“I am not used to such a woman,” the Duke of Garwood admitted.
“If you really want to marry my sister, my lord, you must accept her as she is, and not as you would like her to be. She will not change. The women in our family are unique in their independent spirit. Is that not so, Johnnie?” the duke queried his cousin.
Johnnie Southwood grinned. “My great-great-grandmother was known to command a pirate fleet and fought with old Queen Bess. My great-grandmother, known as Angel, served that queen. My grandmother, Penelope, fought off pirates who invaded our estate in Devon. She was with child at the time. My own mother, Daphne, held our home and kept it safe from Cromwell’s men. I could tell you about my Aunt MaryAnne, but it would take half the night, I fear. And this, my lord, is but one small branch of the family. We have several branches in Ireland and Scotland, as well as England. All are descendants of Skye O’Malley and her husbands. She had six of them, you know.”
“At once?” the Duke of Garwood said nervously.
“One at a time,” Charlie assured him before Johnnie could tease the man and frighten him off. The Duke of Lundy had long since decided that Gabriel Bainbridge would make a perfect husband for his sister, and he intended to see it happen. “Mam; that is what we called her. She was my great-grandmother, outlived them all. My home was her home, and my title came to me from her late husband, courtesy of my grandfather, King James, who elevated my great-grandfather’s earldom to a dukedom.
“Now, sir, if you would have Autumn to wife there are several matters we must clear up. First, I would have your apology. Do I?”
“Aye, you do,” the Duke of Garwood replied honestly. “I spoke in anger. No one can make me angrier than your sister, my lord. What other conditions do you have for me to fulfill?”
“It is the custom of the women in our family, all of whom possess their own wealth, to keep that wealth. Their betrothed husbands are given a dower portion, and some of my female cousins have even preferred allowing their mates to manage their monies, but most do not. We seem to have sired a race of women who are clever with their funds. Autumn, as I suspect you already know, is one of them. This conversation will go no further if you cannot meet such a condition.”
“It is indeed unusual,” the Duke of Garwood said slowly. Then he chuckled. “Now I know why Autumn thought I would cry off when I heard it. I imagine many men would.”
“Would you?” Charlie asked him.
“Nay, I wouldn’t,” came the honest reply.
Charlie grinned. “Nor has any man in our family history. Our ladies seem to be that fascinating to their swains,” he chuckled.
“And your other conditions, my lord?”
“There is only one. You cannot wed with my sister until you have gotten to know one another better. I know it is the custom for marriages to be made for dynastic, financial, and other practical reasons, but that is the other thing about the women in our family. They marry for love.” He shrugged. “I do not know what is to be done with such females, who would manage their own wealth and insist on loving their husbands.”
“The king . . .” Gabriel Bainbridge began, but Charlie put him off.
“I know my cousin said you could have Autumn, but be assured he will change his mind if I ask him to do so, my lord. I believe, however, that you are the right man for my sister. Only give her the time to come to that conclusion. Let her have her bairn, and we shall see. I believe in love at first sight, Gabriel, but I do not think Autumn does.”
“The king dismissed her quite publicly this afternoon,” the Duke of Garwood told Charlie. “I should advise she leave London before the coronation. What think you, sir?”
“I agree,” the Duke of Lundy said. “I would like you to escort her home, if the king will permit your absence from his triumph.”
“I’ll go with them,” the young Earl of Lynmouth said. “I’ll not be missed, and I should like to meet your mother. My great-grandfather always spoke of how beautiful she was. My brother and I loved the tale of how she came to England and was presented to the family.”
“Aye,” Charlie said, “I think it would be an excellent idea if you escorted Autumn back to Mama at Queen’s Malvern. If I cannot join you, immediately you will be a buffer between them until my sister’s temper cools and she becomes more reasonable. She will need to concentrate all her effort on calming Mama, once our mama learns of her condition and who the father of her expected child is. I will come as soon as the king is crowned and he releases me. Lady Barbara has never really liked me, or she is jealous of anyone she believes takes the king’s attention from her. I will be happy to avoid the rough side of her wicked tongue this summer. By the time I return to court, she will be secure in her position as maitress en titre once more. Autumn is of far better birth than Lady Barbara, and this is the first time the king has sired a child on a woman of such noble birth. Lady Barbara will not be happy.”
“She will be far more unhappy when the king weds, which he is bound to do next year,” Johnnie said. “It is to be the Portuguese Infanta, they say. Her dowry will take him out of debt. The French have no princesses right now, and the Protestant Northern kingdoms have no dowries large enough to outstrip the Portuguese.”
“For a man who claims not to spend a great deal of time at court, Johnnie, you know more gossip,” the Duke of Lundy chuckled. Then he turned to the Duke of Garwood. “Then we are agreed, my lord?”
“We are agreed,” Gabriel Bainbridge replied.
So King Charles II was crowned on April 23, 1661 in Westminster Abbey. The ceremony and the banquets that followed were colorful and lavish. Barbara Palmer, newly returned to court and restored to her lover’s bed, was prominent, her rich chestnut curls shining and her bright blue eyes flashing her triumph. The king had reassured her that he adored her above all women, and her friends had assured her that she was far more beautiful than Madame la Marquise d’Auriville. That her friends lied made no difference, for madame la marquise had been dismissed from court and was unlikely to ever return. Barbara Palmer would never have the chance for comparison, nor the opportunity to learn of her friends’ deception.
The coach carrying Autumn back to Queen’s Malvern traveled at a leisurely pace, but Autumn preferred riding despite the objections of her cousin and the Duke of Garwood. Lily and Orane sat within the vehicle while Lily’s husband, Marc, rode with the others. Halfway through each day Johnnie would ride ahead to the inn where they would be staying for the night to make certain everything was in perfect order for his cousin and her party. The day before they reached Queen’s Malvern Charlie caught up with them. At his jealous mistress’s urging the king had released the Duke of Lundy until Martinsmas.
Secretly relieved, Autumn greeted her brother warmly. She had not wanted to face her mother alone. Until this very moment she hadn’t really considered how angry Jasmine was going to be with her for her deliberate actions, but Autumn had not a doubt that her mother would like Gabriel Bainbridge. But there was going to be no quick wedding, if indeed there was a wedding at all. The king had tricked her, although Autumn didn’t believe his actions were calculated. He had simply taken a convenient path that allowed him to satisfy in one stroke both his honor and his promise. Autumn smiled to herself. It was really quite deliciously clever of Charles, and she was not in the least angry. If she decided that she could abolutely not marry the Duke of Garwood, she was certain for her child’s sake that the king would give her her own title.
They at last reached Queen’s Malvern. Gabriel Bainbridge lifted Autumn down from her horse, setting her gently on her feet. “You must be happy to be home,” he said softly.
“This isn’t my home,” she answered him. “It is Charlie’s home. I have no home.”
“You are very stubborn, aren’t you?” he remarked.
“I am,” she agreed. “Where is your home?”
“To the north, in Durham,” he answered her. “It is a large house built of brick, very much like this one.”
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nbsp; “It’s not a castle?” Autumn sounded disappointed.
He choked back his laughter at the look on her face. “Nay, Autumn, it’s not a castle. I have a title, a fine house, and a goodly estate that supports a deer park and herds of cattle, but that is all I have. Did you really want a castle?”
“I grew up in a castle, and Chermont is a castle,” she said, but before she might continue her mother’s voice rang out.
“God’s blood! I let you go to court and you return with a belly, Autumn! One of these gentlemen had better be your future husband. Come into the house, all of you. Charlie, you had best have an explanation for returning your sister from court in this condition.” She whirled about and stamped away.
“That is Mama,” Autumn said sweetly. “Daughter of an emperor, wife of a prince, a marquis, and a duke. Mistress of another prince.”
They followed Jasmine into the house, and into the family hall. The servants scurried about taking cloaks and passing out wine and sugar wafers. Suddenly the hall was full of children. Madeline and Margot ran to their mother, shrieking their delight as she bent awkwardly to hug and kiss them. Charlie’s sons hurried forward, their young faces wreathed in smiles.
“Maman! Maman!” the little girls cried.
“Papa!” Frederick and William greeted their father.
A slender young girl entered the hall, and Johnnie Southwood’s mouth fell open in unabashed admiration. “Papa,” Lady Sabrina Stuart said, going to Charlie and kissing him on the cheek. “Welcoom hame . . . home, Papa.” She spoke slowly, carefully, and under her grandmother’s approving eye. “I’m glad yer finally back. We’ve missed ye, eh, laddies?”
“My bairns,” Jasmine said to the older children, “now that you have greeted your parent, take the wee ones from the hall. We have business to discuss.” She smiled at her little French granddaughters. “Mama will come to you soon, mes enfants. Go with your cousins until you are called back. Sabrina, take them to the kitchens. Cook will give you all a treat.”
Sabrina took the little girls by the hand and led them off, followed by her two brothers. Maddie and Margot no longer feared their big cousin.
“Who is she?”
“More important, who are you? Have you never seen a pretty lass before? Why do you look so damned familiar?” Jasmine demanded.
“I am John Southwood, your grace, the Earl of Lynmouth,” Johnnie said, remembering his manners and bowing to Jasmine gallantly.
“God’s blood, sir, you look like my Uncle Robin,” Jasmine told him.
“He was my great-grandfather, madame,” Johnnie told her.
Jasmine sat down heavily. “God’s blood, I am an old woman!” she said. “My uncle died the year before the king was murdered. But what of his son and his. grandson?” she asked the Earl of Lynmouth.
“My grandfather died at Naseby, my father and my eldest brother at Worcester. I was just seventeen then. My mother kept me penned up at Lynmouth and out of mischief until the king was restored.”
“A very wise woman. What of your grandmother? Your father married one of my Uncle Padraic’s daughters,” Jasmine recalled.
“My grandmother, Penelope, and my mama share the dower house at Lynmouth and pray that I will marry sooner than later,” Johnnie told her with a chuckle.
“And today for the first time you are considering it,” Jasmine said. “My granddaughter is very lovely, isn’t she? How clever of you, Charlie, to bring home a possible suitor for Brie. I’m smoothing her rough Highland edges very nicely. She is a quick study.” Now she looked at the other young man unfamliar to her. He was very handsome, and in an odd way reminded her of her second husband, Rowan Lindley but then realized it was only his dark blond hair.
“May I present Gabriel Bainbridge, the Duke of Garwood, Mama,” Charlie said formally. “The king wants him to marry Autumn.”
“Why? Because he put a baby in her belly?” Jasmine snapped.
“The king put the bairn in my belly, Mama,” Autumn said sweetly.
“What?” Jasmine’s hand went to her heart. She sat down heavily.
“Did Mam act this way when Prince Henry gave you a chld?” Autumn asked her mother. “How interesting that history is repeating itself. Do you not think so, Mama?”
Jasmine was stunned by her daughter’s words. They were cold. Still she recalled how loving and welcoming her grandmother had been when she learned that Jasmine was expecting Prince Henry’s son. “Do you love the king?” she asked her daughter.
“Nay,” Autumn said quietly.
“Then how could you want his child?” Jasmine asked.
Autumn explained her reasoning to her mother, who was visibly distressed and shocked by it.
“I did not raise you to be so heartless,” she said quietly. “I loved Henry Stuart, and his son was a blessing, a joy to me, particularly given that Hal died two months after Charlie was born. But your behavior is reprehensible, Autumn. You have been deliberately calculating, and I do not understand it. How can you love a child not created of love?”
“Margot was not created of love, Mama, and I love her,” Autumn answered fiercely, defending herself.
“Margot was different,” Jasmine replied.
“Why? Because I was King Louis’s victim and, given the choice, would never have graced his bed? Does that make my child more lovable than the one lying now beneath my heart, Mama? Does the fact that Louis forced himself on me and conceived a daughter make her better than the baby I willingly conceived with King Charles? I am not like you, Mama. I cannot easily give up one love and love another man. I loved Sebastian. I shall always love him. No other shall ever take his place in my heart, Mama.”
“That is not the point,” Jasmine said, but Autumn was very angry now.
“Are you jealous of me, Mama? After all, you had but a Stuart prince for a lover. I have had not only a Stuart king but a Bourbon king in my bed. And I have given each of them children, or soon will.”
“Madame!” the Duke of Garwood roared. “You will not speak that way to your mother. She deserves your respect.”
Autumn jumped up. “Who are you, my lord, to tell me what to do? You may go to the devil!” Then she threw her wine goblet at him and ran from the hall.
Gabriel Bainbridge ducked the silver goblet as it crashed to the floor, spilling its contents. “Well,” he said dryly, “she does have a temper, doesn’t she? But a mighty poor aim.”
Jasmine had begun to cry, and Charlie knelt by her chair, his arms about her comfortingly. “She has never been the same since Sebastian died,” Jasmine said despairingly. “There has been nothing that pleases her, and then to be taken by that lustful king. It has all been too much for her, I fear.”
“She is a spoilt brat,” Charlie said. “She had this image in her mind of living happily ever after. Life doesn’t always work that way, Mama. You know it. My older sisters know it. What is the matter with Autumn that she does not understand it?”
Jasmine looked at the Duke of Garwood. “Do you really want to marry her? Even after having seen this display of her temper?”
“Tell your mother how I first met Autumn, Charlie,” Gabriel Bainbridge said to the Duke of Lundy. Charlie complied. When he had finished, Garwood continued, “From that day I have held her in my heart, madame. Is that love? I do not know, but I want to find out, and if indeed it is love, I shall teach her to love me as well. I do A not want to wipe away the memories she has of Sebastian d’Oleron; I want to make new memories with her that we may share together into the twilight of our years. Her temper does not deter me. I am told that women who are breeding are prone to vagaries of disposition. Our journey has been long, and certainly tedious. Autumn needs her rest and the love of her family to regain her composure.”
Jasmine looked closely at the Duke of Garwood. “Has my son explained the terms by which you may marry my daughter, sir?”
“He has, madame.”
“Forgive me, but I must ask. Are you in debt?” Jasmine said.
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nbsp; “Nay, madame, I am not,” he told her. “I am not a rich man, but neither am I a poor one. My title comes from the reign of the third Richard. My home is very much like Queen’s Malvern: comfortable, but not elegant. My income derives from my cattle. My herds are large. I have never been married before. My parents are deceased, and I have no siblings. I follow England’s church, my health is good, and I have all my teeth.”
Jasmine burst out laughing. “You have humor too,” she said. “I like that, my lord. Well, welcome to Queen’s Malvern. You are welcome to remain as long as you can bear us all. We are, I warn you, a noisy household.”
“May I remain as long as I like, cousin?” the young Earl of Lynmouth asked her.
“If you are going to attempt to court my granddaughter, sir, I suspect that you must. Aye, you too are welcome.”
The days were lengthening, and it was obvious that spring would arrive sooner than later. Green shoots were beginning to puncture the earth, and after a time the hillsides were bright with yellow daffodils. John Southwood courted Lady Sabrina Stuart beneath the careful eye of both her father and her grandmother. It was plain to anyone with eyes that they were a match. While they both descended from Skye O’Malley, their kinship was not so close as to forbid a marriage. The Earl of Lynmouth thought that Sabrina’s Scots accent, which was now much softer than when she had arrived in England four months earlier, charming. And to Jasmine’s surprise her granddaughter knew everything a young woman should know about running a house. There was no impediment to the marriage, which was scheduled to be celebrated on the second day of May.
Autumn had quieted and drawn into herself after her initial explosion of anger. Jasmine had struggled to remember how kind and supportive her grandmother had been to her when she found herself in the very same situation. The breach between mother and daughter, always so close, was healed, although Autumn could not understand her mother’s approval of Gabriel Bainbridge. “He has not Sebastian’s charm,” she said, “and he isn’t anywhere near as handsome, Mama.”
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