Wild Jasmine (78 page)

“Indeed,” the queen said thoughtfully. She was more than aware, for how could she not be, that Jasmine Lindley was her son’s mistress. Royal mistresses could be difficult, and yet lnigo Jones was perfectly correct in his estimation of Jasmine. The queen wanted to dislike her son’s mistress, but she could not. Jasmine cared for Henry Stuart, and was respectful to the other members of the royal family. Recently, Princess Elizabeth had wanted a particular silk for her trousseau, and no London merchant had been able to supply it.

“I would be honored if Your Highness would accept this small token of my genuine affection,” Lady Lindley had said, presenting the silk to the young princess. “I brought it with me from India, but it has been lying in my grandmother’s warehouse. I know Your Highness will make good use of it, and it suits you so well.”

Jasmine Lindley had also strived to bring Henry and his little brother, Charles, closer together. Charles had been born prematurely, and had been physically ill fit his entire life. He could not walk until he was past four, and then his little legs had been spindly and weak. Henry enjoyed teasing his younger sibling, saying that he would make him the Archbishop of Canterbury one day since his legs would not show beneath his long clerical robes. The younger boy used to get furious when his brother said that. Of course, the angrier Charles got, the more Henry teased.

Jasmine had taught Prince Charles to fight back in a most clever way. “You must tell Hal when he becomes king, and you the archbishop, you will oversee his morals closely,” she said. “He only teases you because you react so angrily. If you do not get angry with him, he will not tease you. He loves you dearly, my lord.”

“
He does?
” Charles Stuart was quite surprised to hear this. He was amazingly advanced intellectually for his age, and his elder brother’s behavior did not seem particularly loving to him.

When the younger lad, however, teased the older back, Henry Stuart laughed, surprised but pleased. “So you’ll watch my morals closely, will you, runt? And what will you do if you don’t like them?”

“Why, I’ll excommunicate you, Hal!” Charles shot back.

“But I will be head of the Church of England, laddie.” His brother chuckled smugly, certain he had the boy.

“Not if I excommunicate you, you won’t,” Charles Stuart
told Henry Stuart. “Remember, I shall be the archbishop, and you just a king. God always takes precedence over man, brother. Even Father admits to that.”

Henry Stuart had appeared astounded for a moment, and then he had laughed heartily.

Aye, the queen thought, Jasmine Lindley was certainly not a bad influence on her son, but she could also see that Henry was in love with her. There was, of course, no future in it. It is time that he married, the queen mused. His deep and obvious devotion to Lady Lindley proved that he was more than ready for it.

She had been party to a conversation between her husband and eldest son just a week ago. Henry had told his father that he wanted to marry Lady Lindley. James, to give him credit, had not lost his temper, but he had said to Henry, “She is nae worthy of ye.”

“Jasmine told me that you would say that if I should ever ask you,” the Prince of Wales told his father.

“Did she, laddie?” The king was surprised.

“Aye, she did,” the prince replied. “She says that I must marry into France, or Spain, or the Germanies.”

“
Did she?
” King James said, pleased. “Well, Henry, the lass is far wiser than ye are, and she obviously knows her duty.”

“
I want her!
” Henry Stuart said fiercely.

“Ye hae her,” his father replied blandly. “ ’Tis nae secret that she is yer mistress, laddie. ’Tis all she can ever be to ye.”

“What if she has my child?” the prince asked his father.

“I would certainly expect ye to recognize the bairn,” the king said, “and we will provide for it. This family hae never been negligent toward the bairns it’s spawned, no matter the side of the blanket they’re born on, Henry. Blood is blood, laddie.”

The prince had left his father afterward, and the queen had come to sit by James Stuart, taking his hand in hers. “We must settle this matter of Henry’s marriage,” she had said. “Old King Philip’s daughter would be perfect for him. She is wellschooled, and the family are proven breeders.”

“Yer mad, Annie,” the king responded. “The Spanish lass is a devout member of the old Kirk. She’ll nae change, nor will Spain allow his grandchildren to be brought up in England’s Kirk. The French, however, are not so stubborn. I say we look to France. Old Queen Marie has a little daughter, Henrietta-Marie, who would serve us well.”

“Spain is stronger!” the queen insisted. “Besides, how could King Philip interfere in the raising of
our
grandchildren so far away?”

“I hae nae love for the Spanish,” James Stuart said stubbornly.

“If you had chosen the Spanish Infanta, we could have had the young Spanish king for Bessie’s husband instead of that German prince!” the queen said, losing her temper. “But no! You must pander to your Protestant subjects, and Henry sides with you in all of it. Well, Jamie, you may forget your French princess for Henry, for he tells me he will not marry
any
Roman Catholic for fear of dividing the country once again. For love of him have I accepted Prince Frederick for our daughter, and for no other reason. Now, I defy you to find a Protestant princess worthy of our son and heir!”

So they were stalemated, and while they sought a wife for Henry Stuart, he fell more and more in love with his mistress.

The holidays over, the court descended into winter and the Lenten season. Jasmine’s scandalous costume was quickly forgotten by most in the wake of the many new scandals associated with the Stuart court, notably the growing and most public affaire de coeur between Frances Howard, the Countess of Essex, and Viscount Rochester.

By the end of February, Jasmine was absolutely certain that she was with child again, and told her lover of the impending birth. Henry Stuart was, as she had predicted, ecstatic. He was less ecstatic to learn that Jasmine desired to leave the court in early spring.

“No!” he said. “You will have the child here at St. James.”

“Our baby is not due until autumn,” Jasmine told him. “Would you have me remain in London in the plague season, Hal? Despite the fact this palace is on the edge of the city with a park about it, and green fields to the north, it is still London. I am going to Queen’s Malvern. I would be with my grandmother and grandfather when our child is born. You cannot deny me this, Hal. I must be happy now.”

“You can go to my palace of Nonsuch, in Surry,” he said.

“Nonsuch is too close to London,” Jasmine complained.

“I shall send you to Richmond, then,” he suggested.

“
Richmond?
” Jasmine looked horrified. “ ’Tis in the north, in Yorkshire. I do not want to go to Yorkshire.”

“Have you ever been to Yorkshire?” he asked her slyly. “ ’Tis certainly far enough away from London, my love.”

“I have heard of the Yorkshire moors, my lord. ’Tis a wild and desolate place. How can you even consider sending me to such a place?” She began to weep. “You claim to love me, Henry Stuart, and yet you would send me to some terrible, dank castle in the north of England.”

“But you said you wanted to leave London before the plague season, Jasmine,” he said, confused. “Nonsuch and Richmond belong to me.”

“I want to go home to Queen’s Malvern,” she told him. “I need to see my children, Hal. I have not seen them in over six months. They are very little, my babies. My grandmother’s house is a wonderful and peaceful place, Hal. Worcester is green and inviting. I love it there. ’Tis there I would have our child. You have been neglecting your position of late because of me, and you are not well, I know, though you try to hide it from me. You are overburdened with your duties, my lord. You need more rest. If I return home, you will get it. I want to leave the last week in April. The roads will be passable then, my darling, and ’twill still be safe for me to travel a long distance. I want to go home, Hal.
Let me go!
”

He sighed deeply. “I want to be with you, Jasmine, particularly now when you are ripening with our son, but I know that breeding women are subject to certain vagaries. If you would truly go home to your grandmother’s house in Worcester, then I will allow it. The royal progress is to be made in the Midlands this summer. I shall join you then to be with you for the birth of our son. May I, my love?”

“Aye,” she promised him, feeling better now. Then, her eyes twinkling, she asked him, “What makes you so certain that I shall deliver a son? I have two little girls, but only one little lad, my lord.”

“Stuarts generally spawn lads,” he said, his own eyes twinkling. “A daughter, however, would suit me as well if she looked like her mam.” He bent and kissed Jasmine’s forehead, his hand running lightly over her belly, which had only just begun to round slightly.

“A lad will be better,” Jasmine said. “ ’Twould be harder for a girl to bear the stigma of her birth.”

“
What stigma?
” He looked genuinely perplexed.

“My child will be bastard-born, Hal. Is that not a stigma? Oh, I have bravely told my family it will not be, but won’t it?”

He knew what she needed to hear now. “I will recognize my child, madame, and it will bear my name, I promise you. I would call a son Charles Frederick; the Charles for my brother, and the Frederick for me. Will that please you, madame?”

“The Charles for
my
brother,” she told him happily. “The Frederick for you, my lord.
Charles Frederick Stuart
. It has a nice ring to it.”

“May I tell my parents of our child?” he asked her.

Jasmine laughed. “I think you had best tell them soon, before my belly begins to show,” she said. “As for the rest of the court, let them speculate. It will not be hard for them to decipher once I have left court, but until then let us keep them guessing.”

“You have a wicked sense of humor, madame,” he approved.

“I hate the gossip,” Jasmine told him. “Sometimes I could but wish we were just a simple man and woman, Hal, that we might wed and live our lives together in peace.”

“Then you do love me,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him, startled. What had ever made her say such a telling thing? Jasmine forced herself to laugh lightly. “I did not say that, my lord. I simply desire a less complicated life than I seem to have. ’Twould be easier. Do you always relish your position and impending fate, my love? Ahh, well, perhaps you do. I know my brother Salim could not even wait for our father to die, so anxious was he to rule.”

“I want both you as my wife
and
England to rule,” Henry Stuart told her honestly. “I will make a fine king, Jasmine. I know it!”

Again she laughed, but this time her amusement was more genuine. “There is an old saying about the acorn not falling far from the oak tree, and you are certainly proof of it, my lord. You will make a good king, my darling. You want it all! Sadly, however, even kings do not always get everything that they desire. It is God’s way of keeping them humble.”

“You were meant to be a queen,” he said with sincerity.

“Perhaps I was,” Jasmine admitted, “but I shall not be Queen of England, Hal. That honor will go to another woman, and ’tis best we realize it, else we bring great unhappiness to each other. I do not want that.”

He tipped her face to his and kissed her softly. “I do not want that, either, my love,” he told her. “I know what you tell me is true and what must be, but I cannot help but dream, Jasmine.
I weep secretly in my heart not just for my personal loss, but for England’s loss. You would be a great queen-consort.”

But she was not his queen-consort, nor would she ever be. Jasmine had accepted her fate, though not perhaps as easily as she had previously believed she might. As her child grew within her, she thought of how if she were Henry Stuart’s wife this child would be England’s king after his father. But of course he would not be. He would be Lord Charles Frederick Stuart, for Jasmine was convinced the baby she carried was indeed a boy.

The winter was a relatively quiet one at court, for even Queen Anne dared not hold her beloved masques or dances during the penitential season of Lent. The only exception was the English New Year, which fell officially in March, although every other civilized nation celebrated this occasion on January first, and actually so did many of the English. Parliament, however, could not be convinced to make the calendar change that all of Europe, even Scotland, had made long ago. It would be another hundred years before it did.

The spring was early and wet. In the fields to the north of St. James Palace, the daffodils bloomed copiously, and in the common pasturage, lambs nursed upon their grazing mothers. As April drew to a close, Jasmine’s servants packed up all her possessions both at St. James and at Greenwood. There were at least six baggage carts sent on their way as soon as they had been loaded. They were attended by a group of men-at-arms the de Mariscos had sent from Queen’s Malvern. The roads were not always safe, and Jasmine did not want to lose her belongings.

Prince Henry had had London’s finest coach maker at work all winter long building a traveling coach for Jasmine. “Your grandmother’s vehicle is old,” he said. “I want you to return home in safety and the utmost comfort, my love. With your new carriage I can be assured of it. We must do nothing that would endanger our child.”

The coach was indeed a magnificent one. Its springs were firm and tight, yet possessed just the right amount of give so that the ride was a smooth one. Inside, the entire vehicle was padded thickly; the walls in beautifully tanned soft, white leather, and the seats in matching tufted velvet. The seat facing the front was extra wide on the chance that Jasmine would want to he down. The back of the seat sloped just slightly in order to give her back better support.

Inside each door of the coach, a panel six inches wide, four inches deep, and six inches high had been hollowed out, and lined in iron. There was a tiny grate over each door, and another within the iron box upon which small pieces of coal and kindling might be placed for the purpose of heating the interior of the vehicle. When these miniature stoves were not in use, a decorative panel fit over them, hiding them from view.