Wild Jasmine (74 page)

All was silent for a few moments, except for the sounds of their rough breathing, gnawing at the quiet of the corridor. Then Jasmine laughed softly and said, “You
really
are naughty, my darling, but do not, I beg you, ever change your most wicked ways, Hal. I fear I enjoy them much too much.”

Listening to her, James Leslie’s jealousy grew even stronger. He watched from his hiding place as they carefully straightened their clothing so that no one they met might know of their dalliance. The earl studied his rival with a close eye. Henry Stuart was barely out of his boyhood, but then, Jasmine was not much older than her lover. The young man had an oval face that narrowed toward his chin, which had a small cleft in it. His eyebrows were bushy over fine gray-blue eyes. His cheekbones were high, his forehead broad. His nose was probably his weakest feature, being long and like his father’s, but broader toward the tip. His upper lip was narrow, but his lower lip was full and sensuous.

“Would you be angry, Jasmine, if I said that I loved you?” Henry Stuart asked her, his eyes lowered, his fingers redoing her laces.

“You must not love me, Hal,” she told him quietly. “We are friends, and that is more than enough for me. I would take nothing from the girl you will one day marry. I want you to love your wife. Without love, life is very lonely, my sweet lord. The wife chosen for you will be a princess from some foreign land. She will leave her family and all she has known to come to you, Hal. You must not just welcome her publicly. You must learn to love her so she will be content with you. Then you also will be happy. It is not easy to leave one’s native land, one’s family, and everything familiar that one has known. Had I not had my most wonderful grandparents awaiting me when I came here from India, I do not know what I should have done.”

Her gentle, wise words surprised the earl in light of her most licentious and very abandoned behavior of the past few minutes. “You are a princess,” Henry Stuart said. “I would marry you!”

“Oh, Hal! I do not know when I have been so flattered,” Jasmine told him, and she kissed his cheek. “In India neither my father, God rest him, nor my brother would consider a royal Stuart worthy of an Imperial Mughal princess. Here in England the reverse would be true. The situation surrounding my birth has been delicately explained away because of my family connections, and my wealth. If you ever seriously contemplated a match with me, you would be horrified by the ensuing uproar. In England an Imperial Mughal princess is fit to be the Prince of Wales’s mistress, but certainly not his wife. Besides, my darling, I have no wish to ever remarry,” Jasmine concluded.

“
Why?
” he asked her, looking into her face tenderly.

“I believe I may be cursed, as I told you, Hal,” Jasmine replied with utmost seriousness. “Both of my husbands have died violently, and both their deaths have been because of me. My brother Salim had Jamal Khan murdered because he sought an incestuous relationship with me. Rowan Lindley was killed by an assassin who meant for me to die. Only fate, unpredictable creature that she is, saved me both times. Because my grandmother had insisted on remaining in contact with my father, I was able to escape my brother. Had I not bent down from my mare to pick up India, the bullet meant for me would have buried itself in my heart and not Rowan’s. To lose a husband to death is not unusual, but to lose two husbands to murder is most unusual. I have my children, Hal, and I would not
send another man to an untimely end; particularly the man who is to be England’s next king.”

“I would not have believed you capable of such superstitious nonsense,” Henry Stuart said, half angrily. “You sound like my father, with all his fears and crotchets over the supernatural, or the occult.”

“I will not argue with you, my lord,” Jasmine answered him quietly. “Whatever I may or may not believe, a marriage between us would never be countenanced. Why should we quarrel over it, my darling?” She kissed the tip of one finger and touched it to the cleft in his chin, smiling. “Come, my lord. We shall be late for vespers, and you know what people will think if we are. I do not wish to displease the king, else he think me a bad influence upon you.”

“You are the best thing that has ever happened to me,” Henry Stuart declared vehemently, but nonetheless he took her arm, and the young couple hurried off down the torch-lit corridor.

James Leslie stood silently in the dim light, listening to their footsteps as they faded. So Henry Stuart would marry Jasmine, but she would not have him. She was right, of course, in one sense. He did not believe for a moment that she was, as she stated, “cursed.” But she was correct when she said that she would not be considered an eligible wife for England’s next king. The tragedy was that she would probably make Henry Stuart a good wife. She was loving, and sensible, and knew what was expected of a queen. She obviously cared for the prince, although she had not admitted that she loved him when he had declared his passion.

Did she love him?
James Leslie wondered about it. It was unlikely that she would admit to it if she did. Being sensitive to the prince’s situation, and no adventuress, she would not want to encourage Henry Stuart in his folly. And when the prince one day was suitably matched and married, what would become of Jasmine? the Earl of Glenkirk thought curiously. Whoever became England’s future queen would be unable to hold a candle to Jasmine for beauty. How would she feel about her husband’s beauteous mistress? Would Jasmine even be welcomed at court then? And if she was not welcome, where would she go? Would she consider remarriage then?
To him?

Christmas was celebrated at Whitehall that year. With the arrival of the holidays, Jasmine realized, as she had realized
many times in the last months, how very much she missed her children. Court, her grandmother wrote her, was no place for children. They were happier and safer at Queen’s Malvern. The dowager Marchioness of Westleigh was reluctantly forced to agree with Skye.

Although Jasmine had a home at Greenwood House, she had also been given rooms at St. James’s Palace, Henry Stuart’s London residence. It was an unspoken acknowledgment of her position at court. Everyone, even James Leslie, had to admit that Jasmine had great style. Whatever happened between the dowager Marchioness of Westleigh and the Prince of Wales, she did not allow any member of the court to forget she was a princess born.

When Henry Stuart insisted that Jasmine be installed in her own rooms in the palace, Jasmine sent for her other servants. Now the turbaned, white-coated Adali oversaw his mistress’s apartments. Rohana and Toramalli, used to English clothing, reverted to their colorful and exotic silks. The younger members of the court vied for invitations to Lady Lindley’s suite, for her intimate entertainments were considered a mark of having arrived within the inner circle, which Jasmine found quite amusing. She only invited clever, intelligent people who could amuse the prince with their wit and their conversation.

Robert Cecil, the Earl of Salisbury, became disturbed by Jasmine’s position in the prince’s life, and spoke to the king. “Is it wise for the prince to flaunt his mistress, sire, when we are actively seeking a wife for him? A young and gently reared princess would surely be distressed.”

“Dinna fret, my little beagle,” the king replied. “Lady Lindley is the perfect light o’ love for Henry. She is charming and modest.”

“She is intelligent,” Robert Cecil condemned Jasmine dourly.

“I dinna hold wi intelligence in a woman either,” James Stuart answered. “Still, if she is, she dinna flaunt it, and she makes my laddie laugh. ’Tis a rare quality in a woman, Cecil.”

“But what if she becomes enceinte, sire?” Robert Cecil persisted.

“We’ll pray for a grandson,” the king said with a smile. “If Lady Lindley proves fertile, so much the better for my son’s reputation. The Stuarts are known throughout Europe as good breeding stock.”

The Earl of Salisbury sighed deeply. In his father’s day there was no such worry. Elizabeth was a maiden queen. There were
no royal offspring to cause scandal. He knew the amorous reputation attributed to the royal Stuarts, but he had somehow hoped that Prince Henry, being more sensible than his parents, could overcome it. Obviously he could not. If only Lady Lindley were not the granddaughter of the Countess of Lundy. Lady de Marisco had given Elizabeth Tudor great difficulties, and now here was her incredibly beautiful granddaughter futtering the Prince of Wales, and enchanting him totally. What if a match for Henry Stuart was agreed upon and she caused difficulties? His father’s son, Robert Cecil could not allow such a thing to happen. He requested that Lady Lindley meet with him. To his deep annoyance, she sent back a message that she would be delighted to speak with him … in her apartments.

“In other words,” Robert Cecil muttered irritably to himself, “on her terms! Just like her grandmother, I vow!” Still, he went.

Jasmine greeted him politely, inviting him to be seated. Her servants brought them wine, and then when they had been dismissed, Lady Lindley, taking hold of the situation, said, “What is it you want of me, my lord Cecil? I cannot imagine there is some way in which I may aid you.”

“Your relationship with the prince disturbs me, madame,” Robert Cecil said, equally direct and open.

“My relationship with the prince is not your concern, my lord,” Jasmine told him bluntly, “but I understand your fears. I do not expect to wed Prince Henry. When he is finally married, I will leave the court, although I have promised the prince that I will always be there for him should he need me. It is a promise I will keep. Nonetheless, I believe it important that he learn to love his wife, and she him. I will cause no scandal.”

“What if you should have his child, madame?”

“I should consider myself blessed, my lord. I like children. I have three now. A son, and two daughters,” Jasmine said.

“
Madame!
You are as exasperating as your grandmother has always been. On one hand you soothe my fears with your sensible words, but then you terrify me with the possibility of a royal bastard. There has not been an acknowledged royal bastard since the days of the late queen’s father. Royal bastards make for unnecessary difficulties,” the Earl of Salisbury grumbled, glowering at her.

Jasmine smothered a giggle. “Please, my lord, you must not fret yourself,” she counseled him. “I cannot stop the course of
nature should she get it into her capricious head to give me a baby.”

With a despairing shake of his head, Robert Cecil departed Lady Lindley’s apartments. What would be would be, unless, of course, he could convince the king to marry Lady Lindley off to some worthy gentleman who would remove her from court.
Aye!
That was the answer. The prince might play in peace with his mistress until they had found him a suitable bride, but once the papers were signed, Lady Lindley must be married off to a strong man who would not take kindly to being a cuckold. It was such a simple solution that Robert Cecil was ashamed that he hadn’t thought of it before. The lady herself had promised him that she would leave court when Prince Henry married.

Relieved, the Earl of Salisbury did not distress himself further even when the prince and his mistress were the center of the holiday revels. Ben Jonson had written a new masque,
Oberon, Prince of Faery
, and Inigo Jones would be designing the costumes and the sets. Prince Henry would, of course, play the title role in the masque. Jasmine Lindley would be Titania, Oberon’s queen.

“Bare feet again, Master Jones?” Jasmine teased, as she stood patiently at her costume fitting.

Inigo Jones looked up at her with a grin. He was kneeling before her, measuring the distance from the floor to Jasmine’s ankle. “And a costume so diaphanous that no other lady at court could dare to wear it, madame,” he told her, and chuckled. “You must appear to be clothed in cobwebs and moonbeams.”

“And who shall play the other roles in this masque?” Jasmine asked him, wondering if her lover would approve of the costume.

“Lady Essex has been chosen to be Aurora, the Goddess of Dawn, madame,” Inigo Jones said. “Now that poor Lady Arabella is confined to the tower because her secret marriage to William Seymour has been revealed, we may expect Lady Essex’s star to shine more brightly, especially given her close friend, Viscount Rochester.”

“Poor Lord Essex,” Jasmine said sympathetically. “He seems a very pleasant young man. The prince says he is quite loyal as well.”

“That may be, my lady,” Inigo Jones replied, “but young
Carr is quite his majesty’s pet. As long as he keeps on the king’s good side, he’ll go far. Wait and see. There will be a bigger peerage in it for him before it’s all over.” Inigo Jones lowered his voice now. “Lady Frances has charm, my lady, but she is spoiled, and determined to be the brightest star in the firmament of the court. How better to attain her goal than to become wife to his majesty’s favorite?”

“But she already has a husband,” Jasmine said low.

“With her connections, my lady, he’s easily divorced when she so chooses to rid herself of him. I hear things. Her majesty would be delighted, I can tell you, to have young Carr removed from the king’s sphere. That young man is most greedy, and never satisfied with all he gets. King James is a good man, but too generous with those he loves.”

Inigo Jones, who had also served the queen’s brother, King Christian of Denmark, was intimately acquainted with the royal family. Jasmine listened to him, fascinated. Anyone else might have dismissed him as a simple gossip, but she did not. She was also careful of what she said before him lest it be repeated. She only told Master Jones what she desired the king and queen to know. It was no secret that she was the Prince of Wales’s mistress, but discretion was a very important part of her position in the court.

“You can wear nothing beneath this costume,” Inigo Jones said as he stood up, satisfied with the length now. “You must remember that you are a faery queen clothed in gossamer garments.”

“I am not certain that the prince will approve,” Jasmine replied.