Wild Jasmine (37 page)

For the next few days the servants at Queen’s Malvern worked diligently, readying the house for the coming guests. The night before the Gordons of BrocCairn were due to arrive, Skye and Adam called their granddaughter to them. “We had always planned to leave Queen’s Malvern to your mother,” Skye began. “We knew with Bess Tudor remaining unmarried that England’s
throne would eventually go to Mary of Scotland’s son, King James. We married your mother into a well-connected Scots family believing that when that day came, she would come with Alex and their children to live in England.

“But when King James arrived in England three years ago, he brought with him a host of younger sons and assorted adventurers seeking whatever they could lay their hands upon. There has been much ill-feeling between the English and the Scots. The year after James inherited the throne, he made peace with Spain, England’s traditional enemy. Last November there was a plot discovered to blow up the king and his parliament.

“Alexander Gordon, the Earl of BrocCairn, your mother’s husband, is related to the king by blood, but he has chosen to remain in Scotland at Dun Broc, his own home. He was never much of a man for the court. The life he chooses to lead suits your mother well. In her youth she enjoyed court, but no more. She loves Scotland greatly, only wanting a milder English summer each year.

“It seems foolish, therefore, for your grandfather and I to leave our home to the Gordons of BrocCairn. We have rewritten our wills. You, Jasmine, will inherit this house one day, and Greenwood in London as well. Adam and I know you will offer your hospitality to the family whenever they need it, but we also feel you must have English roots of your own, my darling girl. That way you will always remain independent of others. Wealth, as you already know, gives you the power to run your own life.”

“Will not my mother be disappointed if you leave me Queen’s Malvern?” Jasmine asked. “Did she not grow up here? And what of my half brothers? Has one of them been expecting to inherit this house?”

“Your mother will never live in England as long as Alexander Gordon remains alive. It is likely, barring accident, that he will survive to be a grand old man,” Skye answered. “We will be gone long before that, my darling. As for his boys, Sandy will inherit Dun Broc, and he will have no use for Queen’s Malvern. The others, like all younger sons, will have to make their own way in the world. If I know Velvet, she will see them all wed to heiresses with lands of their own.”

“And mother’s daughter?”

“Sybilla?” Skye wrinkled her nose. “Velvet has raised the girl practically from infancy, but she is Alex’s daughter and no
blood kin of ours. I would never leave Queen’s Malvern to her.”

Jasmine sighed. “I am very grateful to both you and Grandfather, madame, but I would not offend my mother or any in her family.”

Skye patted Jasmine’s hand. “You will offend no one, will she, Adam? Your mother will understand and probably approve our decision. None of the boys, nor Sybilla, ever expected to inherit this estate from us. Oh, I feel so much better knowing that you are now landed, my darling girl. Just a few more hours and your mother will be here! I can hardly wait, can you?”

When the BrocCairn party was reported to be coming through the main gates of the estate, Jasmine and her servants hurried upstairs to her apartment, where they would remain until the appointed hour that evening. Jasmine was almost sick with excitement. If only her rooms faced the front of the house instead of the back, she thought, she might glimpse Velvet and her family, but her windows all looked out on the beautiful gardens, the fields and the woodlands beyond.

Meanwhile, the coaches rumbled up the driveway. They were accompanied by a party of horsemen, including the Earl of BrocCairn himself, and four of his five sons. Drawing his mount to a halt, Alexander Gordon swept off his broad-brimmed hat with its plumes and bowed to his in-laws from his saddle. His sons followed his polite example.

“Welcome back to Queen’s Malvern, my lord!” Skye said.

The earl dismounted and kissed her. “Madame Skye, why do you never grow old? In Scotland there would be whispers of witchcraft, I vow.” He turned. “Laddies, come and greet your grandmam!”

While Sandy and Adam Charles, along with Robert and Henry, the twins, crowded about their grandmother demanding her attention, the coach carrying Velvet, her youngest son Edward, and her stepdaughter Sybilla came to a stop. A footman rushed up to open the door and lower the coach steps.

“Grandsire!” Little Edward Gordon tumbled from the vehicle.

Adam de Marisco swept the boy up into a bear hug. “Neddie, my lad, ’tis good to see you again.” He set the little boy down and said, “Go and give your grandmam a kiss.”

“Sibby was sick all over the coach,” Neddie volunteered
happily. “She made a really awful stink! Did you ever see anyone turn green, grandsire? Sibby was quite green when she was sick.”

Adam could not help but laugh. The idea of Velvet’s stepdaughter turning green was an amusing one. Lady Sybilla Alexandra Mary Gordon was not his favorite grandchild. He did not understand how it had happened, but Sybilla was a dreadful snob. She took great pride in her father’s heritage, which linked her with not only one of the most powerful clans in Scotland, but with royalty itself.

That her natural mother was a London silversmith’s daughter with the morals of a mink, and was now married to a semi-reformed bandit, she could not be persuaded to even acknowledge. As far as Lady Sybilla Alexandra Mary Gordon was concerned, Alanna Wythe Shaw had never existed. Velvet de Marisco Gordon, with her elegant and far preferable ancestors, was her only mother.

Adam often considered that his daughter’s soft heart had gotten the better of her where Sybilla Gordon was concerned. His son-in-law had legitimatized the girl, a great kindness on his part. Velvet had raised her, spoiling her unconscionably. If Velvet had given Alexander Gordon another daughter, perhaps Sybilla would not have been so spoiled, but his daughter had borne only sons for Alex, allowing Sybilla to grow into a little madame. Her one saving grace, in Adam’s eyes, was that she adored her stepmother above all people, even her father.

“Papa!”

Adam de Marisco snapped from his reverie and a smile split his face. “Velvet, my dear!” He held out his arms to her and she descended gracefully from the coach into them. They kissed, and then putting her back from him, he said, “You are lovelier than ever, Velvet.”

Velvet de Marisco Gordon flushed with pleasure at her father’s compliment. She was a beautiful woman with fair skin and rich auburn hair, whose voluptuous figure belied the fact that she had borne six children. Her face was oval-shaped with both the forehead and cheekbones high. Her long Norman nose she had inherited from her father’s family. Her small, square chin bespoke a lady of firm opinions and determined nature. Her wide, sensual mouth suggested another, more passionate side to her nature. She was tall, but her bones were delicate.

“And you have certainly grown no older in the past year, Papa,” she told him, her emerald-green eyes twinkling.

“Neddie says Sybilla was sick in the coach,” he said.

Velvet laughed. “Only the first day,” she replied. “Neddie will never get over seeing Sibby vomit all over her new traveling dress. They don’t get on particularly well, you know. I suspect he adored seeing the idol pulled from her pedestal. He really is a most impossible little boy. I do not know what to do with him.”

“He seems a perfectly normal lad to me,” her father remarked blandly.

“Grandsire.” Lady Sybilla Alexandra Mary Gordon stepped daintily from the coach, having waited until she was certain her entrance would be appreciated and admired. She was a petite girl, standing only about five feet, three inches tall. Her eyes, which she liked to make wide, were sky-blue in color, and not a golden curl upon her head was out of place. Her traveling gown was of pale blue velvet, and although the early afternoon had turned warm on this last day of April, young Lady Sybilla looked cool and comfortable.

“Welcome back to Queen’s Malvern, Sibby,” Adam said, placing a kiss upon the girl’s forehead. “Is it possible you have grown fairer in the year since I last saw you? The gentlemen will be beating a path up that rocky hill to Dun Broc before long, my dear.”

Sibby giggled. She loved nothing better than a compliment. “I have already picked out a gentleman, Grandsire,” she confided to him. “He is James Leslie, the Earl of Glenkirk. He is related to the king, even as I am. His wife and children died five years ago. His wife was a Gordon cousin of mine. Everyone says he must finally remarry and cease his mourning. He is at court, and Mama says we may go to court! Papa is going to approach Lord Leslie about a match. Isn’t it exciting? I shall be the Countess of Glenkirk!” Sybilla, unlike her half brothers, did not speak with a Scots accent. She had made a successful effort over the years to mimic her stepmother’s speech.

“You shall be the Countess of Glenkirk only if Lord Leslie decides you are the right woman for him,” Skye said as she joined them. “Velvet, my dear, you simply must train Sibby not to chatter so. A wrong word overheard and she could be ruined, as you well know.”

Sybilla Gordon wrinkled her nose in disdain. Grandmam always put her off. She was a fussy old woman. What could she possibly know of life? She had spent most of it here in the country and had never gone to court. I shall be the Countess
of Glenkirk, Sybilla thought to herself.
I shall!
Then she smiled sweetly up at Skye and curtsied prettily. “I am happy to be back in England again, Grandmam,” she said.

Skye pressed a cool kiss to Sybilla’s cheek and told her, “Run along inside, Sibby. You must take a nap if you are to stay up for your mother’s birthday party tonight.” Skye then turned to her youngest daughter. “I’ve invited your brothers and sisters this year. Padraic and Valentina have already joined Conn and Aidan at Pearroc Royale this morning. Willow, Murrough, and Robin are coming up from Devon and should be here by mid-afternoon.”

“Good Lord, Mama,” Velvet said. “The house will be as overflowing with relations and their offspring as it was last Christmas. Although I was not here, both Deirdre and Willow wrote to me that you swore you would never have such a gathering here again at Queen’s Malvern.”

“I have asked that my grandchildren remain at home, except, of course, for yours and for Adam Burke, who is nursing.”

“Well,” Velvet reasoned, “if it’s only my siblings and their mates, I suppose we won’t be too crowded.”

“Particularly,” her mother told her, “as I have arranged with your sister Deirdre to invite your youngest three over to Blackthorne Hall. Just until the others are gone, of course, Velvet.”

“Gracious, Mama, you have thought of everything,” Velvet told her, and she hugged Skye. “I’m so glad to be back at Queen’s Malvern! ’Tis not my house, and I do not have to do anything. ’Tis not easy managing Dun Broc. Now that the king has left Scotland, it seems even harder than it was before, when he was there. I should tell you now that we have joined the new Kirk, mama. It is better for us now that James is gone. The old Kirk and its members are always in danger. I cannot do that to my children, nor can Alex. What was it old Queen Bess used to say about religion?”

“ ‘There is but one Lord Jesus Christ. The rest is all trifles,’ ” Skye answered her, and linking her arm in her daughter’s, they strolled together into the house.

Chapter 9

S
kye’s children had all arrived at Queen’s Malvern but for Ewan O’Flaherty and his family, who lived in Ireland. Padraic and his Valentina had ridden over from nearby Pearroc Royale with Valentina’s parents, Conn and Aidan, Lord and Lady Bliss.

Deirdre Burke Blackthorne had come in her coach from Blackthorne Hall with her husband John. She was quick to reassure Velvet that Neddie, Robert, and Henry were safe, well-fed, and happily into naughtiness with their Blackthorne cousins. “Thalia and Penelope are delighted to have them and are worse than the boys,” Deirdre said, smiling.

Murrough O’Flaherty and his Joan were up from Devon, as were Robin, the Earl of Southwood, and his wife Angel, and, of course, Willow, the Countess of Alcester, and her devoted husband, James Edwardes.

“I cannot imagine what is so special about Velvet’s thirty-third birthday that we all had to be here,” Willow said to her siblings. “After Adam Burke’s christening last Christmas, I was certain that Mama would never have us all again, but she absolutely insisted we come.” Then she smiled mischievously. “Of course, we were told to leave our numerous offspring at home. Did you know I am to be a grandmother? Cecily’s first is due around All Saint’s Day.”

The hall had been decorated beautifully with flowering branches of hawthorn, fragrant pine, and early lilacs. There were places set for twenty at the U-shaped table. The best linen and the heavy silver were used along with silver goblets decorated with carnelians. The candles were of the purest beeswax and scented with rose oil. There were silver bowls filled with lilacs, apple blossoms, small, early roses, and lily of the valley. Applewood fires took the chill off the evening.