You cannot remain here at Belle Fleurs, isolated, and alone but for the children, and your servants. It is not good for you, and it is certainly not good for my great-grandchildren. Jemmie Leslie is right. Henry Lindley is the marquis of Westleigh as his father before him was. He is almost seven now, and I will wager his French is better than his English. He must go home to Cadby and learn to be its master, and an Englishman again. India will be eight next month, and Fortune is five. Do any of them know their letters? Or how to write? And what of the king’s grandson, little Charles Frederick Stuart. He is the most royal of all your children, but what will his fate be if he does not return to England where he can gain his grandfather, the king’s, favor? You must think of the children, Jasmine.”
The younger woman gnawed at her lower lip, vexed. She knew her grandmother was correct, yet she struggled against herself. Glancing at James Leslie from beneath her wet lashes, she decided that he was still a very handsome man, but at this particular moment he looked very stern. It was a look she could not remember seeing on his face before.
“Just once,” she said, “I should like the freedom to pick my own husband.” Grumbling she continued. “My father chose Jamal Khan, and you and Grandfather chose Rowan Lindley. When do I get to choose?”
“Were you unhappy with either of your husbands, Jasmine?” Skye questioned her granddaughter.
“No,” Jasmine admitted, “but you got to choose your husbands!”
“Dom O’Flaherty, my first husband, may he rot in hell, was my father’s choice. Willow’s father rescued me from slavery in Algiers and married me. Niall Burke was chosen for me by my uncle, the bishop, and we were wed by proxy without my knowledge. Fabron de Beaumont was the old queen’s selection. Only Geoffrey Southwood and your grandfather were my decisions, Jasmine.”
“And they were your happiest marriages,” her granddaughter said. “I do not believe I will have six husbands, Grandmama. I want to make my own selection this time. I won’t be coerced dammit!”
“Madame,” the earl of Glenkirk said quietly, “you have no options but to obey your king as do I. To disobey is treason, as you well know, but should you choose such a dangerous option be advised that I shall return to England in several days’ time with my four charges, the infant duke of Lundy, the marquis of Westleigh, and the ladies India and Fortune Lindley. If you wish to remain mother to your children, you will accompany us. If you do not, I shall see that you never see them again, for you shall be banned from King James’s realm forever.”
Jasmine’s unusual turquoise-colored eyes widened with shock. “You bastard!” she hissed. “You would do that to me?”
He looked at her dispassionately. “I thought we had settled the matter of my birth, madame, and yes, I will obey the king.”
She flung her goblet at his head, but ducking it he reached up to grasp her wrist in a firm hold. Slowly he forced her arm down, and back behind her, drawing her against him. Then, bending, he kissed her a fierce kiss, his lips hard, the embrace a clear declaration of war between them. Jasmine struggled, but could not break his hold on her, but when he released her a moment later, she reared back and slapped him with all her might. Then, turning about, she ran from the hall.
“Is it that you hate her or love her?” Skye asked him, curious.
James Leslie shook his dark head. “Once I loved her to distraction. When I arrived here today I thought I hated her. Now I don’t know what I feel for her, Madame Skye. Why does she resist her fate so strongly?”
“Surely you have known since you first met her, my lord, that Jasmine is very proud, and absolutely determined to have her way in life,” Skye answered him. “We both know that the king meant well for her when he ordered your marriage, and indeed it is an ideal solution for Jasmine. Even I am now willing to admit to it. You are an excellent candidate for her hand, as you are in high favor with King James, and you have your own wealth.”
“I am astounded by this turn of events, madame,” the earl of Glenkirk replied. “You were, if I am not mistaken, highly involved in Jasmine’s departure from England almost two years ago.”
“Indeed I was,” Skye admitted, not one bit abashed. “But I only meant for her to have a little bit of time to compose herself and come to terms with her fate. Unfortunately the months became a year, and I swear to you that I meant to bring her home, but somehow I did not get around to it. I have a very large family, my lord, and they always seem to need one thing or another from me.” She gave him a weak smile, and shrugged her elegant shoulders. “I am not as young as I once was. I regret I did not take action soon in this particular matter. Jasmine has, I fear, become quite independent of us all.”
“Does she love her bairns enough to follow them?” he wondered.
“Whatever happens, my lord, do not weaken in your resolve,” she told him. “I will help you to the best of my ability.”
“You have not answered my question, madame,” he replied.
“She loves her children, yes. Jasmine is a devoted mother,” Skye replied, “but I will have all I can do to keep her from acting rashly again, my lord. In this endeavor, however, I will have the help of her servants. That trio have been with her since birth. They are used to all her moods and crochets. Her steward, Adali, has been a surrogate father to her. He will act in her best interest, and the two maidservants will follow suit. As for you, James Leslie, you would be well advised to loosen your curb rein a trifle. High-strung thoroughbred mares do not respond well to it, or to the whip. As a woman who raises horses I possess expert knowledge, and you would do well to take advantage of my expertise in this matter.” She struggled to her feet, thinking to herself that while she felt no older, and her mind still seemed to operate in relatively good order, her bones were old, and the rainy, dank weather was not helping at all. “Are you hungry, my lord? Surely you must be after traveling all day. I envy you your horses. That damned coach is a trial to ride in anymore, I can tell you.”
He chuckled and, taking her arm, led her to the highboard, where the servants were even now setting out the evening meal. She had not bothered to put her boots back on, and walked in her stockinged feet. She lost none of her dignity for it, he thought. Adali appeared and settled the old woman in her chair.
“Where is your mistress?” the earl asked him.
“She has locked herself in her bedchamber and is swearing quite colorfully in at least three languages, my lord,” came the calm reply. “Rohana and Toramalli are in her apartment. They will see she does not leave Belles Fleurs without your lordship.”
“And the children?” He had seen neither hide nor hair of them since his arrival. “Where are the bairns, Adali?”
“In the nursery, my lord. Would you like to see them now or after you have eaten. They are already abed, however.”
“Madame Skye and I will see them on the morrow, Adali,” James Leslie replied.
“Shall I see a tray is taken up to my lady?” Adali asked.
“No,” came the answer. “If your lady wishes to eat, then she must join us here at the highboard. She is not ill. Go and tell her we would welcome her company.”
“Very good, my lord,” Adali responded, his smooth light tan face bland as a pudding. He could but imagine what his mistress was going to say to such an invitation, but he was strangely comforted by the earl’s firmness. Over the last months his lady had become more and more intractable and mulish. She had allowed her offspring to run wild. The three older ones spoke a mixture of Pidgin French and English to each other, and French to the servants. Jasmine had practically neglected them in her grief over Prince Henry’s death. She lavished all of her attention upon his son, who turned two the previous September, and the lad was in danger of becoming very spoiled. It would be good for his lady to have a man in the house again, in her bed again. Now all they had to do was convince her of that fact.
He found his mistress now out of her bedchamber and directing her two maidservants in packing her trunks.
“We’ll