“Aye,” Jasmine told him. “Jemmie says he is deviant in his passions. I will have to be very careful about him.”
“Surely, my princess, you will not allow yourself to be alone with him,” Adali said, disturbed.
“I must at some point,” Jasmine told him. “That is why he has had Jemmie sent away; so he may have time alone with me. He believes he can convince me to marry him. Of course all he wants is control over my wealth, and my not-so-royal Stuart son. Obviously he has a poor opinion of women, another mark against him in my books.”
“You will want a bath,” Adali said, dropping the distasteful subject of Piers St. Denis.
“Ummmm,” Jasmine agreed. “I am deliciously battered, and replete with my lord’s loving, Adali.”
“Then you are truly content to wed with James Leslie next month? While I believe he is the proper husband for you, my princess, I should not want you unhappy. Not I who love you like a father and have raised you from an infant,” Adali said, his brown eyes filled with tender emotion.
“I am content,” Jasmine told him. “Thank you, dearest Adali. I would have you know that I love you every bit as much as I loved Akbar, whose royal seed gave me life.”
He bowed low to her and, unable to say another word, hurried from the room, so overcome with emotion was he. Watching him go, Jasmine smiled. She could not imagine life without Adali by her side. He had always been there, with her and for her. He and her two maidservants. How would they adjust to life in the less civilized climes of Scotland? At least they would all be managing together as they always had, she considered with a small chuckle. Adali, Toramalli, and Rohana could make civilization anywhere.
Jasmine was just stepping from her bath when Adali entered her bedchamber, annoyance plainly written all over his light brown face. “The marquis of Hartsfield is here, my lady. Let me send him away for you. He has arrived in a most unseaworthy little bit of a barge, and says he wishes to take you on an outing today.”
Jasmine burst out laughing. “He is attempting to be romantic, Adali,” she giggled. “I shall go on his picnic, and as we are returning home I shall develop a cold, which ought to give me a few days relief from his company. Courting men don’t like sickly women.”
“Very well, my lady,” Adali said. “When will you be ready to go, for he will surely ask me. An hour? Two?”
“Let us make it two hours, Adali. As he did not request the pleasure of my company beforehand, he can hardly expect me to be available upon his immediate arrival. Have a footman bring him some wine and biscuits, and then leave him alone to stew in the library.”
Adali bowed and departed.
Dried, powdered, and wrapped in a chamber robe, Jasmine stretched out upon her bed and contemplated what she would wear on this outing. “Something girlish and countrified,” she said to her maidservants.
“You have a lavender-blue silk gown with a wide lace collar,” Rohana suggested.
“You could wear it with several petticoats and no farthingale,” Toramalli said. “The neckline is very low, however.”
“Hummm,” Jasmine considered, thinking what fun it would be to tease St. Denis with a glimpse of what he could not ever have. She was very proud of her bosom, which, despite her four childbirths, was still firm and creamy. “Let me see it,” she told Rohana.
Rohana brought forth the requested garment, laying it out for her mistress to contemplate. The gown was really quite simple. It was ankle-length, and its sleeves had slashes showing a fine creamy silk beneath. There was no decoration upon the bodice, which would be well covered by the beautiful lace, which formed a draped collar. The waist would be tied with a cream-colored silk galant.
“Yes,” Jasmine said. “Do we have slippers to match?”
Toramalli shook her head. “Better you wear black with it, else you dirty them. You have a pair of new pantofles which will suit the occasion perfectly, my lady. What jewelry?”
“The pearl necklace with the pear-shaped pink diamond,” Jasmine said mischievously. “He’ll have a terrible time keeping his eyes off it, and yet will be desperate to appear disinterested in either my jewelry or my breasts.” She grinned at her two servingwomen, who burst into laughter at her reasoning.
“You are as naughty as you were when you were a little girl and used to hide in the palace gardens from Adali,” Rohana remarked.
For a moment a shadow passed over Jasmine’s face. How simple her life had been then as the youngest child of the great Mughal emperor, Akbar. It all seemed so long ago, so very far away from her adopted land of England. “I suppose,” she said, “that that little girl still resides somewhere within me, but don’t ever tell the children, Rohana.”
“They don’t need to be told how to be naughty,” Toramalli said. “It seems to be instinctive with them. I am amazed your old grandmother can control them, and yet she does.”
Jasmine laughed. “Nothing is too big a challenge for Skye O’Malley,” she told her servants. “They say I am like her. I love hearing it, of course, but I do not believe I have her greatness.”
“You are young yet, my princess,” Toramalli observed, “and you have the blood of conquerors in your veins from your father as well.”
Exactly two hours after the marquis of Hartsfield had been announced, Jasmine descended the stairs of Greenwood House and entered the library, where he was impatiently awaiting her. She looked dewy fresh and deceptively innocent. Her beauty literally took his breath away. He had to have her!
She curtsied to him. “Good day, my lord.”
He bowed, regaining his composure. “Madame. I thought perhaps you would enjoy stopping to lunch somewhere along the river.”
“Adali told me. What a lovely idea, my lord. Shall we go?” Jasmine smiled pleasantly.
“Of course,” he replied, hurrying to the door to open it for her. “I have a barge waiting.”
They exited the house and walked down to the river, where, to the marquis of Hartsfield’s surprise, another barge other than his own appeared to be awaiting them, as was Adali, garbed in narrow long white pants and a long white coat embroidered in gold thread and pearls that came to just below his knees. About his waist was a gold sash, into which was stuck a jeweled dagger. Upon his graying head Adali wore a small white turban. Jasmine had not seen him dressed this way in several years. She raised a dark quizzical eyebrow.
Adali bowed to her. “The marquis’s barge was quite unsuitable, my princess,” he said calmly. “I sent it away.”
“But my basket of food was in the barge,” Piers St. Denis protested, astounded by the servant’s boldness.
“The contents of your basket would not have suited my mistress’s palate, my lord. I have replaced your basket with one from our own kitchens,” Adali replied, and then he helped Jasmine into her own barge.
When the marquis had entered the vessel and seated himself next to Jasmine, Adali also entered the barge and, with an imperious wave of his hand, signaled the bargemen to begin rowing.
“You are coming with us?” Piers St. Denis was becoming annoyed. Was he never to be alone with Jasmine?
“My mistress does not go off with strange men, my lord,” Adali answered the marquis of Hartsfield. “It is my duty to protect her. Her father, the great Mughal Akbar, himself, placed her as an infant into my arms and gave me my instructions. I have never failed my mistress, nor will I ever fail her. I will be her protection until I die.”
“You are a slave then?”
Adali shook his head in the negative. “I am a free man, my lord,” he said stonily, his tone indicating his disapproval of someone who did not recognize either his authority or his social standing.
“I mean your mistress no harm, Adali,” Piers St. Denis said in a conciliatory voice, attempting to use his great charm on Adali. “Certainly you must understand that.”
“My mistress is a lady of rank, wealth, and extraordinary beauty, my lord. I am sure your intentions toward her are honorable. Nonetheless, it is my duty to
be with her until she is remarried and put into the care of her husband. Then I will run her household even as I do now. I will continue to see to her safety and that of her children.” He did not smile. His attitude was an implacable one. “Do not allow my presence to disturb you. I see and hear all but report nothing publicly.” Then, turning his back to them, he remained standing outside the barge’s open cabin door.
“I am surprised that you allow a servant to speak to anyone like that,” the marquis grumbled irritably. Adali’s bearing was very formidable. How the hell could he overwhelm Jasmine with passion if that damned creature was always there. Did Glenkirk have to put up with such an inconvenience? He doubted it.
“Adali is not truly a servant any longer,” Jasmine told her suitor calmly. “He has always been a friend, and he is like a second father to me. I trust both his judgment and his instincts. He wants only what is best for me, my lord.” And then she dropped the subject, smiling sweetly at him and saying, “Where have you planned for us to stop and eat? Isn’t it a lovely day? There is no place in the world like England in the springtime, is there? Have you traveled? It seems I have been all over the world.”
“I have never left England,” he said stiffly. “Why would I? There is everything here that I could possibly want.”
“Have you never been curious about other lands, and other people?” she asked him. “Until I left India, I had never been anywhere, but I did travel with my father’s court, of course, across the vastness of our land. India is hot, however, and I preferred as I grew older to spend much of my time in Kashmir, at the palace my father gave to my mother. It was on a lake. The climate there was more temperate than that of Lahore, Fatahpur Sikri, or Agra. Such hot cities!”
“Cities?” he looked surprised. “I thought India a rather savage and barbaric land, madame. Your cities, naturally, could not rival London, or our other fine towns. They are made of mud and wattle, are they not? England must have been quite a revelation to you when you first arrived.”
Jasmine could not believe her ears. Did he know nothing of the world outside of England? “India,” she told him, “is a very ancient civilization, my lord. Our cities are far more urbane, in many instances, than your cities. While the poor live simply, as all the poor do no matter the country, our men of property do not. My father’s palaces far outshine anything I have seen in England. In Agra my father’s residence had walls nine feet thick, and 180 feet high. They were impossible to breach. There were soaring towers, and planted terraces with kiosks atop them. The walls had battlements, and breastworks, and places for archers. It was incredibly magnificent, and that was not even the best of his castles. Akbar built an entire city he called Fatahpur Sikri. It was all marble and sandstone, and so beautiful that just to look at it hurt one’s heart.
“Why do you believe India is some backward place to be scorned? We have as many, if not more, artisans, merchants, and manufacturers than you do. Our land mass is enormous when compared to this little island kingdom of England. And in my father’s land all faiths were welcomed. Such is not the case in England, or any of your civilized lands in Europe. Not only that, we have a great and glorious history which has been written down over the centuries, and can be found in the libraries of my father’s palaces. And our music, painting, and literature is unparalleled!”
He was taken aback by her outburst. He had assumed that she had come to England to escape the barbarity of her native land. “If you loved India so,” he said, “then why did you leave it?”
“Because,” Jasmine said bluntly, “my half brother, Salim, who is now the Emperor Jahangir, wished to pursue an incestuous relationship with me, my lord. He murdered my first husband, Prince Jamal, the royal governor of Kashmir, in order to clear a path to my bed. My father was dying and knew he could no longer protect me from Salim. I was sent to England that my half brother be thwarted in his unnatural desires.” She smiled sweetly at him as she had several times that morning. “Did you not know that? I would have assumed your interest in me would have engendered some curiosity in my personal history, my lord, but it has obviously not.”
“My concern for you, madame, grows more as each minute passes, and I come to realize what a magnificent woman you truly are,” the marquis declared. He was astounded by her frankness.
Adali made a sound that was very much like a sharp bark of laughter at St. Denis’s words, but he did not turn around.
“You know nothing of me, sir,” Jasmine said scathingly, “except what the king has told you. That I must have a husband because I am incapable, weak woman that I am, of running my own life, and raising my own children. That I am a wealthy woman. Wealthier even than the king himself. And I am certain that the king told you that I was beautiful, but until the day I returned to court with Glenkirk, my lord, that was all you had heard of me. You knew, of course, that I was Prince Henry’s mistress, and had borne him a son; but you were not at court when I was here last. And since the king has offered you the opportunity to court me, you have not even bothered to learn anything of me other than what was previously told you. I do not find that particularly flattering, my lord. It would appear that you court me because of my wealth and the power you believe you will have as the stepfather of my not-so-royal Stuart son. You must be aware that I will not have you, yet you persist in this game. Why, my lord St. Denis? Why?”
“Everything you say is true, madame,” he began, “but from the moment I laid eyes on you I knew that you must be my wife! I am consumed with desire for you! Yet you would not let me near you, and how was I to learn about you if I could not be with you? I would not base our marriage on gossip and innuendo, or worse, misinformation. Only you can tell me the true history of Jasmine Lindley.”
“You had Jemmie sent away,” she accused him.
“How else could I be allowed to spend time with you?” he asked her. “To have returned from France with you in tow was quite a coup for the earl; and to marry you will be but the final jewel in his crown. I, however, would pluck that jewel from him, madame, and wear it myself. There isn’t a man alive, knowing the situation, who would fault me for it.” He caught her hand and, raising it to his lips, kissed it ardently, turning it over to embrace both the palm and the inside of her wrist.
Jasmine snatched her hand back. “You presume, my lord!” she told him icily. The kiss had sent a shiver of distaste through her. There was something about him that reminded her of Salim, although there was absolutely no resemblance between her brother and the marquis.
“I will have you, Jasmine,” he declared, his bright blue eyes glittering almost black. “You were meant to be my wife.”
“I will be James Leslie’s wife,” she said quietly. “There is nothing you can say, or do, my lord, that will change my mind. However, if you wish to keep me amused while my Jemmie is away in Scotland, I shall be pleased to entertain your company, for I know it will make the king happy. Perhaps we can even decide upon a list of eligible maidens to present the king with when you finally accept that your quest of me is futile. From that list we will choose a bride for you. You had best take advantage of my suggestion, my lord. You are too complicated a man for the king. In the end he will choose Villiers for his favorite of favorites, and you will have no influence left with the royal Stuart. You have few friends, I suspect, and Villiers will certainly be content to see you fade into obscurity,” she warned him.
“You are far too clever, and much too observant, I think,” he told her. “Are you one of these intelligent women, then?”
“Aye, I am,” Jasmine admitted.
Adali, who had been monitoring the conversation, now turned to the pair, saying, “There is a lovely grove of willows just around the next bend in the river. With your permission, my princess, I will direct the bargemen there.”
Jasmine nodded.
“Do you read and write?” the marquis asked her.
“Aye. And I do mathematics. I know history, and I speak several languages quite fluently, my lord. I was
taught by a very enlightened priest who came to my father’s court for the express purpose of educating me. I was baptized in my infancy into the Christian faith. My foster mother followed Islam, as did my brothers. Two of my three sisters were members of the Hindu faith. I have told you that in my father’s land all faiths were welcomed. My sisters were as well educated as I was except for poor Aram-Banu Begum. She is slow of wit, but a sweet girl.”
Every time she spoke he was further amazed by her. She had said that he was complicated, but she was equally complex, he thought. “You, your brothers, and sisters, all had different mothers?”
Jasmine laughed, knowing even as he asked her he was shocked at what he already knew the answer would be. “Yes,” she said. “It sounds quite licentious to you, doesn’t it, my lord, but it is the custom in India for a man to have multiple wives and concubines. Of course, not all the men in India can afford more than one wife; but my father married for dynastic and political reasons. Many of his wives were the sisters and daughters of the men whom he conquered, or those who wished to forge alliances with him. My English mother was his fortieth wife, and, of course, he had a large zenana of favorites. I have often thought it quite unfair that men may have the privilege of many women, but women must be faithful to but one man at a time. What do you think, my lord?” Her turquoise blue eyes twinkled.
“I . . . I . . . I have not ever considered such a thing,” he replied slowly. A man might have a wife, and a mistress, but God only knew that was enough trouble. Forty wives? The deceased emperor of India must have been a formidable man indeed.
She laughed gaily. “You are shocked,” she mocked him.
The barge slid up on the sandy riverbank before he might answer. Adali leapt out and, beckoning to his mistress, lifted her onto the shore. He left the marquis of Hartsfield to exit on his own. Two of the bargemen climbed from the elegant little vessel, carrying several baskets. Adali took a linen cloth from one of the baskets and spread it upon a patch of the grassy field, beneath a particularly large willow tree. He next set out the meal. A small chicken, roasted golden; a rabbit pie, still warm from the oven in its stone pie plate; half of a small country ham; fresh bread; a crock of sweet butter; a quarter wheel of hard yellow cheese; a small silver dish of runny French Brie; a bowl of fresh strawberries; and a carafe of wine. There were two silver plates, two Venetian goblets of crystal etched with silver butterflies, and the appropriate cutlery with silver blades and bone handles, and silver spoons.
Darling Jasmine Page 17