Intrigued

by Bertrice Small

  “You are flirting, ma fille,” her mother murmured softly.

  “Mon Dieu, I am!” Autumn said, surprised. But then she turned her concentration back to her duke and her count.

  “Only one more to come,” Antoinette St. Omer said softly, watching Autumn as she danced with the duke.

  “If he comes,” the comte remarked dryly. “You know how independent Sebastian is, and he has an abhorrence of virgins besides.”

  “Well, he had best get over that if d’Auriville is to have an heir one day,” Madame St. Omer replied sharply. “Proper brides are virgins, Philippe. I do not know where Sebastian d’Oleron gets such odd notions. He is hardly in the first flush of youth and will soon be too old to sire an heir. Such a charming man, but so stubborn.”

  The Comte de Saville’s Twelfth Night fête was to feature dancing and a midnight banquet. The guests were to come in costume, and there would be a masque performed by a troupe of traveling players invited for the occasion.

  “I am coming as the sun,” Autumn announced to her swains.

  “Then I shall come as the moon,” Etienne said quickly, and he grinned smugly at the Comte de Montroi.

  Guy d’Auray was not in the least put out. “I shall come as a comet who circles the sun,” he told them.

  Autumn clapped her hands together. “Oh, Guy! How clever you are to have thought of such a guise, and so quickly,” she told him.

  The comte bowed elegantly to her. “Merci, cherie,” he said.

  “Who gave you leave to call her cherie?” the duke demanded.

  “You may both call me cherie,” Autumn quickly replied in an effort to prevent further argument.

  The two young men glared at each other.

  “Gracious, Mama,” Autumn later said to her mother. “They are so competitive. I almost expected them to get into a duel over me.” Her eyes danced mischievously at the thought.

  “Duels are illegal, Autumn, and the penalty is death for those caught,” her mother warned her. “Do not tease your suitors into breaking the law. It is hardly a way to make your decision.”

  “What decision?” Autumn replied.

  “Why, which of them you will marry,” Jasmine responded.

  “I don’t want to marry either of them, Mama,” the young woman returned. “Etienne is charming and Guy such fun, but I am not in love with either of them. I don’t think I could be.”

  “It is too soon,” her mother said. “You don’t know either of them particularly well yet, but by spring you should.”

  Autumn nodded. “Perhaps you are right, Mama. I must give myself more time to know them better.”

  The Duchess of Glenkirk, in mourning, did not wear a costume to her cousin’s Twelfth Night fête. Instead, she wore a gown of deep violet that M’sieu Reynaud had made for her, along with an exquiste silver and amethyst masque. The gown’s only ornamentation was a collar of silver lace. Her daughter, however, was garbed magnificently in a cloth-of-gold gown with a transparent overgown of gilt sprinkled with tiny gold beads and diamante. The dress was set low on the shoulders to reveal Autumn’s creamy skin and beautiful young bosom. The sleeves were puffed to the elbow, with topaz-studded ribbons, and then fitted below to the wrist. Her shoes were painted gold, and the heels studded with tiny diamonds. Her hair had been affixed into an elegant chignon, sprinkled with gold dust, and dressed with small looped strands of tiny gold beads, yellow diamonds, and topaz. Atop her head sat a delicate gold crown representing the sun, each ray tipped with a yellow diamond. From her ears hung yellow diamonds. About her neck was a chain of small yellow diamonds and rose gold, from which dangled a large, round Golconda diamond cut with so many facets that it flashed fire with every move Autumn made.

  “Ravissante!” her uncle declared when she first came into the Great Hall. “No other woman here tonight will outshine you.”

  “You do not think it a bit too bold?” fretted Madame de Belfort, looking anxiously between Jasmine and her brother.

  “Nonsense!” Madame St. Omer said before anyone else could speak. “It is a daring costume, and when baiting a trap one uses the most delicious cheese available. Bravo, ma petite! You will drive the gentlemen wild tonight!”

  Jasmine laughed. “She certainly will, ’Toinette,” the duchess agreed with her cousin, and then she patted Gaby de Belfort’s plump hand in an effort to comfort her. “Autumn isn’t sixteen, Gaby. To garb her as a jeune fille would be totally inappropriate.”

  Etienne St. Mihiel and Guy d’Auray hurried into the hall, almost knocking each other over in their eagerness to reach Autumn. The duke was dressed in silver, a crescent studded in aquamarines upon his head. His companion was in deep blue and silver, a comet’s tail of gold and silver for his headpiece. Autumn admired both of them equally, although each thought he had gotten the better of the other. As the music started they began to argue over who should dance with her first. It was then a gentleman, garbed as a bandit in a black cloak, a wide-brimmed felt hat with several white plumes, and a black mask, stepped between the duke and the comte, bowed to Autumn, and led her off onto the floor.

  “Who is that?” Jasmine asked.

  “Unless I miss my guess,” Antoinette chuckled, “it is d’Oleron himself. I suspected curiosity would eventually get the better of him.”

  Jasmine watched her daughter with interest, smiling to herself as she remembered her youth.

  “You are bold,” Autumn told her partner as he led her through the intricate steps of the dance.

  “Your costume, cherie, is hardly modest,” he replied. “You glitter and glow like a beacon as you offer yourself to the highest bidder.” He twirled her about gracefully.

  “I have no need for the highest bidder, m’sieu,” Autumn said in a tight voice. “I am an heiress of great worth.”

  Her partner laughed, genuinely amused. “Are you indeed, mam’selle?”

  Autumn stopped in the midst of the dance and stamped her foot at him. “Yes, I am!” she snapped.

  “Do not make a scene, cherie,” he advised as he drew her back into the figure. “You have a temper, but I like a woman with a temper. It shows character. I do not wish to marry some passionless creature.”

  “Marry?” Autumn was astounded by his words. “What do you mean marry, m’sieu?”

  “You have come to France to find a husband, or at least that is the gossip,” he told her, and he laughed again when she blushed. “I am, to the relief of my relations, now in the market for a wife. I think you will do quite nicely, Lady Autumn Rose Leslie.”

  That voice. It was his voice. “You!” she said. “It is you! The gentleman in the forest who said he was a thief.”

  The music stopped, and her partner bowed elegantly. “Jean Sebastian d’Oleron, Marquis d’Auriville, at your service, mademoiselle.” He caught up her hand, and kissed it, but he did not let it go. Instead he led her across the Great Hall into a small alcove.

  “I would not marry you if you were the last man on earth!” Autumn said angrily. “I should rather die a virgin!”

  “There is no chance of your dying a virgin, cherie, but you surely cannot prefer those two bumbling suitors who dog your every move.”

  “Etienne is a duke and you are only a marquis,” Autumn said. “As for Guy d’Auray, he amuses me. I don’t even know you.”

  “You will,” he told her confidently. “Now as for St. Mihiel, he may be a duke, but my blood is far bluer than his.” He backed her against the stone wall of the alcove. “Have you ever been kissed?” he asked her curiously. One of his arms stretched out to confine her, while the fingers of his other hand brushed against her full mouth. “Your lips are like rose petals,” he said softly.

  Breathe! her inner voice said. Breathe dammit! She could hear her heart thumping madly in her ears. Had she ever been kissed? No! She most certainly had not, but she was most certainly going to be. The roving hand tipped her face up to his, and his lips touched hers tenderly. Autumn sighed deeply, unable to help herself.


  He drew away. “It is better if you close your eyes, cherie,” he suggested gently. “Let us try again now.” His mouth took possession of hers even as her eyes closed slowly.

  She soared. It was wonderful. It was everything she had always imagined a kiss should be. It was even more! And he had absolutely no right to be taking such liberties. Autumn raised her foot and stamped her diamond-studded high heel into his boot. “How dare you, monsigneur!” When he leapt back, swearing softly, she slapped him; then, pushing past his satin-clad bulk, she hurried back into the main part of the hall.

  Sacré bleu, but his foot hurt where she had assaulted him! When he got his footwear off it was likely to be black and blue. What a wildcat! There was no doubt in his mind now that this was the girl he wanted to make his wife. When he had seen her that day in the forest he had known it, but he had bided his time. There were several things he had had to do before he could court a respectable young girl like Autumn. His mistress, Marianne Boucher, had to be pensioned off, and their daughter put with the nuns to be educated. He had made arrangements to pay the child’s school fees, and when she was ready to marry one day, he would dower her if he approved of the match. He knew Marianne would see he did, for she was a practical woman. He had bought her a house in the town of Tours, near their daughter’s convent. She would be comfortable. More important, she understood her time in his life had come to an end. He would now marry and raise a family.

  Jean Sebastian d’Oleron, limping slightly, made his way across the Great Hall to where his host stood, undoing his mask as he came. He bowed to the comte. “Philippe. I thank you for inviting me tonight.” He bowed. Then he turned to the three older women. “Mesdames.” He bowed again.

  “Allow me to introduce my cousin, the Dowager Duchess of Glenkirk,” Philippe said.

  The marquis took Jasmine’s hand and, raising it to his lips, kissed it. “I can see, madame, where your daughter gets her beauty. I would like to call upon you when you return to Belle Fleurs. Do not promise your daughter to another until we have spoken.”

  Madame de Belfort gasped audibly. Madame St. Omer smiled archly.

  “I cannot promise my daughter to any man without her permission, monsigneur,” Jasmine explained. “It is tradition in our family that our daughters choose their own husbands, m’sieu le marquis. As long as the gentleman is suitable, the choice is theirs . We prefer to marry for love, and no other reason.”

  “Eccentric perhaps, madame la duchesse, but I would agree that love is the only reason to wed.” He bowed and kissed her hand again. Then, turning, he left the Great Hall of Archambault.

  “Mon Dieu,” Madame de Belfort said, fanning herself vigorously. “My nephew had best look to his interests if he is to have Autumn to wife.”

  “Do not bother to alert him, Gaby,” Jasmine said. “Autumn has already told me that while she enjoys their company, neither Etienne nor Guy is for her. I have suggested she get to know them better before she makes her decision. My daughter is young. She may be a bit immature, but she knows her mind and is a sensible girl.”

  “But d’Oleron is so . . . so . . .” Gaby floundered for the right word.

  “So delicously dark and dangerous,” Madame St. Omer said with a twinkle in her brown eyes. “Oh, to be nineteen again, and as beautiful as Autumn! What a man our elusive marquis is, sister!” She smacked her lips with distinct relish.

  “Oh, ’Toinette,” her sister wailed. “What are we to tell Etienne? He is truly enchanted with Autumn.”

  “You will tell him nothing, cousine,” Jasmine said. “It is up to Autumn to decide, and to tell the others when she does. I do not want my daughter determining who to marry for all the wrong reasons. Or refusing to marry because she feels pressed by all of us.”

  “You have favored d’Oleron all along,” Gaby hissed at her sister. “Poor Etienne!”

  “I have indeed favored d’Oleron,” her sister admitted frankly. “It is time he married, and not to some silly, weak little mademoiselle, but a girl who burns with passion. Autumn is that girl, although in the end she may not want d’Oleron or any of the others. Etienne St. Mihiel is a man who would find to his regret that Autumn could not be molded into the French wife he truly desires. Such a union would be a disaster!” She kissed her sister’s cheek. “Let them sort it out themselves, Gaby. It will all work out eventually.” She turned to her cousin. “What do you think of him, Jasmine?”

  “Nothing yet, ’Toinette. He is bold, oui. He is very handsome. Absolument! Autumn is intrigued, but only time will tell.”

  “How do you know Autumn is intrigued with him?” Madame St. Omer asked curiously. “She only met him tonight, and you have not spoken to her since they danced.”

  “Nay, cousine, I believe the marquis is the man Autumn told me she met in the forest while out riding. He puzzled her, and yet he excited her.” Jasmine laughed softly. “She thought he was a poacher, but he told her he was a thief—of hearts.”

  Madame St. Omer chuckled. “That sounds like Sebastian.”

  “How do you know him?” Jasmine wondered.

  “His late mother was my best friend,” Antoinette St. Omer explained. “She was also my husband Raoul’s first cousin. His sister’s child. I have known Sebastian since he was born. Both his parents are dead. They had gone to Paris on a visit. When they returned home both had contracted the plague. They died within a day of each other. Sebastian was only sixteen, but he took on the responsibilities of his estates at Auriville, and his vineyards are every bit as good as Archambault’s.”

  “How old is he?” Jasmine asked.

  “Thirty this August past,” came the reply.

  “Why has he not married before?”

  Madame St. Omer hesitated a moment, and her sister spoke up.

  “He was married,” Gaby de Belfort told Jasmine. “It was a shameful scandal!”

  “It was not Sebastian’s fault,” Madame St. Omer responded quickly. “When he was seventeen he was wed to Elise Montpensier, the only daughter of the Comte de Montpensier. What can I say about Elise? She looked like an angel, but she was a daughter of the devil. No sooner were they wed than she began taking lovers. She had no discrimination. A nobleman, a stableboy. It made no difference to her. All she desired was a strong, tireless cock. When she found herself with child, she could not be certain it was Sebastian’s. So she went to an old witch woman in the forest to rid herself of the baby. Whatever it was the hag gave her killed Elise and her child. They had not been married even a year, Jasmine. He has not married since.”

  “Do not forget Marianne Boucher and her daughter,” Gaby said sweetly. “She has been his mistress for seven years, and he has acknowledged her daughter, Celine, as his child.” She smiled at her sister. “Etienne is far more discreet than to publicly acknowledge his bastards.”

  Jasmine laughed as her two cousins glared at each other, each determined to make her candidate for Autumn’s hand the winner in this contest. “Well,” she told them, “at least we know the gentlemen can father children. What of M’sieu Guy?” she teased them.

  “A daughter and twin sons,” Philippe chuckled.

  “O la la!” Jasmine replied admiringly, and the two sisters were forced to laughter themselves.

  “What a quartet of busybodies we are,” Madame St. Omer said. “But I will admit to being eager to find what the outcome of this all is to be. Perhaps Autumn will have none of them.”

  “I doubt my daughter could find better suitors anywhere else,” Jasmine told them, pleasing her relations mightily, for they really wanted to help in this delicate matter. “Tomorrow,” she continued, “we shall return to Belle Fleurs and give Autumn some time to herself. She has had far too good a time at Archambault and needs a bit more solitude to regain her sense of proportion. I shall tell Etienne and Guy they may not call upon us for at least a month. It is a good plan, eh?”

  Her three cousins agreed, nodding their heads in unison.

  Jasmine and Autumn returned to their home
the following day.

  “I am glad to be back,” Autumn admitted to her mother. “I hardly had time to sleep, or a moment to myself these past three weeks.”

  “You do not miss the excitement, or your two eager beaux?” Jasmine smiled at her daughter.

  “Etienne and Guy are entertaining, but I began to grow weary of their constant rivalry. I suppose some women would find it flattering, but I found it annoying. Particularly in light of the fact that I was never really alone with either of them, nor had I allowed them even so much as a kiss. It was becoming tiresome, Mama.”

  “And what of the Marquis d’Auriville, ma bébé?”

  Autumn colored becomingly. “The marquis?” she said weakly.

  “Oui, m’sieu le marquis,” her mother said. “I saw him lead you off to dance, and when you returned several minutes later you were flushed. Did he kiss you?”

  Autumn nodded. “He says he is going to marry me.” She bit her lower lip in vexation. “You know how I dislike being told what I am going to do, Mama. And yet . . .”

  Jasmine laughed softly. “He fascinates you, doesn’t he?”

  “Aye, he does,” Autumn admitted.

  “Did you enjoy his kiss?”

  “Aye, but I am not certain why. Was it because it was my first kiss? Or was it because he excites me? If having Etienne and Guy squabble over me wasn’t bad enough, this marquis confuses me even further. Would I like it if the duke or the comte kissed me?”

  “You will only know if you kiss them too,” her mother said.

  “Are you advising me to kiss every suitor I have?” Autumn had to laugh. “I do not think other girls have mothers who would suggest such a thing to them. Indeed, Mama, I think I am most shocked by you.”

  “Nonsense, ma petite! There is nothing scandalous in what I propose. If you are to make a comparison between these three gentlemen, you must certainly kiss all three. How else are you to know? And not to know is a far worse fate. Of course, it must go no further than kissing, Autumn. A simple kiss is harmless, but anything else would be forbidden, ma fille. And most important of all, make no hasty decisions.”