Intrigued (39 page)
“There hasn’t been a court,” Autumn reasoned.
“But there is one now,” he replied and, leaping up from the bench, he pulled her to her feet. Taking her hands in his, he danced them about. “I have just celebrated by forty-eighth birthday, little sister, and I remember the courts of my grandfather, King James, and my uncle, King Charles the First. There was laughter and music and masques and dancing, Autumn. Everyone wore marvelous clothing, and all was light and gaiety. Then those joyless damned Puritans came with Master Cromwell and it was gone. Well, now it is back again, little sister. I shall take you there, and introduce you to the king and the most important of the courtiers. Perhaps you’ll even find a new husband, eh?” Charlie teased her, and then he collapsed upon the bench, puffing with his exertions.
Autumn fell into his lap, laughing. She hadn’t laughed in so long, and it felt so good. “I should like to go to court, Charlie. I always wanted to see it just once, although I truly believe I am a country mouse at heart. I’m not like her,” and Autumn pointed to the grave of Lady de Marisco.
“No one,” Charlie said softly, “is like her.”
“Do you remember her?” Autumn asked. “You must. How old were you when she died?”
“Thirteen,” he said. “She would approve of your going to court, Autumn. Our great-grandmother wasn’t a woman to stand still. She was always moving forward, seeing new adventures, peeping around corners to see what tomorrow would bring.” He chuckled.
“When are we going?” Autumn demanded of him.
“How long will it take your maids to pack up your lavish French wardrobe?” he asked her with a smile.
“I have no idea,” Autumn replied. “I don’t know what I will need for court. And where will we stay in London?”
“I have apartments at Whitehall,” Charlie said. “You may stay there or, if you prefer, at Mama’s house, Greenwood.”
“I think I should prefer to stay there rather than at the palace,” Autumn told him shyly. She stood up. “Come on, big brother. Let’s ask Mama what I will need to go to court, and how long it will take us to pack it.”
Jasmine was delighted that her son had managed to draw Autumn from her miseries. When she learned what it was that had been distressing her daughter she absolutely agreed with her son’s solution to the problem. Her two ancient maidservants, Toramalli and Rohana, advised that Lady Autumn was going to court, went immediately to teach Lily and Orane how they must pack and what they must take. Jasmine had Adali bring her jewel cases to her bedchamber and, with Autumn by her side began to sort through her fabulous jewels for items her daughter might wear.
“Oh, let me borrow the rubies!” Autumn begged. “I have always loved your rubies, Mama.”
“Kali’s Tears, the necklace and the earbobs,” her mother said. “They are called Kali’s Tears, and you may have them, my darling. I have given emeralds to Fortune, although in the new world she lives in I doubt she has any use for emeralds. India has been given sapphires. I had magnificent sapphires, didn’t I, Adali?”
“Indeed, my princess,” the old man agreed, “you still do.”
“But nothing like the Stars of Kashmir,” the duchess said. She picked up a scarlet velvet bag and handed it to Autumn. “Your rubies, my darling. Enjoy them. I have always enjoyed my jewels. Now, what else?” She began pouring through the cases while Autumn watched.
After a week’s time, Autumn was packed and ready to depart for London with her brother, Her daughters had adjusted quite well to their new surroundings. They weren’t in the least distressed that their mother was leaving them—particularly as their grandmother had promised that without her they would have a most marvelous time.
They reached London after several days traveling, and in that they were fortunate. The weather had been pleasant and the roads dry. Had it been otherwise, the coach would have had a terrible time. As their vehicle drew up before the gates of Jasmine’s London house, Greenwood, a gatekeeper stepped forth and bowed.
“I was not told anyone was expected,” he said politely.
“I am the Dowager Duchess of Glenkirk’s son, the Duke of Lundy, and inside the carriage is my sister, the Marquise d’Auriville. My sister will be staying here while she is visiting at court,” Charlie said, and then he waited for the gates to be opened.
The gatekeeper looked very uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, your grace, but Greenwood was confiscated by the Protectorate. It is now the property of the Duke of Garwood, who is currently in residence.”
“God’s blood,” Charlie swore softly.
The coach window was lowered and Autumn leaned out. “What is the problem?” she asked her brother.
“Greenwood was confiscated by Cromwell,” Charlie said. “We were never told.” He thought for a moment, and then said to the gatekeeper. “Does the Earl of Lynmouth still have possession of Lynmouth House next door, do you know?”
“Oh, yes, your grace, and he is there, I know, for he and the duke are good friends. They ride together almost every morning.”
“It’s all right, Autumn. We’ll go there. The Southwoods are cousins and will gladly put us up.” He tossed a coin to the gatekeeper and thanked him for his courtesy.
“Have I ever met them?” Autumn asked her brother as the carriage slowly made its way next door to Lynmouth House. He shook his head in the negative.
“Duke of Lundy to see the Earl of Lynmouth,” the coachman said to the gatekeeper at Lynmouth House, and the gates were opened by the keeper and his son.
The carriage moved through, the horses trotting down the gravel drive and finally pulling up before a great house. Immediately servants in pristine livery were pouring out of the mansion. As the duke dismounted, they helped Autumn from her vehicle. She shook out her skirts and then followed her brother up the marble steps and into the building. The house’s majordomo hurried forward, exuding an air of importance. He bowed to Charles Frederick Stuart, immediately recognizing him as a person of quality.
“My lord?” he said in questioning tones.
“I am the Duke of Lundy,” Charlie replied quietly. “I should like to see the Earl of Lynmouth.”
“His lordship is resting for tonight’s masque at Whitehall, your grace. I have been given orders not to disturb him,” the servant said.
“I have not made myself clear,” Charlie responded in the softest of tones. So soft, the majordomo had to lean forward to hear him. “I am Charles Frederick Stuart, the king’s beloved first cousin, known as the not-so-royal Stuart. This lady is my youngest sister, Madame la Marquise d’Auriville. We have been traveling for several days and have arrived to learn my mother’s home next door was confiscated by Cromwell’s lot.” Charlie’s voice was rising as he spoke. “I should like to see my cousin, the Earl of Lynmouth.” He glowered. “What is your name, my man?”
“Betts, your grace,” the majordomo said nervously.
“I should like to see my cousin, the Earl of Lynmouth, Betts.
Now!”
the duke shouted.
Now!”
the duke shouted.
“Yes, your grace, at once,” Betts said, backing away and almost falling over his own feet. “Allow me to show you into the earl’s library, where you may wait while I fetch his lordship.” Betts hurried ahead of them, flinging open a door and ushering them into a booklined room. There was a fire burning in the fireplace, and the majordomo gestured to a silver tray holding a decanter and some crystal goblets. “Shall I pour, your grace?” he asked the duke.
“I believe I can manage, Betts,” Charlie said, his tone gentler now. He even smiled at the servant.
“I will fetch his lordship immediately,” Betts promised them as he backed from the room.”
“I never saw you like that, Charlie,” Autumn told her brother.
“Upper servants tend to be overprotective of their masters,” Charlie said. “Do not ever allow one to speak to you disrespect-fully.” He poured out two small goblets of wine and handed his sister one. “London servants, particularly those employed by the king, have a tendency to be disdainful, even overbearing. Never permit it, little sister.”
She nodded, and they sat down together upon a settee to await the Earl of Lynmouth. “Who are these cousins?” she asked her brother.
“They descend from our great-grandmother, Madame Skye’s third son by her husband Geoffrey Southwood, the Earl of Lynmouth. That son was our great-uncle Robin. I don’t know who the current earl is, but we are related. Uncle Robin died the year before the old king. His eldest son, also a Geoffrey, died fighting for the king at Nasby in sixteen forty-five. I know he had a son, and that son had sons.”
The door to the library opened, and a handsome young man with golden hair and lime-green eyes hurried in, his expression curious. “I am John Southwood, the Earl of Lynmouth,” he said. “You wished to see me? Betts said you were my cousins.”
“I am Charles Frederick Stuart, the Duke of Lundy, my lord. Our great-grandmother was married to . . .” He stopped to set it all out in his head and then said, “Our great-grandmother was the second wife of Geoffrey Southwood, the Earl of Lynmouth.”
“Impossible!” John Southwood said. “My grandmother’s name is Penelope, and my grandfather had no second wife.”
“Not
that
Geoffrey Southwood,” Charlie told him. “This one was called
‘the Angel Earl,’
and he lived in the time of the great Elizabeth.”
that
Geoffrey Southwood,” Charlie told him. “This one was called
‘the Angel Earl,’
and he lived in the time of the great Elizabeth.”
“God bless me,” the earl replied. “That Geoffrey Southwood was my great-great-grandfather!” Then he went on to enlighten them. “My great-grandparents were Robin Southwood, and his wife Angel. My grandfather was their eldest son, also a Geoffrey, who married his cousin, Penelope Blakeley. Their eldest son was Robert, my father, and my mother was Lady Daphne Rogers. My father and my eldest brother, Geoffrey, died at Worcester. I was seventeen at the time, and before I might join the fray, my mother hauled my home to Lynmouth, where we sat quietly, not involving ourselves in politics, and waited for the king to be restored. Now, explain again to me how we are related, your grace.”
“My great-grandmother was Skye O’Malley. My grandmother is her youngest daughter, Velvet, the Countess of BrocCairn. My mother, Jasmine, was her daughter, and my father was Prince Henry Stuart. The lady with me is my youngest sister, the Marquise d’Auriville, born Lady Autumn Leslie. She is the Duke of Glenkirk’s daughter. He was my mother’s last husband, who died at Dunbar, also fighting for the king.”
The young earl nodded, and then he said with a smile, “How may I be of service to you, cousins?”
“Greenwood, which was my mother’s house, seems to have been confiscated during the Protectorate. My sister has just returned from France. She is a widow, and I thought I might bring her to court. But now she has no place in which to lay her pretty head. I was hoping you would allow her to stay here at Lynmouth House, my lord. My apartments at Whitehall aren’t large enough for both of us.”
“You have apartments at Whitehall?” The earl was impressed.
“The privilege of being the king’s first cousin,” Charlie answered him, waving his hand in a blasé fashion. “I always have quarters where the king has quarters.” He smiled at John Southwood. “Now, about my sister . . . ?”
“Of course you may stay with me, Cousin Autumn,” the earl said. ‘Sblood! When he told all his friends he would be the envy of the damned world. He peered at the lady in question and caught his breath sharply. She was absolutely beautiful, although she was looking a trifle pale. Reaching out, he yanked the bellpull hard. Betts was there immediately. He’d probably been peeping through the keyhole.
“Yes, my lord?” Betts said smoothly.
“Have the rose apartment opened immediately for her ladyship, Betts.” He turned to Autumn. “You have servants with you?”
“My two maids, Lily and Orane,” Autumn answered softly. “Thank you so much, Cousin John. I am a stranger to you, and yet you are willing to open your home to me. How kind.”
“Would you like to come to Whitehall tonight with me?” he asked her. “They’re performing a masque to cheer the king. His mistress, Lady Palmer, is expecting a child and has retired from court for the present. Not that she won’t be back. She will. Ambitious wench, Barbara Palmer. Was born a Villiers, you know.”
“Will you excuse me?” Autumn said. “We have been traveling for several days and I am exhausted. I want nothing more than a hot bath, a light supper, and my bed.”
“I will see to it at once, your ladyship,” Betts said and withdrew from the library.
“I’ll go with you,” Charlie said. “I want to let the king know I’m back and speak to him about Greenwood.”
“Won’t do you any good,” the earl said. “He promised not to take back property reassigned during the Protectorate. He ain’t made any exceptions to date,” John Southwood informed them.
“But Greenwood wasn’t a crown property ever,” Autumn said. “Madame Skye bought it years ago when she returned from Algiers. Mama is going to be furious about its loss.”
“Cromwell gave away the properties of people he believed disloyal to his regime,” the earl said.
“How could Mama be disloyal? She took no sides and left the country,” Autumn replied.
“Mama didn’t openly support Cromwell, and she was the mother of Henry Stuart’s only son,” Charlie said wisely. “I will speak to the king, but I suspect Greenwood is gone for good. Mama doesn’t need it anyway, and the family have other houses in London at which to stay on the rare occasions we come to town.”
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