leave for Archambault. She had kept her small staff busy washing, pressing, brushing their clothing until Skye had complained the nap would be worn off the fabrics altogether. The little trunks were packed neatly; the nursemaids given detailed instructions as to the children’s care, and what to do in the event of this or that.
Finally, irritated, Skye snapped at her granddaughter, “I have raised seven children, my darling girl, and I will be with my great-grandchildren. I know what to do. We leave on the morrow, and I’ll hear no more about it!”
The earl of Glenkirk repressed a small smile. Jasmine looked so worried. She was a good mother but far too obsessed with her offspring. He didn’t doubt for a moment that this little trip to Archambault for Madame Skye and the children was all the old woman’s idea. She had promised to help him, but he had not been certain he trusted her, especially after the last time. It would appear now, however, that his fears were groundless. She was whisking Jasmine’s youngsters off so that he might be alone with their mother. He didn’t know how she was going to do it, but he suspected that the children would not return to Belle Fleurs. He chuckled softly. What a holy terror Madame Skye was. He was glad to have her on his side this time.
In the morning, his arm about Jasmine, he watched as the grand old lady and the children departed Belle Fleurs. The rain had gone, and the day was bright and sunny. It was the end of February, and there was a definite hint of spring in the air. Jasmine sniffled, and he warned her softly, “Do not cry, madame, lest you distress the bairns. They are happy for this little adventure. Do not spoil it for them.”
“I have never really been parted from them,” she murmured low, attempting to disengage his arm, but he held her firmly.
“See how fine Henry, India, and Fortune look upon their ponies,” he pointed out to her. “They sit their mounts well. Was it you who taught them, madame?”
“Aye,” she said. “My father taught me when I was very small. In India women do not sit upon horses, but my mother had ridden with my father, and so he taught me. What freedom I had! I could hunt tiger and other beasts with my father and my brother, Salim. It was something my sisters were never allowed to do, if indeed they even considered such a thing.” She waved after the pony cart containing Charles Frederick and his nursemaid.
He turned her gently to reenter the château. “How many sisters did you have, madame?” he inquired. “I have five sisters, and three brothers. Two of my brothers and three of my sisters live in Scotland. The others live in Italy.”
“I was my father’s youngest child. My siblings were grown when I was born,” Jasmine told him. “I had three brothers, though two are dead, and three sisters.”
“Why did you leave India?” he asked her bluntly.
“My eldest brother, Salim, now the Mughal emperor, Jahangir, had an incestuous lust for me. He murdered my first husband, a Kashmiri prince, in order to clear his path to my bed. My father was dying and knew that my foster mother would be unable to protect me once he was gone. So he sent me secretly to England, to my grandmother de Marisco, with whom he had had a tenuous sort of contact over the years.” Jasmine laughed softly. “Before I left India my father learned that the priest who had been my tutor throughout my childhood was actually my cousin. My grandmother had sent him out to India to watch over me so she would always know if I was happy. Thank God for her!”
“And your brother never knew where you had gone?” he wondered.
“I do not believe so,” Jasmine said. “It was a very clever plot my father devised. Salim thought I had gone to Kashmir to bury Jamal’s heart in his homeland. My father did not die for two months following my departure from India. By the time Salim would have sent to my palace in the mountains it would have been late autumn, and the snows would be threatening. He could not possibly have learned that I was not in Kashmir until the following springtime, at which point I was safe in England. Salim knew little of my English mother. Even if he had unraveled the mystery of my whereabouts, what could he do?”
“Have you ever wished to return?” James Leslie said.
Jasmine thought a moment, then replied, “No. My early life in India was bound up with my father and brother, Salim, in a time when I was too innocent to understand his desires, and Jamal Khan, my first husband. My father and Jamal are gone. My brother has, hopefully, forgotten me at long last. My only regret is Rugaiya Begum, the mother who raised me. I was her only child. Now she has neither me nor the joy of my children, her grandchildren. For that alone I feel remorse. And for that reason I shall never forgive my brother Salim.”
He could see the genuine pain in her eyes as she spoke the words, and James Leslie wanted to ease her sorrow. “Let us ask your cook to pack us a basket, and we shall go for a ride, madame. ’Tis a fine day, and I am certain that you know many a pretty trail hereabouts.”
She was almost startled by his request, but January and most of February had been so wet and dreary. They had all been cooped up inside the château. Now with the children gone she was free to indulge herself in pleasure. She felt almost guilty, but then, shaking the feeling off, she replied, “Aye, ’tis a good day, my lord, for a ride!”
The cook, who thought Lord Leslie a very fine gentleman, packed the basket with a small chicken she had just roasted, a loaf of bread that had only been baked that morning, and was still warm; an earthenware
dish of cold asparagus that had been marinated in white wine; a wedge of Brie cheese, two pears which she polished on her apron, and a goatskin of pale gold Archambault wine. The earl, watching her as she worked, took the finished basket from the cook and kissed her hand, bringing a flush to the good woman’s cheeks. She watched them depart her kitchens, clutching at the honored hand, and looking upon it as if it would never be the same again.
Returning to the hall he found Jasmine waiting for him. To his surprise she had changed her clothes, and was garbed like a boy in breeches, cambric shirt, and a fur-lined, sleeveless deerskin doublet with carved silver-and-horn buttons. James Leslie raised an eyebrow and suffered a moment of déjà vu. His own mother had once dressed as Jasmine was now garbed. “You ride astride,” he finally said.
“I can ride sidesaddle when the occasion calls for it,” she replied, “but I prefer riding astride as would you if you had ever tried balancing yourself in skirts upon a dancing horse, one leg thrown over the pommel of your saddle. ’Tis both uncomfortable, and discomfiting, my lord, not to mention unnatural. Surely you will not object?”
“Nay, madame,” he quickly answered, seeing the light of battle dawning in her eyes. “In fact I agree with you.”
She nodded and turned swiftly before he could see the amusement in her own glance. “Let us go then. It is fortunate you have your own mount, for I did not bring any but the coach horses with me from England. The stables at Archambault sent over a nice docile little black mare for me. She is pleasant to ride, but presents no challenges, I fear. If I had known I was to stay so long in France, I should have brought my own stallion.”
“I am reassured that you did not,” the earl said. “My own beast does not like the competition of another male animal about him.”
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