“Of course you can,” Jasmine replied, her patience strained. “There was but one night the king was not in your bed while we were at Chambord. We were there six weeks, ma fille. Did you once while we were with him break your link with the moon?”
Autumn shook her head wearily. She was suddenly exhausted. Her belly was at last quieting. She wanted nothing more than to lie down in her bed and sleep forever.
“When was the last time your monthly courses were upon you?” her mother asked.
“Just before we went to Chambord,” came the dull reply.
Jasmine’s brow furrowed, and she calculated mentally. “The child,” she announced, “will be born sometime between mid-July and mid-August.”
“Oh, God!” Autumn suddenly began to weep. “What am I to do, Mama? Now everybody will know! I am ruined! And what of Madeline? She will be ruined too!”
“Heiresses are seldom ruined at the age of three,” Jasmine said dryly. “There is no shame in bearing a royal bastard, Autumn, and you know I speak from experience. You must write the king at once. He must be informed, as he will wish to provide for his child.”
“Write to Louis? And what am I to say to him, Mama? He cannot marry me. This is not England, nor Louis a Henry Stuart.”
“No, it is not England, but the French kings are no less liberal in the matter of their offspring, legitimate or otherwise, than are the English. Tomorrow is Twelfth Night, and the Comte de Montroi is still at his chateau. He can carry your message to the king. That way Louis will get it without the interference of court bureaucrats. It will remain more private that way.”
“Private?” Autumn almost shrieked the word. “By summer I shall be as fat as a sow about to litter, and you think the matter will remain private, Mama? Hardly!”
“You are so unsophisticated,” her mother noted, irritated. “This is what comes of raising you entirely at Glenkirk and not taking you to court, as I did your sisters. I did what was convenient for me and for your father, not what was right for you. Now we see the result of my selfishness and lack of foresight.” Jasmine sighed deeply. Then, shaking herself, she addressed her daughter patiently. “If you were with child by a person unknown, it would be a different matter, although ladies of our station have managed to overcome such difficulties. However, you are with child by King Louis. No matter that you thought your liaison with him could be kept private; it was not private, although society in this region is too polite to speak openly of it. When your condition begins to show it will be realized the king is your child’s father. Guy Claude will help to confirm that suspicion on the part of our neighbors. More important, ma fille, the king will recognize the child as his own. He could hardly have demurred, having seduced the respectable widow of Chermont openly at Chambord for six weeks last October and November. Have Marc ride over to Montroi’s chateau and bring him back. Tell Guy Claude the truth, and have him take your message to Louis. It is really quite a simple matter, Autumn,” Jasmine concluded.
“Is it really, Mama?” her daughter said, tears beginning to flow again.
“Oui,” Jasmine replied, and she put her arms about her daughter comfortingly. “It is a most simple matter, ma bébé.”
The king stared down at the small scrap of parchment with its four words. Je suis enceinte, he read. It was signed, Bijou. There was nothing more. Four little words. Simple, but momentous. He felt a thrill of pleasure for a brief moment. Was it a son or a daughter? He was genuinely pleased by the news the Comte de Montroi had brought him.
“Do you know what is in this letter?” he asked the older man.
“Oui, your majesty,” came the reply.
“How is she?” Louis inquired.
“More beautiful than ever. Her condition becomes her,” was the answer. “Healthy,” he quickly added.
“You will take a reply back to Chermont, Guy Claude, and then I would have you remain at home until you bring me word of the child’s birth. You will confirm the identity of its paternity to quell any gossip that may ensue. If the truth is known, there is little that can be chattered about.”
The Comte de Montroi nodded and bowed to the king. Louis knew little about the vagaries of country life. There would be much gossip over madame la marquise’s condition, but no one but a fool would dare to shun her or condemn the king’s mistress for her condition.
“She has chosen names, your majesty,” the comte said, “and would appreciate your approval. She would like the child baptized shortly after its birth. For a son she suggests James Louis, after her late father and your majesty. If she bears a daughter, she would call her Marguerite Louise. It would seem that Henri the Fourth first queen was the godmother of Autumn’s grandmother on her mother’s side. She believes that under the circumstances such a name would be suitable, coupled with the feminine version of your majesty’s name.”
“Quite suitable,” the king agreed. “I did not know this piece of madame la marquise’s history. So, our families have been connected before, have they? What a shame she is not royal, Montroi. She would have made me a very excellent queen.”
“Indeed, your majesty,” the comte agreed, bowing once again. “Does your majesty have a message he wishes me to convey to madame la marquise? A kind word on your part would be most encouraging.”
“Call in one of my secretaries,” the king ordered, and when the man came with his writing tools the king dictated a letter to Autumn. He assured her of his friendship and devotion to her. He expressed his delight that she was to bear his child and approved her choices of names. The child’s surname would be de la Bois, he informed his mistress. The income from the dairies at Chambord and Chenonceaux would be the child’s, paid quarterly and beginning immediately. The Comte de Montroi would be his personal liaison between himself and madame la marquise. He would speak for the king on Autumn’s behalf, and that of her children. He ended his missive by suggesting she find a good wet nurse, for he expected her at Chambord next October when he came again to hunt. Chambord, he informed her, would not be half as enjoyable without his bijou.
“Oh, Mama!” Autumn exclaimed happily when she read the king’s message. “You were correct! I am so happy!”
“Surely she does not love him,” the Comte de Montroi murmured, horrified, to Jasmine.
“Non non!” Jasmine reassured him. “Like all women in her condition, her emotions run riot. She had convinced herself while you were gone that the king would dismiss their passion and therefore their child. His generosity restores her confidence.” She patted his arm. “Poor Guy Claude. Denied the pleasures of court and forced to play nursemaid to the king’s chere amie. I am glad for my daughter but weep for you.”
“If the truth be known, madame la duchesse,” Montroi admitted, “I prefer being here to being at court. Paris is a sinkhole for poor courtiers like me, seeking an heiress wife. The city is expensive and dirty. The people still agitate just for their own amusement. Non, madame, I am content for the excuse to remain on the Cher. Madame St. Omer says she has found me a suitable wife. I shall take her advice and marry the girl.”
“Who is she?” Jasmine asked, curious.
“The only daughter of a most well-to-do wine merchant,” he replied. “She has no siblings and is therefore her papa’s heiress. Her mama was a distant relation of the St. Omers. She is not of the nobility, but her bloodlines are good and her prospects are excellent. She has been convent-bred and will be quite acceptable. My family may be noble, but it is hardly a great or powerful family. We have very little but our chateau and lands. Her name is Cecile Bougette.”
“When will you wed her?” the duchess asked him.
“Not until next year,” Montroi replied. “I have my duty to Autumn and the king to consider first, madame.”
“If you will take my advice, you will wed her after the king’s sojourn at Chambord, Guy Claude. You do not want to lose such a prize,” Jasmine told him wisely. “Set the date now, mon ami.”
“Perhaps you are correct,” he consider
ed.
“Bring her to Belle Fleurs to see me,” Jasmine said. “It isn’t proper for her to meet Autumn yet, under the circumstances. You do not want to offend her papa, but you do want him to feel you have honored his daughter by introducing her to your friends.”
“Madame, how can I thank you?” Montroi said, taking up the older woman’s hands and kissing them.
“Why is he thanking you?” Autumn demanded, and her mother explained. Autumn nodded. “You are so good to me, Guy Claude. When I am not considered such a scandalous woman, you will bring your bride to visit me here at Chermont. I apologize that you must delay your wedding.”
“I still have a few more wild oats to sow,” he chuckled with a smile. “Why are you women always in such a hurry to marry a man off?”
“Because without us,” Jasmine told him, “you get into such difficulties.” And she laughed.
“We get into them with you as well,” he quickly replied. “In Paris they speak of nothing but marrying the king off. The Spanish Infanta, Maria-Theresa, is the favorite, of course, being the queen’s niece; but there is talk of Marguerite of Savoy. She and the king get on quite well and genuinely like each other. Of course, right now the king is involved . . .” He stopped and flushed.
“Tell me,” Autumn said eagerly. “You do not hurt my feelings. Neither the king nor I ever expressed any feelings of love. Is it the cardinal’s niece, Marie Mancini? He spoke of her quite often.”
“Oui!” Guy Claude replied. “It is the Mancini, and they say the cardinal is very angry with his young relation. He has warned her off, but the king will not have it, and so the affair goes on.”
“She is foolish,” Jasmine said. “He cannot wed her no matter what happens. She should have the good manners to step aside.”
“She will not until the king sends her away, I fear. I think she believes he will defy the world for her and marry her in the end,” the comte told them.
“But he will not,” Autumn said quietly. “The king is in his own way honorable, but his duty comes before everything else. Mazarin taught him well, and he will not disappoint the cardinal or his mother. He will marry the girl they choose for him, and he will do his duty by her and by France. The Mancini girl is in for a great disappointment, I fear. I know the king well now, so I can say it.”
“They will marry her off to someone powerful and important eventually. The cardinal will give her a magnificent dowry. All the attention and the right husband will assuage her anger over losing the game. She is a vain and over-proud girl. She doesn’t really love the king. She loves the idea of being queen and lording it over all those who scorn her because her birth is not noble,” Guy Claude noted.
“Does the king love her?” Autumn asked.
“He thinks he does, but it is the idea of love that fascinates him. He has, as you well know, a roving eye. He will marry, sire an heir, and then grow bored with his queen, whoever she may be. The court is filled with beautiful and willing women,” he said. “There will be even more beautiful creatures come to court when there is a queen there.”
“I am surprised the king bothered with me at all,” Autumn said honestly, her hands going to her belly, where she sensed the faintest flutter of life.
“You attracted the king when he was a young boy,” the comte told her. “He never forgot you. Possessing you did not dim the attraction, and you have been kind to him. He will always be your friend, Autumn, and he will not ignore the child you share.”
“But will his queen, whoever she is, not be offended?” Autumn wondered. “A vindictive woman makes a bad enemy.”
“Your liaison with the king had begun before any betrothal or marriage. It will remain discreet, and if you are discreet, then the queen will not be publicly humiliated if it continues. The king hunts each October and November at Chambord. Until he tells you otherwise, Autumn, your presence will be required. There may come a day when he brings another friend with him, or even his queen, but until then you are at his command, cherie.”
I cannot, Autumn thought to herself, have a baby a year with this man. I shall have to take Mama’s potion in future. Why I did not think of that, why she did not think of it, before we went to Chambord I cannot imagine, but come next October I will remember. Still, it will be nice for Madeline to have a little brother or sister with whom she can play. I missed not having my siblings at Glenkirk, for only Patrick was there when I was growing up. He was older and not in the least interested in a little sister. These two children will only be four years apart.
The winter was mild and the new winery was being built. It was finished by spring, when the men went back into the vineyards to prune, to cultivate, and to tie the vines. News was slow to reach the Cher, but it did come eventually. Autumn was furious to learn that in order to gain use of the English navy, Cardinal Mazarin had publicly come out in support of Cromwell.”
“Will it ever end?” she demanded angrily of no one in particular. “How is King Charles to be restored if France will not support him? Charles Stuart is King Louis’s first cousin! Queen Henrietta Maria is Louis’s aunt! His mother is Spanish. Why are we fighting with Spain? I do not understand this at all.”
“God only knows,” Jasmine replied. “Politics grows more confusing each day. Here the cardinal and the queen want a marriage with Spain, yet they quarrel over territory. But Mazarin is running France. The king confirmed his authority years ago. Part of the problem, I believe, is that the Prince de Conde, the king’s old enemy, offered his services to Spain and is commanding their forces.”
“Marshal de Turenne will beat him when it comes to doing battle,” Autumn predicted. “Louis spoke of how clever a strategist de Turenne was, and that he trusted him implicitly.”
The summer came, and with it a surprising visit from the Duke of Lundy. Jasmine wept at the sight of her second son, hugging him happily. They had not seen Charlie Stuart since Autumn’s wedding day, almost six years earlier. He was leaner than they had ever known him to be, and he looked exhausted.
“What has happened to you?” Jasmine cried.
He grinned his old familiar grin and kissed her cheek. “ ’Tis life on the run, madame. That, and the fact that both my English and my French funds are now held back from me. The Kiras don’t dare to disobey, although they have when they could loaned me funds against my own wealth.” He turned to his sister. “I was sorry to learn of Sebastian’s death.” Then his eyes took in her belly, and he cocked an inquiring eyebrow. “Little sister?” he said.
“I was called to Chambord last October when the king came to hunt,” Autumn began, but she got no further.
“Ah,” her brother said, and then, “He knows?”
“Aye, and is happy,” Autumn replied. “The income from the dairies at both Chenonceaux and Chambord are the child’s, to be paid quarterly. The names are chosen and the surname is to be, by royal order, de la Bois. He will officially recognize the baby when it is born,” Autumn told her brother. “I seem to be following in Mama’s footsteps, except that she loved your father, while Louis and I are merely friends.”
“You are asking me to remain and be the baby’s godfather, aren’t you, Autumn?” Charlie said.
“Of course you will remain!” she replied. “I think Mama will agree that you need to be fed up, for you are woefully thin, Charlie. Where is King Charles now?”
“Here, there, wherever he can gain a welcome. There is a rumor that Cromwell isn’t well. His son, Richard, is a fool and will not be able to hold England. Though Mazarin has signed a treaty with England for aid, King Louis supports his cousin. It is thought that when Cromwell dies, which is certain to be sooner than later if our information is correct, General Monck will support the king’s return. It seems to be a matter of waiting now.” He kissed his sister’s cheek and patted her distended belly. “If you don’t mind, little sister, I should just as soon await my cousin’s restoration here, where I can eat regular meals and sleep in a dry bed, as wait with the king, who does not alway
s have these advantages nowadays.” He looked very tired. Both Autumn and her mother realized he had been traveling for some days in order to get to them. “Will you have me, Autumn? I cannot go home to England, and Scotland is also closed to me.”
“Of course you can remain, Charlie!” Autumn told her elder brother. “My hospitality can hardly repay the happy days I had at Queen’s Malvern so long ago. What news of your home? Of your children?”
“The children are safe with Patrick. Sabrina and Frederick will be practically grown and my wee Willie half-grown. I have not seen them since I left Scotland. Queen’s Malvern stands empty. Becket writes me when he can get a letter out of England. It will need restoration, but I have the funds and will rebuild it when we can return.”
“You will have to if you want to find a wife,” Jasmine told her son frankly. “And you must remarry, Charlie.”
“I know,” he agreed, “but right now all I want to do is eat, Mama. I smell beef cooking, do I not?”
Autumn struggled to her feet. “Come, the salle a manger is this way, big brother.”
“Are you staying here?” Charlie asked his mother as he seated himself at the foot of the table.
“Aye,” Jasmine replied. “Autumn’s time is quite near now. I wanted to be with her. You must meet your niece, Madeline, after the meal. She is a delightful child who looks just like her papa.”
“How old is she?” Charlie inquired, helping himself to a large slab of beef from the silver platter the servant offered.
“She will be four at the end of September,” Autumn said. Then, “Keep monsieur le duc’s goblet and plate filled,” she instructed her servants. She turned to her mother. “We must get Monsieur Reynaud to come from Nantes, Mama. Charlie’s wardrobe leaves much to be desired, and I doubt, brother, what little you carry is any better.”
“It isn’t,” he admitted between bites of food.
“The king isn’t going to be restored this year, I will wager,” Autumn said. “So, brother, you will come to Chambord in October with us. Louis is a delightful host, as you will see, but you will need a decent wardrobe. Mama, could the Kiras in Nantes release some of Charlie’s funds for him?”
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