Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Jasmine!" The voice whispered into her ear with urgency. "Jasmine, wake up! Wake up!" Something tugged at her arm.

She swam up through the mist of a dream in which Jamal was alive again and they were boating together on Wular Lake at dusk. The voice hissed her name again. Jasmine, rolling over, opened her eyes to look into her half brother's young face. "Charlie," she groaned, "what is it? Is the house afire?" She turned her head, looking to her window, and saw that the sky was just growing light with the dawn.

He climbed up on her bed, snuggling against her companionably and said, "I want you to come a-Maying with me. 'Tis May morn!"

"What is May morn?" she asked sleepily, thinking that even if he had woken her up at this terribly early hour, it was nice to have a little brother who climbed into bed with you for a chat.

"You do not know what May morn is?" he asked unbelievingly. "Why it is the first day of May, Jasmine. Do you not have the first day of May in India? I thought everyone in the world had a first day of May."

"The calendar in India is based on the cycles of the moon," she told him. "May first falls somewhere between the months of Shawwai and Dulkaada, depending upon the moon's phases in a particular year. Now, tell me what is so important about today that I should get up out of my most comfortable bed, Charlie Gordon, and come with you?"

"On May morn," he patiently explained to her, "we arise early so that we can gather flowers, fresh hawthorn branches, and the first dew at dawn."

Jasmine yawned. "Why?" she demanded.

"The dew gathered on May morn has magical properties for the skin, and as for the rest," he answered impatiently, "I do not know why. We just do it! Now get up and get dressed, Jasmine!"

She laughed and pushed him from the bed. "Very well," she said, "but if you expect me to dress, you must leave, sir."

"Do not be long," he warned her, "and do not wear shoes. 'Tis not a formal occasion, Jasmine." Then he scampered from her bedchamber, a pleased grin upon his freckled face.

Jasmine climbed from her bed as the door closed behind him. How, she wondered, had he managed to find her? She had not told him last night where her rooms were. She smiled to herself. Her stepfather might not approve of her. Sybilla obviously did not like her. But her mother and this little brother were making her feel very welcome. If only, she thought, I could let Mama Begum know how happy I am.

Jasmine pulled a simple white blouse on over her chemise, and a red silk skirt on over her petticoats. Informal, her brother had said. No need for either a farthingale or a fancy bodice, and with bare feet there was no need for stockings either. Un-braiding her hair, she brushed it out and rebraided it neatly in a single plait, tying the end with a red ribbon.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she frowned at the little purple bruise on her cheekbone. Stepping back to view her whole figure, she was somewhat startled to find she resembled a young Englishwoman in her present garb far more than she resembled an Imperial Mughal princess. Had it always been so? She wondered if Salim would even recognize her without kohl about her eyes. Reaching for her flask of scent, she dabbed some on, thinking that if he did not recognize her, he would certainly recognize the jasmine fragrance she always wore. Salim, however, was as far away from her now as if he lived on the moon itself. She would never see him again.

Exiting her room, she found her little brother awaiting her in the hallway. "That was quick," he said approvingly. "Sybilla is never that quick, nor is Mama." He took her hand in his.

They hurried down the staircase of the house to find the front door opened wide. With a muttered oath the boy tugged Jasmine's hand and pulled her along.

"God's foot! There are some ahead of us!"

"Does it make a difference?" she asked.

"Probably not," he admitted, "but I like being the first out on May morn. Look! There are our uncles Robin and Padraic wi their wives! They are still in the same clothes they wore last night. I will vow they've nae been to bed. Did you ever stay up all night, Jasmine?"

"Not all night," she said, "but very late sometimes. How old are you?"

"I was eleven on St. Valentine's Day," he told her. "They say I am big for my age,"

"I will be sixteen on the ninth day of August, by your calendar," she replied. "Tell me how old Sybilla and our brothers are."

"Sibby," he answered, "was sixteen on February the first. She's practically an old maid at this point. Most girls are married by sixteen, but Mama did nae want her forced to any prearranged match. She wants Sibby to find love. Sibby thinks she hae found it in Lord Leslie. I dinna know why she thinks such a thing. She hardly knows the fellow. She hae only seen him three times in her whole life. On two of those occasions his first wife was living."

"What about our brothers?" Jasmine pressed him. This business about Sybilla Gordon was interesting, but she wanted to know more about her mother's children. Her stepsister was quite unimportant.

"Sandy turned thirteen last month," Charlie said.

"Is Sandy his real name?" Jasmine asked.

"James Francis Henry Alexander is his full name," Charlie replied. "James for the king, but there are so many Jameses in Scotland that he was not called by his first name. Francis was for the king's cousin, the Earl of Bothwell, who was my parents' friend. The king doesna like his cousin, so my brother could not be called Francis. Henry was for the crown prince. One of the twins has that for a first name, so my brother is called Sandy, which is a shortened version of Alexander, his last given name. That way he is nae confused with Papa, who is called Alex. What is your full name?"

"In India I was called Yasaman Kama Begum. Yasaman is just the Indian way of saying Jasmine. Kama means love, and Begum was my rank. A Begum is a princess, Charlie. When I came to England I decided to Anglicize my Indian name. Father Cullen told me that when I was baptized as an infant, I was christened Jasmine Elizabeth Mary, for the priests insisted I have a good Christian name. So I am Jasmine Elizabeth Mary de Marisco now. Tell me of the other boys."

"The twins, Rob and Hal, will be nine at the end of June, and little Ned will be six in the autumn. The twins look exactly alike, and they dinna seem to need anyone but each other. Ned's a good little lad. 'Tis nae easy being the youngest, Mama says."

"I know," she told him. "Once I was the youngest."

"Good morning, Jasmine, Charlie," the Earl of Lynmouth greeted his niece and nephew. "Have you come to go a-Maying with us?"

"You nae went to bed last night, Uncle Robin," Charlie accused.

"No," laughed Angel, ruffling his dark hair, "we did not."

"What do grown-ups do when they stay up all night?" Charlie wondered aloud.

"We talk," Lord Southwood told his nephew, "and sometimes we sing songs, and sometimes—"

"Robin!" Angel warned her husband, and he laughed.

"You have never been a-Maying, my dear, I expect," Valentina, Lady Burke, said to Jasmine. "Has Charlie explained the custom to you?"

"He tells me we gather early dew for our complexions because it has magical properties," Jasmine said with a smile, "and flowers and flowering branches, but he has no idea why that is done."

Valentina laughed. "The custom extends back into the mists of time," she said. "Our Irish ancestors were called Celts. May first was one of the high holy days. It was called Beltaine. The Celts believed that the earth was their mother, and the sun their father. The mother renewed herself each spring with a new growing season. They celebrated that renewed fertility with dancing, flowers, and songs of praise. The coming of Christianity changed many of the old customs, but some, like May Day and All-Hallows Eve, which was the other great Celtic holy day called Samhein, survive."

"We have a festival in India called Holi, where the barriers of caste are dropped for a day. It, too, has to do with the growing season. People pelt each other with colored powder and flowers, eat special foods, and sing and dance," Jasmine told them. "It would seem that there are many things similar in our different cultures."

"Look," said Angel, "here come Sandy and Sibby to join us."

"God's foot," grumbled Charlie.

"Good May morning, my children," Angel called.

The two young Gordons replied, Sandy cheerfully, Sibby in more subdued tones as she cast an unfriendly look at Jasmine. Her blackened eye was more obvious this morning.

They began to walk across the fields, and very shortly the sun slipped up over the horizon, gilding the world in its golden glow. The dew sparkled like tiny crystals on the grass, and they bent down to wash their faces in it. Jasmine followed the example set her. They plucked flowers from the field and the hedges: lilacs and buttercups, early roses, poppies, branches of flowering hawthorn and apple blossoms. A lark burst forth in song, and Jasmine almost cried. It was so very beautiful and peaceful. Suddenly she was filled with an overwhelming happiness. England. She loved it despite its vast difference from her native India. It was home. She could feel it in her heart and soul.

She walked on, taking in everything about her, sensing, rather than actually seeing, Charlie at her side. A small herd of deer had come from the woods to graze. There was a buck, three does, and four adorable fawns. Jasmine stopped to observe them until, finally aware of the human in their midst, they looked up startled, and with snorts of annoyance fled into the trees. She gazed down at arms filled with flowers.

"What are you mooning about?" Charlie asked.

"I was just thinking how lovely it all is and how happy I am," Jasmine told him. Looking about her, she saw that her aunts and uncles had already begun to make their way back to the house. Nearby, however, Sibby and Sandy were still gathering flowers.

"Let's go back," Charlie answered. "I hae found some pretty violets for Grandmother. She likes it when I bring her flowers."

"And you like it when she gives you sweetmeats, which she always does when you bring her something," Sybilla said meanly, overhearing him. "The old woman likes flattery."

"Perhaps she simply loves Charlie and is pleased by his sweet thoughtfulness," Jasmine said quietly.

"Hah! A lot you know," Sybilla sniffed. "Charlie is a second son. He will have to make his own way in the world. He is hoping that Grandmother will help him, and that's why he always fusses over her. The old woman has so many grandchildren, and he does not want to be forgotten."

"I swear," Charlie responded, "that your mother's teats ran vinegar, Sibby. You have the sourest tongue I hae ever known."

Sybilla Gordon lashed out and slapped her younger brother. A moment later she found herself upon her back in the grass. With a shriek she scrambled to her feet. "She pushed me! Sandy, you saw it!"

Jasmine was paying her no mind. She was far too busy examining Charlie's cheek. One of Sybilla's fingernails had scratched the boy's cheekbone and it was oozing blood. "When we get back to the house," she told him, "I have a special ointment that will heal this with no scarring," she promised him. "If it does scar, however," she teased, "you can say it was a dueling scar."

Charlie, who was still young enough to cry, manfully swallowed back his tears and gave a watery chuckle.

"Sandy!" Sybilla stridently demanded her brother's attention. "She pushed me! That creature attacked me! You must tell Father. She should be beaten for it. She is an uncivilized wild woman and does not deserve to be among gentle folk!"

"Wild Jasmine," Charlie said with another chuckle, and his elder brother, a serious boy, was forced to smile.

"You had no right to hit Charlie, Sibby," Sandy said quietly. "I believe Jasmine was just defending him."

"Ohhhhhh! I hate you all!" Sybilla wailed and, throwing down the flowers she had gathered, ran back toward the house.

"Thank you," Jasmine said to the eldest of her half brothers.

Sandy Gordon looked at her, and she saw that his eyes were amber in color. He was, in fact, his father in miniature, with his black hair and craggy features. "As my father's heir," he told her in the same quiet voice, "I will one day be head of this family. Although I am younger than you, I am your eldest brother, Jasmine. I would appreciate your respect. I dinna like to see you and Sybilla quarrel. If she is behaving childishly, it is because she is afraid that Mama will love you more, having found you after all these years. Though you are almost the same age, Sibby is still a girl wi girlish dreams. You are a woman, Jasmine. You have seen the world and lived a far more exciting life than Sibby can ever imagine."

"Who am I, Sandy?" Jasmine asked him.

For a moment he did not quite comprehend her, and then the light of understanding filled his eyes. "You are my half sister," he answered. "You are our mother's daughter by a previous and legitimate alliance to the Grand Mughal of India."

"You truly believe that?" Jasmine pressed him.

"If I didna believe it, Jasmine," he replied, "then I should shame our mother's good name. I will nae do that."

"Your father is outraged by the revelation of my birth," she said. "What of his good name, Sandy? Do you not owe him loyalty too?"

The boy smiled. "You are clever, like Grandmother," he told her. "Aye, my father is very outraged, but he loves Mother. It will take time, but he will eventually come to terms with all of this, if nae for his own sake, then for Mother's. Be warned, however, that he will protect Sibby at all costs. She is his only daughter and, as such, quite dear to him. Your father would have done no less."

Jasmine nodded. "In sending me here to England, my father was protecting me. I understand. I will try to be kinder to Sybilla, but she simply must stop provoking me. I will not be bullied. I am the Mughal's daughter."

As they spoke, Charlie had gathered up Sibby's flowers from the grass. Now, seeing that things were settled between his brother and sister, he said, "Let's go back and bring Grandmother and Mother their bouquets."

Together the three young people made their way across the field. As they walked they heard hoofbeats behind them. Two horsemen soon came abreast of them. The animals upon which they were mounted were beautiful, finely bred creatures, one a bay and the other black. The gentlemen were dressed for the country in dark breeches, boots, and leather jerkins worn over their doublets. They were both bare-headed and wore no capes.

"Good morrow, children," said the first rider. "Would that be Queen's Malvern?" He pointed to the house. "We seek Lord de Marisco."

"Aye, my lord, that is Queen's Malvern," Sandy replied. "We are three of Lord de Marisco's grandchildren."

"Bless me!" said the other gentleman. "How many does he have?"

"Forty-six at present, sir," volunteered Charlie with a grin.

"And are all the girls as lovely as your sister, lad?" the second gentleman asked. "She is your sister, isn't she?"

"My half sister, sir."

"Come along, Charlie, Sandy," Jasmine said briskly. "Mama and Grandmother are waiting."

"Why, you are not a child at all, are you?" the second horseman said, surprised.

Jasmine looked up at the gentleman, feeling distinctly at a disadvantage in her bare feet. "No, my lord, I am not," she said coolly. "Now, please excuse us. Our family is waiting. While you idly chatter, our flowers are wilting and will be dead ere we get to the house," Moving past their horses, Jasmine shepherded her brothers off.

"By God, Rowan! I do believe you have been given a set-down," chuckled the first man. " 'Tis to be expected. You will find the ladies of this family strong, beautiful, and outspoken."

"Do you know who she is, Tom?" his companion asked. "Did you see those eyes of hers? They were turquoise-blue! I never saw eyes like that in my entire life. Nor did I ever see so beautiful a woman. She is a woman too. No girl would look so lush, so ripe for the plucking. I will have her!"

"If she is no girl, Rowan, then she is married. You had best behave around the de Mariscos. They are very protective of each other, and their women are not wantons. If you want to breed your mares with Lord de Marisco's stud, Nightwind, then you had best mind your manners. The Marquess of Westleigh does not need to chase after women."

"What about the Earl of Kempe?" mocked his friend. "You chased halfway around the world after Valentina Barrows and then lost her to her cousin, Lord Burke."

"Alas," Thomas Ashburne, the Earl of Kempe, replied, "it was a cruel fate that I not wed with my divinity, but Rowan, I always treated her with tenderness and respect. I am happy to say that Val, Padraic, and I have remained good friends. It is a friendship I treasure."

The Earl of Kempe was a most handsome young man. He was tall and had an athlete's slender, well-built body. His eyes were best described as misty gray in color, and his thick hair and elegantly barbered Vandyke moustache were a rich gold. He had set many a heart a-flutter in his day, but the only lady who had ever captured his heart was Valentina, Lady Burke. There had been none to catch his fancy since.

His companion was not quite as handsome. He was cleanshaven and had a square jaw that was cleft in the center with a dimple. Tall, he was heavier set, but his bulk came from a larger bone structure. There was no excess fat on his body. His skin was fair, which was to be expected, considering that his two most arresting features were a pair of deep-set gold eyes and a shock of wavy, tawny gold hair. He carried himself with an arrogance that might be expected of a man who could trace his family back to the time of Alfred the Great himself, and whose same family had possessed the same lands since that very distant past.

Reaching the house, the two men dismounted and their horses were taken away by a groom to be rested and fed. A footman led the gentlemen into the house, taking them to a small, bright receiving room.

"The Earl of Kempe and the Marquess of Westleigh to see Lord de Marisco," Tom Ashburne told the servant.

"Very good, my lord. If you will wait here. There are wine and biscuits on the table," the footman said, and then bowed himself from the room.

As it was early, and as they had not yet broken their fast, the two gentlemen helped themselves, settling into comfortable, tapestried-back chairs by a small, bright fire that took the chill out of the morning air.

Suddenly the door to the room burst open. A woman hurried in, smiling and saying, "Tom Ashburne, you scamp! Why did you not tell us you were coming? Padraic and Valentina are here. 'Tis Velvet's birthday." She embraced him, kissing him on both cheeks. "Have you found a wife yet, or are you still pining for my daughter-in-law?"

"Madame Skye!" He kissed her back, enjoying the damask-rose scent she always wore. She was undoubtedly one of the most feminine women he had ever known. "I am not even seeking a wife. Did you not promise to find one for me? I am going to rely on your good judgment."

"Still a rogue," she said with a smile, then turned her blue-green gaze on the other gentleman in the room. "But you must introduce me to your companion."

"Madame Skye, Countess of Lundy, my cousin, James Rowan Lindley, the Marquess of Westleigh. Rowan, this is Lady de Marisco."

The Marquess of Westleigh bowed low over Skye's hand and murmured a polite greeting.

Her eyes twinkled at him, amused, and then she said to Tom Ashburne, "Why are you here? It has been ages since we last saw you."

"Rowan has some particularly fine mares he brought from Spain. Travel is quite unrestricted since the peace. They have an Arab strain in them. He wants to put them to stud, and I told him that your husband's Nightwind is the finest stallion in all of England today. We came to speak with Lord de Marisco about it."

"Adam, I fear, is still abed. Our daughter's birthday fete always begins the evening before May Day, as Velvet was born just after midnight," Skye explained. "Adam is not as young as he once was, and our gift to Velvet caused a great deal of excitement amongst the family. Come into the Family Hall and join us for the morning meal."

"What did you give your daughter that caused such excitement?" the Marquess of Westleigh asked, curious.

"It is a very long story, my lord. Come and eat. If you are truly interested, I will tell it to you," Skye promised him.

In the hall, only the boys, Sybilla, and Jasmine were in evidence. The two girls were seated at the high board as far apart as they could get. Sandy had chosen to sit with Sibby, and Charlie was with Jasmine. Skye frowned, knowing there was certain to be a scene if she attempted to tell Jasmine's tale now. She saw, however, that her grandchildren were already well-fed, and so, smiling at them, she said, "Have you been to see your mother yet?"

"We were afraid she would still be abed, Grandmama," Sybilla answered primly. "We did not want to disturb her."

"Fete or no, it is past time your mother was up," Skye told the girl. "Go and tell her I said so, Sybilla."

"Yes, Grandmama," Sybilla said, arising, curtseying, and then gathering up a mass of flowers. "I shall take her these May morning blooms." She hurried from the hall, her blond curls bouncing.

"Is she also your granddaughter, Madame Skye?" Tom Ashburne asked.

"She is my son-in-law the Earl of BrocCairn's daughter, and has been raised by my daughter, Velvet, his wife. I have always considered her my grandchild, although we are not related by any blood."

"Do you remember you once promised to find me a wife from amongst your granddaughters?" he said seriously.

"Sibby has her heart set upon the Earl of Glenkirk," young Sandy volunteered.

"But there is no betrothal yet," Charlie chimed in.

Tom Ashburne chuckled. "And who are these two fine young fellows?" he asked Skye as they settled themselves at the high board.

"My grandsons, Sandy and Charlie Gordon," she told them, "and a pair of scamps they are, I can promise you. They are Sybilla's half brothers."

"And this lady?" the Marquess of Westleigh said, looking at Jasmine, his gaze perhaps a trifle more intimate than it should have been. Indeed, it was quite obvious she had piqued his interest.

"This is my granddaughter, Yasaman Kama Begum, an Imperial Mughal princess. She will be known here in England as Jasmine de Marisco. Her father was the late Grand Mughal, Akbar; her mother, my daughter Velvet. She was the birthday surprise that caused such a stir amongst my family last night. Shall I tell you her tale as you eat?"

They were both, of course, absolutely fascinated.

"The women in your family seem to have a penchant for adventure," Tom Ashburne noted with a smile. "You, Lady St. Michael, Val, and now, I learn, the Countess of BrocCairn. Say on, dear Madame Skye!"

She spoke, and while she did the servants brought them a breakfast the like of which neither had had in a long time. There was oat porridge mixed with cream and bits of dried apple and pear; eggs poached in cream and marsala wine; sweet, pink country ham; tiny baby lamb chops; fresh bread, warm from the ovens; honey; a crock of newly churned butter; a small wheel of sharp cheese; flagons of nut-brown ale and red wine.

The two gentlemen ate appreciatively and with gusto as Skye unfolded Jasmine's tale before them. When she had finished, Tom Ashburne shook his head wonderingly.

" 'Tis the most amazing story, Madame Skye. Did I not know you and your family as well as I do, I should be dubious of such a tale. Having accompanied your son and darling Val to Turkey, however, I am not. Perhaps I should seek a wife from among a quieter family."

"Hah!" she told him. "I do not believe you seek a wife at all, my lord, else you would have found one by now. You have turned your broken heart into a fine art, I think," she teased him. "Besides, most of the women in my family are a dull lot at best. If you are serious, Tom Ashburne, in your intent to marry, I can find you a pretty and biddable girl who will breed you up a houseful of children. What say you?"

He laughed. "What of Mistress Jasmine?"

"Oh no, my lord," Jasmine told him. "I have been widowed a year now and think to remain unmarried for a time longer. Besides, I am not in the least biddable. The Mughal's daughters seldom are."

They all laughed, and then Skye said, "Jasmine, my darling, take our guests out into the gardens for a stroll while I awaken your grandfather. You will stay, my lords? As most of my grandchildren have remained home, there is plenty of room for guests."

They accepted her gracious invitation. Sandy and Charlie Gordon, after a whispered conversation, announced that they were riding over to Blackthorne Hall to tell their brothers of their newfound sister. Tom Ashburne, a contented look upon his face, said that he would remain by the fire in hopes of seeing Valentina shortly.

"Are you really interested in visiting my grandmother's gardens, my lord?" Jasmine asked the Marquess of Westleigh. "She does have some particularly fine roses, I will admit."

"I am a lover of roses," he said, taking her arm in his. "Lead on, Mistress de Marisco." As they walked through the house and back out into the fresh spring morning, he remarked, "You have the most elegant little feet I have ever seen. They are not only beautiful, but there is something incredibly sensual about them."

"God's nightshirt!" Jasmine swore, using her grandfather's favorite oath. "I had forgotten I was without shoes, my lord. I hope you will excuse me. In India I wore slippers only on state occasions, but here in England I must have footwear on at all times except in my own chambers. When my little brother awoke me to come a-Maying with him, he told me not to wear shoes. He said it was the custom." She laughed. "I wonder if he was teasing me? I suspect him to be a young rogue, although I already adore him. I have never had a little brother before."

"When I was a child," Rowan Lindley said, "my cousins and I always went barefooted on May Day morn."

They entered Skye's rose garden and walked slowly along the grassy paths where the bushes were just beginning to come into bloom.

"Did you grow up near the Earl of Kempe?" Jasmine inquired politely. She bent and inhaled the spicy fragrance of a newly opened pink damask rose, finding it headily delicious.

"My father, God rest him, and Tom's mother were sister and brother. My own mother died when I was four. My father, when I was six. My father had appointed his brother-in-law, Henry Ashburne, who was then the Earl of Kempe, as my guardian. I was brought to Swan Court to be raised with his children. I had no brothers or sisters of my own.

"My uncle and aunt, however, had four children at that time. Tom was eleven, and five years my senior. He had three younger sisters. My aunt Anne was again with child. Robert was born in the spring of the following year. He was far too young for either Tom or me to be bothered with. For want of another male sibling, Tom took me under his wing. We have been friends ever since. As we both grew older, the five years between us seemed to dissipate until it no longer existed."

"You speak of your cousin with such fondness in your voice, my lord," Jasmine told him, "that I suspect that yours was a happy childhood. Where, pray, is your home? I find England so fair a land."

"Nearby to Tom's own Swan Court. My estate is called Cadby. It is set upon the bank of the river Avon. It is but two days' ride from Queen's Malvern and quite near your uncle, the Earl of Alcester's, home. You are absolutely the most beautiful woman I have ever seen!"

Jasmine stopped. Turning, she looked up at him, startled. She was shocked to see the barely masked passionate look in his unusual gold eyes. "Are all Englishmen so direct, my lord?" she asked him, keeping her voice cool. "Other than my family, I have had little contact with the English so far." His look was so intense that she finally had to lower her eyes.

In answer he said, "There is a necklace and earrings that I bought in Spain from the same gentleman who sold me my horses. His family had come upon hard times. The necklace, he told me, was part of the booty his ancestors claimed when they drove the Moors from Spain. It is made of Persian turquoise and diamonds. Your eyes are the exact color of that turquoise, Mistress de Marisco."

"In India a gentleman does not speak with such familiarity to a lady he has just met," Jasmine told him primly, her heart beating nervously. "Are all Englishmen as bold as you are, my lord?"

"Some are," he said. "If I am bold, it is because it is not often that I see something I truly want."

Jasmine found herself confused. Although she had spoken English her entire life, she was finding that there were certain nuances of the language that she was not familiar with, or did not quite understand. "What is it exactly that you do desire, my lord?" she asked him politely.

"You," he answered calmly.

Astounded, she felt her cheeks growing warm. "Ohh!" was all she could manage to say, wondering if she looked as big a fool as she surely felt. She stood very still, unable to move. She had thought herself so sophisticated. She was a widow and had known a man. In India her life had been set, like a jewel, into a prescribed setting. There was nothing in either her experience or her base of knowledge that told her how to handle a situation like this, or a man like the Marquess of Westleigh. She was as helpless as any innocent maid.

Looking down on her, Rowan Lindley smiled softly. He easily read the confusion in her face, and reaching up, he cupped her face with his hand. Her eyes widened slightly at his touch. His fingers splayed outward, caressing her cheek, running a thumb over her lips. "Your skin is softer than anything I have ever felt," he told her. "I mean to have you, you know."

"Have me for what?" she managed to gasp, shocked by the effect his warm, strong touch was having upon her.

He laughed briefly, showing even, white teeth. "For my wife, Jasmine de Marisco. I mean to have you for my wife."

"I have no wish to remarry at this time," she said.

"I will wait," he replied, his golden eyes making her feel as if her blood was boiling over.

"I am certain I hear my mother calling me," she said suddenly, pulling away from him and picking up her skirts to hurry off. Thank God she could move. She had believed her legs would never function again.

"I would not have thought that the Mughal's daughter was a coward," he called after her, and then he laughed as she stopped and whirled about.

"I am not afraid of you!" she declared vehemently. "And what could you possibly know of my father?"

"I have several shares in the East India Company," he said, staying where he was, not moving. "I went to India several years ago. I find it a land of incredible variety. There was no one I met, native to the land, who did not love, admire, and revere Akbar. I even saw him once in Agra. You have his look about the eyes, and the beauty mark you bear approximates the mole upon his face."

"So I have been told," Jasmine replied dryly and, turning, hurried back into the house.

Rowan Lindley laughed softly to himself. He wanted Jasmine de Marisco with every fiber of his being. From the very first moment he had seen her this morning, he had known that she must be his. She was young, and her life, he realized, had been very sheltered until now. Let her taste this new freedom she had just found. He could wait. He suspected that Jasmine would be very much worth the wait. Bending, he sniffed the damask rose she had smelled earlier. Its fragrance reminded him of her. Elusive, yet heady.

Jasmine had fled to her rooms. She stood in the shadow of the draperies, looking out over the gardens at Rowan Lindley. He excited her, making her feel as she had never felt, even with her dearest Jamal. Yet he did frighten her as well, despite her denials to the contrary. There was a deep, passionate intensity about him that seemed almost dangerous. His tawny, wavy hair fascinated her. She wanted to touch it, to let her fingers slide through it. She had been astounded when he had touched her. The intimacy that his touch had engendered was equally surprising.

She was so lost in thought that she did not hear the door to her bedchamber open. She started at the sound of her grandmother's voice, turning about to face Skye, her cheeks pink with a guilty blush.

"Adali tells me you rushed into your rooms as if you were pursued by the seven evil jinns," Skye said, noting the blush but not remarking upon it. Walking to the window, she looked down into her gardens where the Marquess of Westleigh strolled alone now.

"Adali worries too much," Jasmine replied shortly. "He is worse than half a dozen old women." Her eyes strayed back out the window.

"Did you show Tom Ashburne and his cousin the gardens, my darling?" she asked her granddaughter.

"The earl preferred to remain by the fire," Jasmine said.

"And Lord Lindley?" Skye gently probed.

Jasmine turned suddenly and looked directly at her grandmother. "He is an incredibly bold man," she said. "He says he wants me for his wife! He touched my face with his hand! In India a man would have been executed for taking such a liberty with any woman of good breeding."

"Ahhhh," Skye said, her eyes a-twinkle. "I see."

"What do you see?" Jasmine demanded nervously, unconsciously worrying the lace edging of her fine lawn handkerchief.

"That you are attracted to this man," Skye answered. "He is quite handsome, my darling. Tell me exactly what he said."

"He said that he would have me," Jasmine began, "and when I asked what he would have of me, he laughed and replied, ‘I mean to have you for my wife.' I told him I had no wish to remarry at this time, and he said that he would wait! Grandmama! What am I to do?"

Skye laughed merrily. Then she said, "Why, my darling, you are to go on living your life exactly as you wish to live it. You do not have to marry anyone until you choose to remarry."

"I am not ready yet," Jasmine told her.

Skye patted the young woman's hand. "I will ask Tom Ashburne about his cousin. I find it odd he has no wife. I wonder what his age is? He and Tom are obviously close," she mused.

"He is five years the earl's junior and was raised with him from age six," Jasmine told her grandmother. "His father and the earl's mother were brother and sister. His parents had died."

"Hmmmmmm," Skye said. "Tom is a year older than Padraic. That would make him thirty-eight now. The Marquess of Westleigh is therefore thirty-three years of age. It is a good age for a man." Skye gave her granddaughter a hug. "Go and bid your mama a happy May morn. Sybilla has been with her long enough, and 'tis time she got used to the idea that she has a sister."

Lady de Marisco left Jasmine's rooms and descended to the hall, where she found her husband already deep in conversation with the Marquess of Westleigh. Tom Ashburne dozed by the fire, obviously quite content. Skye gave him a sharp poke with a finger. "Wake up, you rogue!" she said. "I want to talk with you."

His misty gray eyes opened, regarded her lazily. Then he stretched his large frame. "Here?"

"No, outdoors in the gardens where we cannot be overheard," she told him, and took the arm he offered as he stood.

When they were well away from the house, Skye said, "Tell me about Westleigh. He has made advances toward my granddaughter. What are his circumstances? Is he a fortune hunter?"

"God's foot, no, dear madame!" the Earl of Kempe said vehemently.

"Your mother and his father were siblings, I am told."

"Aye. Rowan was orphaned young. My father was his guardian until he was twenty-one."

"You have no wife, Tom, and your cousin has no wife. I understand your circumstances. Tell me of Rowan Lindley's," she asked.

"My parents treated Rowan no differently than they treated the rest of us," the earl began. "By the time Rowan reached his majority, he was like all young men. Eager to throw off the parental shackles he thought were binding him. My father had made no match for him. He, like you, dear madame, was a great romantic. He had fallen in love with my mother and he wanted that privilege for all his children.

"At twenty-one my cousin returned to his own home, which is called Cadby. Within several months' time he had made a match with the heiress of an adjoining property. He had seen the girl out riding and found her attractive. Like him, she had been orphaned from an early age. Her guardian, however, was a bachelor uncle. The girl seemed neither enthusiastic nor un-enthusiastic about Rowan. My parents were worried, but nothing could dissuade Rowan from the path he had chosen. He is a very stubborn man, Madame Skye.

"The wedding was celebrated, but when my cousin entered his bride's bedchamber on their wedding night, he found it empty. Seeing the windows wide open, he went to close them, only to discover that his new wife had thrown herself out those windows. He could see her lying in a crumpled heap below. Sadly, she was still alive, but she was totally incapable of moving her lower limbs and never did so again. She lived on for eleven years, but in all that time she never spoke a word to anyone.

"A little over a year ago Rowan's wife contracted a lung fever. It was obvious that she was dying. As he sat by her bedside giving her what comfort he could, she spoke to him, to his great amazement. She had not wanted to marry anyone, for she was afraid and ashamed of what a husband would think when he found her not a virgin. Her guardian, you see, had robbed her of her maidenhead when she was but eleven, and not satisfied with that, had continued to force her. In another time she might have entered a convent to escape her fate."

"Poor girl," Skye said with genuine feeling. Then she asked him, "How did her guardian dare to believe that a husband would not realize the girl was not a virgin?"

"The man was obviously a terrible blackguard. He told his niece that, once married, her husband would not dare to admit to her imperfection for fear of embarrassment. And if she told Rowan of her uncle's behavior toward her, the uncle said he would disclaim the girl's accusations and shame her publicly. He told his niece that there were no witnesses to his lust, for indeed he had been very careful. The girl knew it to be the truth, but she was an extremely ethical little thing. She had fallen in love with Rowan and would not cheat him. So she chose to kill herself instead."

"What happened to the uncle?" Skye asked.

"When he heard of his niece's attempted suicide, he decided to flee England, realizing that Rowan would believe whatever his wife told him under those tragic circumstances. He fueled his flight with the girl's fortune, leaving only her land for Rowan. Rowan never told her this, even as she lay dying. He did not feel that she should believe herself under any obligation to him. The uncle never knew that the girl spoke not a word against him until her dying day."

"And your cousin loved and supported her despite everything," Skye said. "I am pleased to hear he is that sort of a man, Tom Ashburne."

"I do not know if Rowan really loved his wife, Madame Skye. If he did, it was not a deep love; but aye, he is a kind man."

"What else is he, my lord?" She fixed him with a sharp look.

The Earl of Kempe laughed. "You love this newly found granddaughter of yours very much, I can see, madame."

"Why Tom," she told him frankly, "I love them all! My children, and grandchildren, my whole family! Now tell me more of your cousin, the Marquess of Westleigh. He has greatly disturbed Jasmine."

"He is stubborn, as I have said, but a good man."

"Has he wealth of his own?"

"Aye, and strives to increase that wealth. He went out to India several years ago and returned to invest in the East India Company," the earl said.

"Which Church?" she demanded.

"The Anglican Church," came the answer.

"Good!" Skye said. "He is no fanatic, thank God! Does he follow the court? And what of women? Do not tell me he led a monastic life all those years of his unfortunate marriage. I will not believe you, Tom Ashburne, if you do. Tell me of his women."

"He goes to court to amuse himself, as we all do," the earl told her. "As for women, yes, he has them, but he is discreet. No lady has ever captured his heart to my knowledge, or even become important in his life. When he first saw your granddaughter this morning, however, he was immediately taken with her." He chuckled. "I find it most annoying that my cousin can find a lady to woo amongst your female relations, Madame Skye, while I am once more left languishing by the wayside." He sighed dramatically. "Unless, of course, you would like to put in a good word for me with Mistress Sybilla."

"You are too old for Sybilla," Skye said.

"Nonsense," he told her. "A spirited girl needs an older husband to keep her in check. I think her absolutely adorable with her golden curls and pouting mouth."

"She has set her heart upon the Earl of Glenkirk, although I know not the man," Skye warned him. "Why is it, Tom Ashburne, that you always seek the impossible when dealing with women? I think you do it deliberately. Disappointment gains you far more attention and keeps you a wicked bachelor, you naughty rogue!" She teasingly tweaked his elegantly barbered moustache.

The Earl of Kempe caught her hand and kissed it. His eyes looked deep into hers. "A lady of your years, dear Madame Skye, should really not be so damned attractive," he told her.

Skye laughed aloud. It was a joyous sound. "It is rare that I long for my youth, Tom Ashburne, but with you I almost do!"

"Only almost?" he said, sounding quite disappointed.

"Almost," she repeated. "If I were young again, you see, I should have to give up my darling Adam. I simply could not do that."

"He is the most fortunate man alive, I think," the Earl of Kempe said gallantly.

"Indeed he is," Skye agreed, and she laughed again.

He laughed with her, and when the humor had finally drained away, the earl said, "Are you satisfied that my cousin is an honorable man, madame? Your granddaughter could do no better, I vow."

"As much as I should like to see Jasmine married, happy and settled once more, she is simply not ready for it, I fear. I should like to take her to court, but first I will need to quell my son-in-law's outrage over her existence," Skye told Tom Ashburne. "Without BrocCairn's cooperation, it could be quite difficult for Jasmine."

"And Mistress Sybilla presents a problem also, I would imagine," the earl said wisely. "The lack of warmth between those two this morning at the high board, each separated by a brother, did not escape me."

"Sybilla has been spoiled by both her parents. She is not simply jealous of Jasmine. She is afraid as well. You do not know her, Tom. Sybilla is not a girl to turn the other cheek. She strikes back when she feels she is being attacked."

"A girl with spirit, as I have previously said," the Earl of Kempe remarked. " 'Tis just the sort of girl I like."

"Very well, my lord. Go and get your fingers burned once again," Skye told him. "Perhaps if the little witch has such a beautiful gentleman as yourself fawning over her, she will feel less hostile to her stepsister Jasmine. Do not say I did not warn you, Tom."

He laughed, but then quickly grew serious. "And do not say I did not warn you, dear madame. The court is not what it once was."

"I know," Skye told him. "Can it ever really be what it once was under Bess? Even I must admit to the truth. When Valentina was at court, it was a sad place. I do not imagine Scots James has enlivened it greatly. I am told he is a man with a dislike of ceremony."

"He is, madame, but his queen is not. She adores masques, and games, and beautiful clothing. If James will not partake in her frivolity, the rest of the court does. The king loves to hunt. That is his great passion. The queen loves to play, and she plays hard. The court has become a most licentious place. Our good queen Bess would be shocked and disapproving.

"I think both you and the Earl of BrocCairn will not be pleased. Mistress Sybilla is a virgin of gentle breeding. I do not believe the court is a good place for her to take up residence. You would be wise to beware. Mistress Jasmine, however, by virtue of her widowed state, has less to lose as long as her behavior is discreet."

"We are so isolated here in the country," Skye said. "My interest in the court died years ago, but now, with a new granddaughter to see to, I know not what else to do, Tom. As for Sybilla, her interest lies in one direction. She will adhere to a straight path and not deviate from her goal, I promise you.

"Gossip is slow to come to Queen's Malvern these days," she continued. "Eventually it does arrive, however, but how much distortion there is in it, I know not. I am told that the king was accompanied by a large group of his countrymen, many of whom are improvident."

"Aye," the Earl of Kempe told her. "And the king is quite a sentimental fellow. Do him the smallest kindness, and he wants to reward you with a munificence he can ill afford. Elizabeth's courtiers are very scornful of him, for poor King James is a fearful fellow. He is afraid of his own shadow, and hence not good with the people.

"To make matters worse, he dislikes the grandeur and magnificence that is necessary to the pageantry of court life. He can barely stay still while indoors, and is only happiest when out hunting. The Scots courtiers, of course, understand him far better than the English courtiers. They are kinder to him in their eagerness to advance themselves, while the English are aloof, believing themselves better than their northern counterparts. The king is not stupid. He knows the English for what they really are."

"Poor man," Skye said. "I do not envy him following in Bess's footsteps. Still, there he is, and so must we be, if but for a little while."