“Tell him tonight,” her brother said. “Tell him, or I will!”
“I will tell him,” Autumn promised. “Do you think he’ll be happy?”
“Why not?” her brother said sourly. “He likes children too, and your condition will but once again prove his virility.”
And the king was delighted by Autumn’s news. “When is the child due, do you think?” he asked her.
“Late August,” Autumn said. “I shall, with your majesty’s permission, withdraw from court when you order me.”
“Barbara’s little girl, Anne, was born just two weeks ago. She has said she will not return until the coronation. She is a good mother, I believe. When I know the day she means to return, I shall ask you to depart the day before. That way I do not distress either Barbara or you by the other’s presence.”
“I will give you a son,” Autumn said.
“Will you?” He was amused. “I like all children, lads or lasses, my darling girl. I shall be delighted with whatever comes.” Then he kissed her, and his hands moved to fondle her breasts. “I can feel these little fruits already ripening,” he purred and bent to salute them. “What pleasure you have given me, Autumn, for all your saucy and impudent ways,” he chuckled.
“You should not like me meek and mild,” she assured him, and he agreed that he wouldn’t.
The king could hardly wait to mention to his immediate circle of courtiers that his beautiful mistress, the Marquise d’Auriville, was expecting his child. He was congratulated all around as if he, himself, had performed some miracle. Autumn didn’t know whether to laugh or be angry. She decided to find amusement in her situation, which was indeed the wiser course.
February passed, and then March. Lady Barbara sent word that she would be returning to Whitehall on the twentieth of April, three days before the coronation. Autumn prepared to depart from Whitehall on the eighteenth.
She was beginning to feel uncomfortable with her condition and wanted nothing more than to return to the country to await the birth of the child in August. She was concerned, for the king had not yet told her what her title would be, or where her house was located. She knew if the Duke of Buckingham said the king’s word was good, it would be good, but still she worried. Three days before she was to depart she sat by the king’s side while he diced with several of his friends. His luck had not been running well that evening, and dicing was not a game where men might cheat to allow the king to win. The Duke of Garwood’s luck, however, was running very well. Now only he and the king played.
The king tossed the ivories and the last of his coins vanished. “ ’Oddsfish!” he swore softly. Then he brightened. “Will you dice with me a final time, double or nothing, Gabriel? If I lose, you may choose your own forfeit—within reason, of course.” He grinned at his friend.
“I know your majesty for an honorable man,” the Duke of Garwood said. “I agree to your terms.” He handed the dice to the king.
Charles offered them to Autumn. “Give them a kiss for luck, darling,” he said to her with another grin.
With a smile, Autumn kissed the dice. “I’m not certain how fortunate my kiss will be,” she warned him.
Rolling the dice enthusiastically in his palm, the king threw them. When they came to a halt he grinned. “ ’Tis a hard point to beat, Gabriel,” he told the Duke of Garwood.
The duke nodded in agreement and tossed the ivories onto the table carelessly. There was a gasp from the other gentlemen who stood round the table watching. The duke’s toss had beaten the king’s.
“Well, damn me,” the king said softly. Then he looked up at his gaming partner. “You’ve beaten me fairly, Gabriel,” he said good-naturedly. “What will you have off me?”
“Your whore,” the Duke of Garwood said quietly.
“What?” The king decided that he hadn’t heard aright.
About the table his other companions were open-mouthed. Autumn was white with shock.
“I would have your whore, sire,” the Duke of Garwood drawled. “You are quite finished with her, aren’t you?”
The king nodded, still stunned by the request. But his facile mind was beginning to contemplate the possibilities.
Autumn jumped up. “How dare you, my lord? How dare you! I am not some street trull to be passed about from man to man!”
“You may have her,” the king said, “but under certain conditions. You are aware she is with child? My child. I will acknowledge it when it is born, and provide for it with a title of its own.”
“Charles Stuart!” Autumn’s voice was a shriek. “You cannot give me away as if I were a possession! Your promised me a title and my own home when I left you. You are a man of your word!”
“Madame,” the duke cautioned Autumn, “your tongue is sharper than my sword. This is the king to whom you speak.”
Your tongue is sharper than my sword. The seven words slammed into her memory like a cannon burst. She gasped, disbelieving. It was he! Despite his dark fashionable curls, and his rich garb, she suddenly saw Sir Simon Bates in his severe dark suit, with his cropped head. Sir Simon Bates who had killed Charlie’s wife and servant.
“This man is not who he says he is. He is a murderer, and a traitor!” Autumn told the king. “Will you give me to such a man?”
“He is exactly who he says he is. Gabriel Bainbridge, the duke of Garwood,” the king said quietly to her. She had remembered.
“He is Sir Simon Bates, who murdered my brother’s wife!” Autumn cried dispairingly.
“He is Gabriel Bainbridge, who took his deceased cousin’s identity during the war in order to spy for me, and for my cause. The reputation attributed to him was manufactured in order that he seem fanatically loyal to Cromwell’s cause,” the king told the distraught young woman who now clutched at his velvet sleeve. “He did not kill Bess Stuart, or her servant. It was the trooper who disobeyed orders while he was elsewhere with the rest of his men. You know that is the truth, my darling, and you must face it. We have all lost love ones in Cromwell’s quest for power. They will not come back to us, Autumn. I never break my promises to a beautiful woman,” he cajoled her gently.
Autumn bit her lip to keep her tears from flowing before them. This Charles Stuart was every bit as good at winning over the ladies as was his uncle, and namesake, her brother. “I could learn to hate you, sire,” she told him with a touch of her old arrogance.
“You shall have a title and a home, madame,” the king told her with a smile. “If Gabriel Bainbridge wants you, he must marry you. That will make you the Duchess of Garwood. His home, while in the north, is lovely, I am told by those who have visited it.”
“No!” Autumn said stubbornly.
“Will you accept my terms, Gabriel? Will you marry this delightful vixen, make her your duchess, and take her from court for me?” the king asked his friend.
“I will, sire,” the Duke of Garwood said.
“Then it is settled,” the king agreed. “My debt to you both is met, eh?”
“It is not settled!” Autumn shouted. “I will never marry this man. I loved my late husband. I will only marry for love!”
“That,” the king said, “is a charming but most childish notion, darling. Marriages are a blend of wealth and power, first and foremost. The Duke of Garwood is your equal in rank, Autumn. He has a fine home, and you will enjoy being its mistress.”
“He will not wed me when he learns the conditions my family place on the betrothals of its females, sire; and I will marry no man unless those conditions are met,” Autumn said firmly.
“He may discuss that matter with your brothers, madame. I have kept my word to you both. You, Garwood, may indeed have my whore. And you, madame la marquise, have been given a title and a house.”
Suddenly Autumn burst out laughing, to everyone’s surprise. What else was she to do? She had been outflanked by her royal lover quite neatly. She could not appear a poor sport about it. She must accept the king’s will, and be remembered kindly “You are, si
r, despite your French mama, a true Stuart. The Leslies of Glenkirk never do well in your service,” she said.
“What do you mean?” he asked her, amused by her words.
“My mother tells the story of when your grandfather, King James, raised my father’s earldom to a dukedom. King James said it was a fine present for my parents because it cost him naught. He said the Leslies had the castle and the lands already,” Autumn explained to them.
The king and his companions laughed heartily at the anecdote.
Then the king said, “So you will take the Duke of Garwood for a husband then, Autumn?”
“If he agrees to my family’s terms, your majesty, I think I have no other choice but to marry him if I am to have my title and my house,” she said. She was not happy, but Autumn was intelligent enough to know it was wiser to keep the king for a friend rather than an enemy. If Garwood would not agree—and she suspected he was too proud—then the fault lay not with her. She would buy her own house, and to hell with her English title. “And, sire, one more boon, I beg. I would prefer not to wed anyone until after my child is born.”
“I think that reasonable,” Garbriel Bainbridge said.
“Do you indeed, my lord?” Autumn snapped.
The king grinned. He had always liked Autumn’s independent streak, but he would not have enjoyed such an attitude in a wife. He wondered if the Duke of Garwood would enjoy it, but he had asked for Autumn and been given her. The royal debt was quite satisfied.
“You may escort madame la marquise back to Lynmouth House,” the king told the duke. Then he took Autumn’s two hands in his own. “I believe this is adieu, darling,” he told her. “You have been a delight, and I thank you for your generous nature. You shall always have Charles Stuart’s friendship, madame la marquise. Send me word when the child is born. Remember, you have promised me a son. What shall you name him?” The king’s amber eyes were twinkling.
“Louis,” Autumn said wickedly.
The king burst out laughing. He laughed so hard that tears rolled down his cheeks. When he finally was able to gain control over himself again, he raised her hands to his lips and kissed them, saying, “I agree, madame.” Then he turned to the duke. “Take her home, Gabriel, before I change my mind. I will admit to you all that I have never had so much fun with a mistress as I have with madame la marquise.”
The duke offered his arm to Autumn. She gravely accepted it, and they turned to leave the card room. “I have a barge,” Gabriel Bainbridge said. “It might be easier for you, madame.”
“Then send a servant to tell my coach to return to Lynmouth House, my lord,” she answered him.
He nodded, and spoke with one of the footmen, who hurried off to do his bidding.
They walked down together to the royal quai, where the duke’s barge was called for and was rowed to the landing. He helped her down into the craft, joining her and seating her within the enclosed cabin, which had lisle glass windows. There were heated bricks beneath the padded leather seat and a fox lap robe.
“Was this barge part of the house when you received it?” she asked him.
“It was,” he answered her.
“Then it belonged to my great-grandmother,” Autumn said. “Greenwood was her home, and she gave it to my mother. The Protectorate had no right to give it away.”
“Well, madame,” he told her, “when you are my wife it will belong to you, and that, I suspect, will solve the problem.”
Autumn grew silent again as the barge was rowed upriver from Whitehall to the strand. It was the time between the tides and the water was calm. The vessel glided along smoothly. Finally she said, “You will not agree to my family’s terms, you know.”
“Are you certain?” he replied.
“Yes!” she said, and her tone was smug.
“Do not be,” he told her. “I have wanted you since that first day, Autumn, when you were yet a girl, demanding justice for the deaths of your sister-in-law, and her servant. I will still want you. I am a man who always gets what he wants.”
“We shall see, my lord,” Autumn said, but his admission had startled her. She would have never expected such an acknowledgment from him. He had never given her the slightest indication that he had anything but contempt for her. “I don’t love you,” she told him.
“That will come, Autumn, as we learn more about one another,” he assured her.
She grew silent then. She had never before met a man like Gabriel Bainbridge, Duke of Garwood. Suddenly her life had taken a new turn. She had absolutely no idea where it was going to take her this time. She wasn’t certain she liked surprises, but then, what choice did she have now? But he wouldn’t accept her family’s terms. Or would he?
Chapter 19
When the Duke of Garwood escorted Autumn back to Lynmouth House they found her brother Charlie and Cousin Johnnie already there. The two men, older and younger, but both with similar expressions upon their faces, stood together silently.
“Go to your apartment,” Charles Frederick Stuart said to his sister. His tone was so severe that she obeyed him without question, much to his surprise. He had fully expected Autumn to aruge with him, but instead she curtsied to the three men and hurried up the stairs.
“We’ll go into the library to speak,” John Southwood said, and led the way. “Tray’s on the table, my lords. Help yourselves,” he told them, pouring himself a good measure of whiskey. He was going to need it, he suspected.
His cousin and their guest followed suit, and then, at their host’s invitation, they sat by the fire, which hissed and crackled as it burned brightly. Outside it had begun to rain, the droplets pelting fiercely against the lead-paned windows of the library.
“I was not there at that moment,” the Duke of Lundy began, “but I am told by George Villiers that you referred to my sister as a whore. Is that so, my lord?” His amber eyes stared directly at Gabriel Bainbridge.
“It is so,” the Duke of Garwood said.
“Yet you are willing to marry her,” Charlie continued.
“I am.” Gabriel Bainbridge’s own blue eyes did not waver from Charlie’s darker gaze.
“Why?” Charlie demanded.
“I am not certain myself,” came the candid reply. “All I can tell you is that from that first day I saw her I could not forget her. She haunts my dreams, if that makes any sense.”
“You love her, as I once told you,” the Duke of Lundy replied.
“How can I, given her moral character?” came the answer.
“You poor fool,” Charlie told him. “You love her, but you cannot admit it to yourself because she has lain with the king. She was no virgin, and my royal cousin was not the first king with whom she lay. Her younger daughter, my niece Margot, is King Louis’s daughter.”
“Then how indeed can I love such a woman?” the Duke of Garwood cried, genuinely distressed.
“Listen to me, my lord. I shall tell you things that my proud sister will never admit to you, but if you and she are to have any chance at happiness, I must speak. You will never, however, say I did. Autumn was my mother’s last child, born when Mama thought she was past such things as having babies. There were nine of us, although only eight grew to adulthood. Five of us were full-grown when Autumn was born. The two who were half-grown had been to Ireland, where they had adjoining estates. Of all our siblings, only Patrick Leslie, the eldest of James Leslie’s sons, remained at Glenkirk, but he was already a man when our sister entered this world. Autumn has been raised as an only child would be, cossetted and spoiled by us all.
“Then came the war. James Leslie died at Dunbar. Autumn was at Queen’s Malvern when it happened. Mama arrived at Glenkirk to take Autumn to her chateau in France. There was nothing left for them in England. It was there that my sister met her husband, Sebastian d’Oleron. They were wildly in love and they married. They had a daughter, Madeline, but when Maddie was just two her father died suddenly. My sister was absolutely devastated. Could scarcely rise from her bed on some
days. She barely ate and worse, she ignored her child.
“Finally she began to escape from her deep doldrums, taking an interest in Chermont’s vineyards and her child once more. But a year after Sebastian died, King Louis came to hunt at Chambord. He remembered Autumn from his boyhood, when he had lusted after her and she had put him firmly down for his presumption. He sent for her to come to Chambord. He did not ask whether she wanted to become his mistress. He was Louis, King of France, and she was his subject. She feared for her daughter if she did not obey. Louis was kind to her and acknowledged their child, Margot. Then at last our own king was restored, and Autumn came home.”
“Into Charles Stuart’s most eager arms,” the Duke of Garwood said scathingly. He could forgive her Louis of France, but knowing his own king had made love to her would be harder. Still he wanted Autumn.
“Indeed she did,” Charlie admitted frankly. “She saw an opportunity and she took it. My sister is a wealthy woman, but she would prefer not to live in France. Here, however, she has no title of her own any longer. Nor did she have a home of her own. She deliberately sought to fill Barbara Palmer’s place in the king’s bed until that lady returned from her maternal holiday. Autumn’s no innocent, but an experienced female. A woman of the streets who spreads her legs for a ha’penny might be called a whore, but a well-born lady of the court who does the same for a king is not. No one dared to call my mother a whore, my lord. Would you?”
The Duke of Lundy watched as the realization spread over Gabriel Bainbridge’s handsome face.
“No, your grace, I would not!” he quickly said. “It is said, though, that your mother loved your father deeply. Autumn certainly did not love King Charles.”
“My mother did love Prince Henry,” Charlie said with a small smile. He knew from family tales that his father had helped to birth him, but he had never known him, for Henry Stuart had died shortly after his birth. “As for Autumn, she would tell you herself that she did not love the king, but she does respect his power. She is honest to a fault.”
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