Wild Jasmine (55 page)

“You learned all of that in just a few short hours with her?” Skye teased him, trying to lighten the moment.

“Mistress de Marisco and I had spoken at length on several occasions in your park when I came calling upon her. For young Lady Sybilla’s sake, she would not encourage me further,” he said stiffly.

“Until the night of my son’s Twelfth Night fete,” Skye murmured. “She says you were both lonely and but comforting each other, my lord.”

“Aye,” he replied, and she could read pain upon his handsome face. James Leslie straightened his shoulders and said formally, “I thank you for seeing me, my lord. My lady. Under the circumstances, I will trouble you no further. Will you tell Jasmine that I was here?”

“No, my lord, I will not,” Skye answered honestly. “There would be no point to it now, would there? She is formally betrothed to marry Rowan Lindley and the marriage will be celebrated April thirtieth.”

“Should you not give her the choice?” Adam asked his wife when the Earl of Glenkirk had departed.

“Her future is in England, not Scotland,” Skye said fiercely. “I have lost Velvet to that wild and wet land. I will not lose my darling Jasmine to it, Adam. Besides, if Glenkirk really loved her, he would have said it immediately. This is an afterthought. Perhaps he learned of her fortune. Wealthy men are never satisfied with their own fortunes. They are always desirous of adding to them.”

And so the matter had been closed, and the servants had been warned not to tell Mistress de Marisco that the Earl of Glenkirk had called upon her grandparents that day. Rowan Lindley had won Jasmine. When the mid-February air was mild with the promise of spring, the Gordons, the de Mariscos, and the Ashburnes left London to travel home.

“You will come to Swan Court soon, won’t you, Jasmine?” Sybilla begged her sister. “I will be so lonely without you!”

“As soon as Grandmother lets me,” Jasmine promised. “She says I must be fitted for my trousseau first.”

“Send word as soon as you can,” Sybilla said, smiling. Then the coach carrying the bride, her parents—who were going with her to see her home—and her bridegroom turned off the main highway and onto the road that would take them to Swan Court.

Chapter 14

“
P
oor Bonnie,” Jasmine said with a sympathetic smile. “You shall have no fingers left with which to sew by the time my wedding day comes. First Sybilla and now me.”

The seamstress smiled back at the young woman. She
was
tired, and her poor little assistant was equally so; but neither of the women minded. They knew that their work would be appreciated, and unlike so many in service to great households, they were well-fed and warm at night in their attic bedchamber with its pretty casement windows which looked down across the fields. “ ’Tis a pleasure to sew for you, m’lady,” Bonnie said. “We’ve had far more time to complete your trousseau than we did Lady Sybilla’s. Now you just hold still a moment more and I’ll have that hem basted. ’Tis a beautiful wedding gown, m’lady, and needs just a tiny bit of remodeling. Styles have not changed so much over the years. You’re taller than your grandmother, but a wee bit shorter than your mother, so the hem must come up again.”

“My grandmother’s
and
my mother’s wedding gown,” Jasmine said softly. “Oh Bonnie! I am so happy at last!”

“He’s a fine man, the marquess,” Bonnie said with a smile, and then she bit off the thread holding the basting stitches. “There, m’lady. Now let’s get you out of this and then you can run off to your handsome lover. Just a few more weeks and you’ll be his wife!”

“A moment,” Skye said as she entered the room with Velvet, who had come from Swan Court. “Let me see you, darling girl. I never saw your mother in this gown, for I was in India when she wed Alex. Ahh, how beautiful you are!”

“Wearing your wedding gown, Mama,” Velvet told them, “made me feel as if you and Papa were almost with me. My daughter, however, far outshines me with her radiance. The gown could have been tailored specifically for you, Jasmine. The color is perfect! Look at yourself!”

Jasmine, who had not dared to espy herself before, now turned and stared into the tall glass in the sewing room. The
gown she wore was the very one that Skye had worn when she had been married to Adam; the same one her mother had worn when her marriage to Alex Gordon was celebrated at Queen’s Malvern. It did indeed fit her as if it had been fashioned for her and her alone. The gown had been made in France, for that is where her grandparents had wed.

It was pure, shimmering silk, apple-green in color. The low, square bodice was embroidered with gold butterflies, daisies, and tiny seed pearls. There was a slightly darker green velvet underskirt embroidered to match the bodice. The sleeves were of the style called leg-of-mutton. They were decorated with tiny gold ribbons, and the wristbands were turned back to form a cuff, each one of which had a gold lace ruff. The long wasp waist and the bell-shaped skirt were still very much in style.

Skye had managed to have duplicated the silk undergarments as well as the pale green silk stockings embroidered with grapevines and the delicate silk slippers that had also been a part of her wedding outfit. Bonnie had, on her mistress’s instructions, made cloth-of-gold silk roses to decorate the bride’s dark hair. “You will wear my pearls,” Skye told her granddaughter, and there were tears in her eyes.

Jasmine hugged each of the women in turn. “You are both so good to me,” she told them.

“Tell me what you wore on your wedding day to Prince Jamal,” Skye asked as Jasmine finally removed the wedding gown.

“I was garbed like an idol to show both my father’s wealth and to honor my husband’s family,” Jasmine told them, and she described her red silk and diamond-studded outfit. “I am quite certain I prefer my lovely silk gown. India and the life I lived there is fast fading from my consciousness. I am an Englishwoman, and I am proud to be one.”

Bonnie helped Jasmine out of the gown and its bodice. She had been listening avidly to the young woman’s description of her previous wedding finery and now asked, fascinated, “What did you wear under all them silks, gold, and jewels, m’lady? I can’t help being curious as a magpie.”

“Why nothing, Bonnie,” Jasmine told her, her turquoise-blue eyes twinkling mischievously.

“
Nothing?
Go on with you, m’lady!” the seamstress said.

“The climate is hot, Bonnie. Hotter than you can imagine, and, except on formal occasions, we wore few garments in India.
There are no chemises and other undergarments as you have here in England,” Jasmine said.

“Ohhh,” Bonnie replied, shocked.

Her wardrobe just about completed, Jasmine went to visit Sybilla at Swan Court. Her stepsister had been pleading that she come that she might show off her new home. Jasmine was quite impressed with Swan Court, for although it was not a large house, it was a most charming one, with a lovely lake which was home to both black and white swans. Tom Ashburne’s widowed mother had died three years previously, and so the house had been without a mistress to guide it. Sybilla, well-trained by her mother, quickly set everything in order, and now with spring upon them was directing the gardener in her efforts to restore the gardens. Jasmine stayed with the Ashburnes until a week before her wedding, when Rowan Lindley arrived to escort her home to Queen’s Malvern.

“We’ll be just two days behind you,” Sybilla told Jasmine. “We must come slowly.” She smiled archly at her stepsister.

“You are not riding? I far prefer to ride. The coach is so slow and too stuffy,” Jasmine said.

“Tom will not let me ride …
now,
” Sybilla replied, and she was unable to keep the smile from her face.

For a moment Jasmine stared at her as if she had gone mad, and then she shrieked, “You are going to have a baby! That’s it, Sibby, isn’t it? You are going to have a baby! Does Mama know?”

“Not yet,” Sybilla said as the two hugged each other. “You must not tell her either. Your wedding is April thirtieth, and on Mama’s birthday the following day, Tom and I intend gifting her with the news of her first grandchild. ’Twill be born in mid-autumn. I think I may have conceived on our wedding night. Ohh, I wish the same for you, dear Jasmine! I am so happy! Please be happy too!”

Riding across the English countryside with Rowan Lindley by her side, Jasmine considered that she was happy. The feeling had slipped up on her and, casting a look from beneath her eyelashes at the tawny-haired man riding by her side, she also considered the possibility that she might be falling in love with him. She wondered exactly how he felt about her. That he desired her was something he had not hidden even from the very beginning, but Jasmine was wise enough to know that desire would not be enough for her, nor for him either.

“You are thinking,” he said, “and serious thoughts too.”

“How can you know that?” she responded, smiling at him.

“Your forehead wrinkles when you are pondering, and the wrinkles deepen in relation to the seriousness of your thoughts,” he told her.

Jasmine laughed. “How can you know me so well and in such a short time, Rowan?”

“I watch you,” he said, “and we have known each other almost a full year now, Jasmine.”

He made her feel almost ashamed, for she was not certain that she knew him as well as he seemed to know her. Daringly she asked him, “Do you love me, Rowan Lindley?”

“Aye, Jasmine, I do,” he replied in all seriousness. “I have loved you from the beginning, my dear. Tom can tell you that I am like that. So it was with my first wife. I saw her. I fell in love.”

“No, no, you cannot possibly love me,” she insisted. “That you desire me, I know, but love me?” Her mare shied nervously at the tone in her voice, and Jasmine calmed the beast with a soothing pat.

“I love you,” he said firmly, and then, “Are you beginning to love me, Jasmine? I would like it very much if you did.”

She drew her animal to a halt and he followed her lead. “
Love you?
Aye, I think I am beginning to love you, Rowan.”

They moved forward again in silence. The road stretched on ahead of them over the green hills which were dotted with colorful spring blossoms and frolicking lambs who resembled small, fluffy white clouds. Behind them, somewhere in the distance, the de Mariscos’ coach rumbled forward, heading toward Queen’s Malvern, Toramalli within, watching over her mistress’s possessions. Jasmine kicked Ebony into a gallop. She needed to run almost as much as the mare herself did. Rowan Lindley’s chestnut stallion kept pace with them.

The day, which had been gray to start with, began to look even more ominous. The wind picked up and dark clouds blew helter-skelter across the horizon and above them. There was a rumble of thunder and then the skies suddenly opened up, the rain pelting down on them in large, flat droplets. The coach had been far behind them to begin with, and their gallop had taken them even farther away from it. There seemed to be no shelter in sight. Jasmine pulled up the hood of her cloak and hunched down. They rode doggedly on until Rowan Lindley’s sharp eye spotted a small building ahead of them set back slightly from the road. It was obviously inhabited, for from its
chimney came a thin stream of smoke. He pointed to it, and Jasmine nodded, directing her horse to follow his.

As they drew near he shouted to her over the rain, “ ’Tis an inn!” He pointed to a small sign hanging over the gate which read,
THE ROSE AND CROWN
. “We’re in luck!”

They rode into the inn yard and dismounted, leading their beasts quickly into the small stable that was attached to the main building. There was one rather elderly horse housed within and several empty stalls.

“Can you unsaddle Ebony yourself, Jasmine, or will you need help?” he asked her.

“No, I can care for her, thank you,” she replied, working to unfasten the girths from around the mare’s belly. Setting the saddle aside, she found the feed and poured some grain into the stall’s feed box. “There, my girl, you are settled for the time being,” Jasmine told the creature, and she patted her lovingly, looking about. “ ’Tis a clean place and the roof does not leak,” she noted.

“Aye, the horses will be safe here,” he agreed. “Now we must brave the rain again to get into the inn.” Taking her hand, they stepped out into the wet weather again and hurried to the inn’s front door.

The innkeeper was a pleasant-faced lady who jumped, startled as they came through the door. “Why bless my soul,” she exclaimed. “I did not hear your coach, m’lord, m’lady. I am Mistress Greene.”

“The coach is behind us some miles,” Rowan Lindley said. “We rode and have stabled our horses ourselves. We will need rooms, good madame.”

The innkeeper shook her head. “I am sorry, my lord, but I only have one chamber. ’Tis not often I see overnight guests, for the Red Bull is just down the road five miles or so. ’Tis quite large and comfortable, and most travelers stop there. Perhaps if the rain lets up you can go on. In the meantime I will be happy to serve you a good supper if you do not mind that the service is slow. My husband has gone off to market and will not be home tonight. ’Tis just my daughter Lizzie and me.