Darling Jasmine (19 page)
Authors: Bertrice Small
“I will be James Leslie's wife,” she said quietly. “There is nothing you can say, or do, my lord, that will change my mind. However, if you wish to keep me amused while my Jemmie is away in Scotland, I shall be pleased to entertain your company, for I know it will make the king happy. Perhaps we can even decide upon a list of eligible maidens to present the king with when you finally accept that your quest of me is futile. From that list we will choose a bride for you. You had best take advantage of my suggestion, my lord. You are too complicated a man for the king. In the end he will choose Villiers for his favorite of favorites, and you will have no influence left with the royal Stuart. You have few friends, I suspect, and Villiers will certainly be content to see you fade into obscurity,” she warned him.
“You are far too clever, and much too observant, I think,” he told her. “Are you one of these intelligent women, then?”
“Aye, I am,” Jasmine admitted.
Adali, who had been monitoring the conversation, now turned to the pair, saying, “There is a lovely grove of willows just around the next bend in the river. With your permission, my princess, I will direct the bargemen there.”
Jasmine nodded.
“Do you read and write?” the marquis asked her.
“Aye. And I do mathematics. I know history, and I speak several languages quite fluently, my lord. I was taught by a very enlightened priest who came to my father's court for the express purpose of educating me. I was baptized in my infancy into the Christian faith. My foster mother followed Islam, as did my brothers. Two of my three sisters were members of the Hindu faith. I have told you that in my father's land all faiths were welcomed. My sisters were as well educated as I was except for poor Aram-Banu Begum. She is slow of wit, but a sweet girl.”
Every time she spoke he was further amazed by her. She had said that he was complicated, but she was equally complex, he thought. “You, your brothers, and sisters, all had different mothers?”
Jasmine laughed, knowing even as he asked her he was shocked at what he already knew the answer would be. “Yes,” she said. “It sounds quite licentious to you, doesn't it, my lord, but it is the custom in India for a man to have multiple wives and concubines. Of course, not all the men in India can afford more than one wife; but my father married for dynastic and political reasons. Many of his wives were the sisters and daughters of the men whom he conquered, or those who wished to forge alliances with him. My English mother was his fortieth wife, and, of course, he had a large zenana of favorites. I have often thought it quite unfair that men may have the privilege of many women, but women must be faithful to but one man at a time. What do you think, my lord?” Her turquoise blue eyes twinkled.
“I . . . I . . . I have not ever considered such a thing,” he replied slowly. A man might have a wife, and a mistress, but God only knew that was enough trouble.
Forty wives?
The deceased emperor of India must have been a formidable man indeed.
Forty wives?
The deceased emperor of India must have been a formidable man indeed.
She laughed gaily.
“You are shocked,”
she mocked him.
“You are shocked,”
she mocked him.
The barge slid up on the sandy riverbank before he might answer. Adali leapt out and, beckoning to his mistress, lifted her onto the shore. He left the marquis of Hartsfield to exit on his own. Two of the bargemen climbed from the elegant little vessel, carrying several baskets. Adali took a linen cloth from one of the baskets and spread it upon a patch of the grassy field, beneath a particularly large willow tree. He next set out the meal. A small chicken, roasted golden; a rabbit pie, still warm from the oven in its stone pie plate; half of a small country ham; fresh bread; a crock of sweet butter; a quarter wheel of hard yellow cheese; a small silver dish of runny French Brie; a bowl of fresh strawberries; and a carafe of wine. There were two silver plates, two Venetian goblets of crystal etched with silver butterflies, and the appropriate cutlery with silver blades and bone handles, and silver spoons.
“Have you food for yourself and the bargemen, Adali?” Jasmine inquired of him, setting her lavender skirts about her on the grass.
“Yes, my princess,” he answered her, bowing.
“Then you may leave us to eat your own meal,” Jasmine told him. “I believe that we may trust the marquis to behave himself, Adali.”
“I will be within earshot,” Adali responded, and moved away from them back to the barge, where the rowers awaited his further instructions.
“Will he always be with us?” Piers St. Denis asked her, sitting down.
“It will keep you from foolish misbehavior, I think,” Jasmine teased him wickedly. “If I were forced to defend myself, I could harm you.”
He laughed. Despite the fact she was the most irritating women he had ever met, she was also incredibly desirable. “Jasmine, for I intend even without your permission to call you by your name, if you will but give me a chance, you will find I am a most charming fellow. I should make you an excellent husband. I will manage your affairs every bit as well as Rowan Lindley managed them when he was married to you. Now, I'll have a bit of everything, for I am quite hungry, and your cook is obviously very good. Your Adali was right to send my poor basket away. It was much too common.”
Now it was Jasmine's turn to laugh. She began preparing a plate for him as she spoke. “You may call me by my name, if you choose, my lord,” she told him. “As for your managing my affairs, I had best tell you that I manage my own affairs. While I did, on occasion, ask Rowan for his advice, all decisions regarding my wealth abide in my hands. They will continue to remain in my charge.” She handed him a full plate and, pouring a goblet of wine, passed it to him as well.
“Glenkirk has agreed to such a thing?”
“I should not have agreed to marry him had he not,” Jasmine replied, putting two chicken wings, a slice of ham, and some bread and cheese on a plate for herself. “Is the wine good? It comes from the French branch of the family at Archambault in the Loire.” She sipped at her own filled goblet appreciatively.
“You have French relations?”
“Aye.” She gnawed on a chicken wing.
He grew silent, eating his food instinctively. This was not a simple woman, he thought again. She was educated. She was independent. She had traveled extensively. She had been the beloved of a prince who, had he lived, would have been England's next king.
She had his son. She was fabulously wealthy.
All of this far outweighed his other concerns, but he needed time to rethink his plan of attack. Jasmine was obviously not one bit afraid of the king's power, nor did she stand in awe of Piers St. Denis, the marquis of Hartsfield. How could he control her? What would frighten her into obeying him? How could he gain control over her wealth? Glenkirk was either a fool, or he had agreed to her wishes intending to get his hands on Jasmine's wealth after their marriage.
He needed time to think.
She had his son. She was fabulously wealthy.
All of this far outweighed his other concerns, but he needed time to rethink his plan of attack. Jasmine was obviously not one bit afraid of the king's power, nor did she stand in awe of Piers St. Denis, the marquis of Hartsfield. How could he control her? What would frighten her into obeying him? How could he gain control over her wealth? Glenkirk was either a fool, or he had agreed to her wishes intending to get his hands on Jasmine's wealth after their marriage.
He needed time to think.
When they had finished their meal there was nothing left to do but to return to Greenwood. He could hardly woo her on the riverbank with her bargemen and the disapproving Adali looking over his shoulder. As they progressed back down the river Jasmine began to sneeze. After a bit she started to sniffle. Her eyes grew heavy, and she was much less talkative than she had been when they had begun their journey to the picnic site.
“Are you ill?” he nervously ventured.
“I think I may be developing an ague, my lord,” she said unhappily. Then she sneezed several times again. “It is so damp on the river, and it is still spring. Perhaps an outdoor luncheon was not such a good idea after all. AhhhhhChooo! Oh dear!” She fumbled for her handkerchief, shivering visibly as she did so, blowing her nose noisily.
“We are almost back to your home,” he said, irritated. Good Lord! An ague! What if it was one of those fatal agues? What if she died, and he was held responsible! God's foot, how Villiers would laugh at his misfortune, all the while sympathizing with the king over her untimely demise. Then he should never get either Jasmine, her wealth, or the power to be had by being the little duke of Lundy's guardian. “Adali!” Piers St. Denis leaned forward, tugging at Adali's silk coat.
“My lord?” Adali had quickly turned about.
“Your mistress is ill, Adali. Have the rowers row more quickly. She should not be out in this damp air, I fear!”
Adali peered into the cabin, his face impassive. “Indeed, my lord, my mistress does appear flushed. An ague, I think.” He turned away and ordered the bargemen to a faster pace.
Reaching the Greenwood quai, Adali immediately took charge, lifting Jasmine from her seat and carrying her up the lawn to the house. “The barge will take you wherever you wish to go, my lord,” he called after the marquis, effectively dismissing him.
Piers St. Denis stopped dead in his tracks halfway up the lawn. Adali had put him in an untenable position. He could hardly run after Jasmine under the circumstances. He had been given only one choice. Turning about, he walked back down to the barge and climbed into it. “Whitehall,” he said to the bargemen.
From the library windows she watched him depart, chuckling to herself, well pleased. “Carrying me into the house from the barge was a very nice touch, Adali,” she praised him.
“I thought so too, my princess,” Adali replied. “How long do you intend suffering with the ague?”
“I think several days at least, and then I shall allow the marquis a brief bedside visit,” Jasmine replied.
“Do not be too clever,” Adali warned her. “If the king does not believe his young friend has had enough time to court you, he is quite capable of postponing your wedding to Lord Leslie. I know that you do not want that, nor does your family.”
“I do not like the marquis,” Jasmine told him. “I told you that he reminded me of Salim, and now I realize why. Do you remember how my brother would say things as if they were absolute fact?
I will have you.
It was not just words for Salim. It was fact. He wanted me. He would have me. There wasn't the slightest doubt in his mind that what he wanted he would have. Piers St. Denis behaves exactly the same way. In the face of my open and avowed dislike of him; in the face of my impending marriage to the earl of Glenkirk; he is absolutely and utterly oblivious.
He will have me.
He truly believes he will, and it is irritating beyond all, Adali!
I will have you.
It was not just words for Salim. It was fact. He wanted me. He would have me. There wasn't the slightest doubt in his mind that what he wanted he would have. Piers St. Denis behaves exactly the same way. In the face of my open and avowed dislike of him; in the face of my impending marriage to the earl of Glenkirk; he is absolutely and utterly oblivious.
He will have me.
He truly believes he will, and it is irritating beyond all, Adali!
“Time I otherwise might have spent with Jemmie, I must now spend with the marquis. I did not wish to remain in London at all, but rather to go home to see my children, from whom I have been separated for many weeks now. I wanted to visit my grandfather's grave and bid him farewell. All the things I would otherwise occupy my time with, I cannot because I must remain here and allow that obviously greedy little royal sycophant to play at courting me. James Stuart is a meddlesome and sentimental old fool, but it is the last time he will interfere in my life, Adali! I have had enough!”
Adali could see that his lady was careening into a dangerous temper. He knew that he had to prevent it lest she unwittingly worsen the situation in which she now found herself. If only she had married the earl of Glenkirk two years ago, there would be no difficulty now. “Why do you not send for the children?” he suggested.
“What?”
She looked surprised.
She looked surprised.
“We will send a message to your grandmother tomorrow requesting the children be brought to London. The marquis of Hartsfield should, I believe, be exposed to your offspring. After all, does he not seek to become their guardian and stepfather?” There was a twinkle in Adali's dark eyes. “Little Lord Henry and my Lady India will understand the situation if we tell them. They will like the marquis a little better than you do. As for my Lady Fortune, she will follow the lead of her elder siblings and be the naughtiest of them all. Taking it all in will be the youngest, Duke Charles. Recognizing his brother's and sisters' dislike of the marquis, he will reject him, too, when St. Denis, believing himself clever, approaches your son to win his favor. Little ones his age have very strong likes and dislikes, my princess.”
“It is brilliant!” Jasmine cried. “And the king will be absolutely delighted to have some time with his grandson. Send a pigeon at first light, Adali!” Then she clapped her hands and laughed. “I cannot wait to see Piers St. Denis's face when he is set upon by my children!”
“I shall write the message to Madame Skye myself,” Adali said. And he did, even before first light, slowly, painstakingly forming the tiny letters on the parchment. It was not necessary to inform the matriarch of the family of everything that had happened since Jasmine's return to England from France. Adali had already done that, for he always kept in communication with Skye when they were apart. She knew of the king's new foolishness, of Jasmine's irritation, of Glenkirk's trip to Scotland. Now using the code they had devised several years earlier, he told her that the children were needed to help their mother discourage her unwanted suitor. They must leave for London upon receipt of the message. Then, stuffing the tightly rolled parchment into its silver container, he affixed it around the leg of a Queen's Malvern pigeon and, going to the window, released the bird into the predawn sky. He watched as it turned for home, its wings beating strongly in the cool air.
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