“God’s blood,” Charlie swore softly.
The coach window was lowered and Autumn leaned out. “What is the problem?” she asked her brother.
“Greenwood was confiscated by Cromwell,” Charlie said. “We were never told.” He thought for a moment, and then said to the gatekeeper. “Does the Earl of Lynmouth still have possession of Lynmouth House next door, do you know?”
“Oh, yes, your grace, and he is there, I know, for he and the duke are good friends. They ride together almost every morning.”
“It’s all right, Autumn. We’ll go there. The Southwoods are cousins and will gladly put us up.” He tossed a coin to the gatekeeper and thanked him for his courtesy.
“Have I ever met them?” Autumn asked her brother as the carriage slowly made its way next door to Lynmouth House. He shook his head in the negative.
“Duke of Lundy to see the Earl of Lynmouth,” the coachman said to the gatekeeper at Lynmouth House, and the gates were opened by the keeper and his son.
The carriage moved through, the horses trotting down the gravel drive and finally pulling up before a great house. Immediately servants in pristine livery were pouring out of the mansion. As the duke dismounted, they helped Autumn from her vehicle. She shook out her skirts and then followed her brother up the marble steps and into the building. The house’s majordomo hurried forward, exuding an air of importance. He bowed to Charles Frederick Stuart, immediately recognizing him as a person of quality.
“My lord?” he said in questioning tones.
“I am the Duke of Lundy,” Charlie replied quietly. “I should like to see the Earl of Lynmouth.”
“His lordship is resting for tonight’s masque at Whitehall, your grace. I have been given orders not to disturb him,” the servant said.
“I have not made myself clear,” Charlie responded in the softest of tones. So soft, the majordomo had to lean forward to hear him. “I am Charles Frederick Stuart, the king’s beloved first cousin, known as the not-so-royal Stuart. This lady is my youngest sister, Madame la Marquise d’Auriville. We have been traveling for several days and have arrived to learn my mother’s home next door was confiscated by Cromwell’s lot.” Charlie’s voice was rising as he spoke. “I should like to see my cousin, the Earl of Lynmouth.” He glowered. “What is your name, my man?”
“Betts, your grace,” the majordomo said nervously.
“I should like to see my cousin, the Earl of Lynmouth, Betts. Now!” the duke shouted.
“Yes, your grace, at once,” Betts said, backing away and almost falling over his own feet. “Allow me to show you into the earl’s library, where you may wait while I fetch his lordship.” Betts hurried ahead of them, flinging open a door and ushering them into a booklined room. There was a fire burning in the fireplace, and the majordomo gestured to a silver tray holding a decanter and some crystal goblets. “Shall I pour, your grace?” he asked the duke.
“I believe I can manage, Betts,” Charlie said, his tone gentler now. He even smiled at the servant.
“I will fetch his lordship immediately,” Betts promised them as he backed from the room.”
“I never saw you like that, Charlie,” Autumn told her brother.
“Upper servants tend to be overprotective of their masters,” Charlie said. “Do not ever allow one to speak to you disrespect-fully.” He poured out two small goblets of wine and handed his sister one. “London servants, particularly those employed by the king, have a tendency to be disdainful, even overbearing. Never permit it, little sister.”
She nodded, and they sat down together upon a settee to await the Earl of Lynmouth. “Who are these cousins?” she asked her brother.
“They descend from our great-grandmother, Madame Skye’s third son by her husband Geoffrey Southwood, the Earl of Lynmouth. That son was our great-uncle Robin. I don’t know who the current earl is, but we are related. Uncle Robin died the year before the old king. His eldest son, also a Geoffrey, died fighting for the king at Nasby in sixteen forty-five. I know he had a son, and that son had sons.”
The door to the library opened, and a handsome young man with golden hair and lime-green eyes hurried in, his expression curious. “I am John Southwood, the Earl of Lynmouth,” he said. “You wished to see me? Betts said you were my cousins.”
“I am Charles Frederick Stuart, the Duke of Lundy, my lord. Our great-grandmother was married to . . .” He stopped to set it all out in his head and then said, “Our great-grandmother was the second wife of Geoffrey Southwood, the Earl of Lynmouth.”
“Impossible!” John Southwood said. “My grandmother’s name is Penelope, and my grandfather had no second wife.”
“Not that Geoffrey Southwood,” Charlie told him. “This one was called ‘the Angel Earl,’ and he lived in the time of the great Elizabeth.”
“God bless me,” the earl replied. “That Geoffrey Southwood was my great-great-grandfather!” Then he went on to enlighten them. “My great-grandparents were Robin Southwood, and his wife Angel. My grandfather was their eldest son, also a Geoffrey, who married his cousin, Penelope Blakeley. Their eldest son was Robert, my father, and my mother was Lady Daphne Rogers. My father and my eldest brother, Geoffrey, died at Worcester. I was seventeen at the time, and before I might join the fray, my mother hauled my home to Lynmouth, where we sat quietly, not involving ourselves in politics, and waited for the king to be restored. Now, explain again to me how we are related, your grace.”
“My great-grandmother was Skye O’Malley. My grandmother is her youngest daughter, Velvet, the Countess of BrocCairn. My mother, Jasmine, was her daughter, and my father was Prince Henry Stuart. The lady with me is my youngest sister, the Marquise d’Auriville, born Lady Autumn Leslie. She is the Duke of Glenkirk’s daughter. He was my mother’s last husband, who died at Dunbar, also fighting for the king.”
The young earl nodded, and then he said with a smile, “How may I be of service to you, cousins?”
“Greenwood, which was my mother’s house, seems to have been confiscated during the Protectorate. My sister has just returned from France. She is a widow, and I thought I might bring her to court. But now she has no place in which to lay her pretty head. I was hoping you would allow her to stay here at Lynmouth House, my lord. My apartments at Whitehall aren’t large enough for both of us.”
“You have apartments at Whitehall?” The earl was impressed.
“The privilege of being the king’s first cousin,” Charlie answered him, waving his hand in a blasé fashion. “I always have quarters where the king has quarters.” He smiled at John Southwood. “Now, about my sister . . . ?”
“Of course you may stay with me, Cousin Autumn,” the earl said. ‘Sblood! When he told all his friends he would be the envy of the damned world. He peered at the lady in question and caught his breath sharply. She was absolutely beautiful, although she was looking a trifle pale. Reaching out, he yanked the bellpull hard. Betts was there immediately. He’d probably been peeping through the keyhole.
“Yes, my lord?” Betts said smoothly.
“Have the rose apartment opened immediately for her ladyship, Betts.” He turned to Autumn. “You have servants with you?”
“My two maids, Lily and Orane,” Autumn answered softly. “Thank you so much, Cousin John. I am a stranger to you, and yet you are willing to open your home to me. How kind.”
“Would you like to come to Whitehall tonight with me?” he asked her. “They’re performing a masque to cheer the king. His mistress, Lady Palmer, is expecting a child and has retired from court for the present. Not that she won’t be back. She will. Ambitious wench, Barbara Palmer. Was born a Villiers, you know.”
“Will you excuse me?” Autumn said. “We have been traveling for several days and I am exhausted. I want nothing more than a hot bath, a light supper, and my bed.”
“I will see to it at once, your ladyship,” Betts said and withdrew from the library.
“I’ll go with you,” Charlie said. “I want to
let the king know I’m back and speak to him about Greenwood.”
“Won’t do you any good,” the earl said. “He promised not to take back property reassigned during the Protectorate. He ain’t made any exceptions to date,” John Southwood informed them.
“But Greenwood wasn’t a crown property ever,” Autumn said. “Madame Skye bought it years ago when she returned from Algiers. Mama is going to be furious about its loss.”
“Cromwell gave away the properties of people he believed disloyal to his regime,” the earl said.
“How could Mama be disloyal? She took no sides and left the country,” Autumn replied.
“Mama didn’t openly support Cromwell, and she was the mother of Henry Stuart’s only son,” Charlie said wisely. “I will speak to the king, but I suspect Greenwood is gone for good. Mama doesn’t need it anyway, and the family have other houses in London at which to stay on the rare occasions we come to town.”
“That isn’t the point!” Autumn said angrily. “The king should at least compensate Mama for her loss. Remember, my father died at Dunbar for the Royal Stuarts. And who is this Duke of Garwood who was loyal to Cromwell and yet is allowed to retain stolen property?”
“He was a double agent for the king during the wars, and afterwards,” the Earl of Southwood said to her. “They say it was he who exposed the traitors in the Sealed Knot Society.”
“He was the one?” Charlie exclaimed. “I should like to shake his hand for ferreting out that dastard, Sir Richard Willys. How did he manage it? It had to be dangerous work.”
“He took the identity of his dead cousin, a boy raised with him from the time his parents—the mother was the previous duke’s sister—were lost at sea on their way back from Ireland. The two cousins were inseparable growing up and looked very much alike. The young gentleman died of a fever just as the war began. Everything was so confused then. Records weren’t kept or lost. Somewhere along the way the duke was able to take the identity of his dead cousin. It was given out that the duke himself had fled England with the Stuarts. His servants were incredibly loyal, and so the secret has been kept these past nine years. The king has publicly praised the duke’s loyalty and bravery.”
“It still doesn’t alter the fact that Greenwood is my mother’s house, given to her by Madame Skye,” Autumn said stubbornly.
“Sweeting, you are upset,” Charlie said gently. “You are tired and not seeing things clearly. You have no idea how terrible it was for the king these last years. He is a man who does not forget friendship or loyalty, Autumn.”
The door to the library opened. Lily hurried in, curtsying. “I’ve come to take you upstairs, my lady. The bath is being filled, and the cook says she will send you up a nice supper when we’re ready.”
“Go along, and get some rest, little sister,” Charlie said, and he kissed her on the forehead.
Autumn sighed. Then she curtsied to the Earl of Southwood. “Again, cousin, I thank you for your hospitality,” she told him.
“Call me Johnnie,” he told her. “Everyone does.” And he smiled. “Don’t let old Betts bully you either. He responds to arrogance, for some reason, so don’t be too kind to him.”
Autumn giggled and then, in Lily’s company, departed the library.
When the door had closed behind them Charlie said, “Shall we go to Whitehall now, Johnnie? While my immediate family likes to call me ‘the not-so-royal Stuart,’ my friends call me Charlie.”
The two men went off together, the young earl giving orders that Autumn’s coach and horses be stabled, and that her servants be well taken care of, else he be annoyed.
“It shall be as you ordered, my lord,” Betts answered his master, bowing servilely. “Shall I prepare an apartment for his grace?”
“His grace has apartments at Whitehall,” the earl replied loftily, and almost laughed at the look of awe on his majordomo’s face. But he managed to retain his composure long enough for he and Charlie to mount their horses and ride off.
“You don’t have a barge?” the duke asked his cousin, curious, for the house was located directly on the river.
“Too expensive to keep one anymore,” Johnnie said. “I prefer to ride, anyway, and there are always werrymen available.”
Autumn watched them go from the window in her day room. It would have been fun, she thought, to go to court, but she would not have been at her best tonight How her older brother managed to be so full of energy amazed her. She supposed it was the life he had led, going to court from his earliest childhood. He hardly seemed to need any sleep, she noticed. Autumn turned away from the window and entered her bedchamber, which overlooked the river. She recalled the stories she had been told of how her mother had arrived by barge from her ship when she had first come from India. She tried to imagine Jasmine coming up the showy lawns of the house next door and into Madame Skye’s arms. There was so much history in Greenwood. She had to get it back!
At Whitehall the Duke of Lundy went immediately to pay his respects to his cousin the king, kneeling before Charles II and kissing his outstretched hand. “I’ll go and make myself presentable shortly, your majesty, but I wanted to come to you first.”
“Get up, Charlie,” the king said. “Every time you kneel before me I remember who your father was, and that had he been wed to your mother, I should be kneeling to you,” chuckled Charles Stuart. “You remember George Villiers, and this is Gabriel Bainbridge, the Duke of Garwood. I know you haven’t met, but I think you should. He has been waiting for you to return to court so he might speak with you.”
The Duke of Lundy rose. “About Mama’s house, Greenwood?” he said. “I should warn you, sir, that I have brought my widowed sister up to London with me, and Autumn is very put out about Greenwood’s loss.”
“You’ve brought your sister to court?” the king said, sounding quite interested. “Is she as beautiful as the other ladies in your family, Charlie? Where is she?”
“Sheltering at Cousin Johnnie’s house next door, and quite annoyed, your majesty,” the Duke of Lundy said with a small smile. “She was tired, and we have been traveling several days from Queen’s Malvern.”
“A widow, you say?” the king questioned him.
“Aye. Mama took her to her chateau in France right after Bess was killed. She married a French nobleman who died suddenly five years ago, leaving Autumn with a small daughter. When your majesty was restored to his rightful place my mother and sister returned to England. She has been pining of late, and I thought that perhaps a visit to court might amuse her. She has never been there, as there was no court when she was finally old enough to come.”
“That’s right,” the king recalled. “Your mother surprised your father with a final child shortly after I was born, and they raised her in that Highland lair of theirs, Glenkirk, didn’t they?”
“I am amazed your majesty remembers such minutiae,” Charlie said.
“When she is rested bring her to court, Charlie. But now you and Gabriel must talk. It is important that you do,” the king told his cousin. “Go and find a quiet place now, remembering that you are a member of my family and in my presence.”
What a strange thing to have said, Charlie thought as he and the Duke of Garwood sought a quiet alcove where they might speak. When they had the two men stood awkardly for a moment, and then Gabriel Bainbridge began to speak.
“I do not know, my lord, how much you know of me,” he said.
“I know you were a double agent for his majesty,” Charlie replied, “and that you are responsible for exposing Sir Richard Wilys. I would shake your hand, sir!” Charlie held out his own.
“You may feel differently when you hear what I have to say, my lord. I shall wait until then to offer you my hand,” the Duke of Garwood told Charlie seriously. “You are aware that I impersonated my deceased cousin?”
“I am,” Charlie responded. “Your servants are to be commended for keeping the secret, my lord.”
Gabriel Bainbridge smiled faintly. “Th
ey are good people,” he said quietly. “Without their cooperation I should not have been able to pull it off at all.” He was a handsome man with dark blond hair and very deep blue eyes. The Duke of Lundy estimated his age at close to forty.
“Your wife must be proud,” he said.
“I have never married,” Gabriel Bainbridge answered him. “By the time I was ready to consider it, we were at war and all the young ladies had fled or were spouting Puritan nonsense.”
“I understand,” Charlie replied. “My sister left England for the same reason. Mama said there was no decent society where one might introduce a young lady to young gentlemen.”
“We are getting off the subject,” the Duke of Garwood said. “I must unburden myself to you, my lord, and I must ask your forgiveness.”
“We have never met,” Charlie retorted.
“The identity I took during the wars and the Protectorate was that of my cousin, Sir Simon Bates,” Gabriel Bainbridge said, and his body tightened, as if he was expecting Charlie Stuart to deliver him a great blow. He wouldn’t have blamed him if he had.
“God’s blood!” the Duke of Lundy swore softly. He was stunned by the revelation, and wondered how long the king had known it. For a moment he was actually at a loss for words. This man had led the men who killed his Bess.
“It should never have happened,” Gabriel Bainbridge said. “If I had entered the house first, it wouldn’t have.”
“Why didn’t you?” Charlie asked him softly. “Why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know,” the Duke of Garwood said brokenly. “I was sent to take livestock, any horses I could find, and foodstuffs, for the troops. The men with me that day were not my own, most of whom were down with a flux of the bowels. I was given a troop of ill-disciplined scum, criminals and layabouts for the most part. Because I couldn’t trust them, because I couldn’t delegate authority to any of them, I had to reconnoiter myself. I was inspecting your stables and barns when I heard the shot. The troopers with me weren’t supposed to enter the house. When I had finished my scouting I had intended to tell whoever was there that I was taking supplies in the name of the Commonwealth. Then I was to give them a chit to be redeemed later, when peace had been restored.”
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