Skye was an excellent hostess and had always enjoyed entertaining. Tonight the festive meal consisted of fine salmon that had been brought by the Gordons of BrocCairn from Scotland. The creatures had been caught in nets and then transported
in barrels of icy springwater to England, where they met their end in the kitchens of Queen’s Malvern. They were served upon beds of fresh sharp cress that had traveled with them. The contrast between the thinly sliced pink flesh of the salmon and the bright green herb was a delight to the eye Tubs of freshly caught North Sea oysters; large, meaty prawns that had been poached in wine; steamed mussels, their shiny black shells half-opened; and tiny little coquilles in a dilled cream sauce made up the rest of the fish course.
There was a side of roasted beef dripping its juices; a large, sweet pink ham; a platter of tiny lamb chops; two roasted turkeys; six ducks which were served with a fruit sauce; a fine pheasant; and a platter of tiny ortolans which had been browned to perfection. There were bowls of new peas, tiny beets, and lettuce braised in white wine. Several silver salvers were piled high with freshly baked breads. There was a wheel of sharp cheddar and one of French brie. Wines from Archambault and home-brewed ale were equally popular.
Velvet de Marisco Gordon had been born shortly after midnight on the first day of May. It had been the custom of her family since her childhood to begin the celebration of her birth on the evening before, the festivities culminating with the gift-giving after the midnight hour. It somehow seemed a more festive occasion than usual this particular year, although none of the guests could say why.
The ladies were beautifully gowned. Skye wore a deep midnight-blue velvet. Willow was in an elegant rose-pink silk gown, while her sister Deirdre was garbed in a flattering shade of mauve and Velvet wore her favorite dark green velvet. Skye’s daughters-in-law were equally lovely. Joan always looked her best in sky-blue. Angel was radiant in aquamarine-blue; Valentina magnificent in lilac silk. Young Lady Sybilla, quite excited to be included in her mother’s party, was very pretty in apple-green.
The gentlemen were more sedate in black velvet suits with crisp white neck ruffs, including Alex Gordon’s heir, Sandy, and his next eldest brother, Adam Charles. Both were feeling very grown-up and worked hard at aping their elders’ manners lest they be sent from the table.
Skye looked about her and smiled, satisfied. The sweets had been brought, including a caramel crème brûlée, which was Velvet’s favorite dessert. Her family was well-fed and happy, trading confidences and gossip. Soon it would be midnight and
Velvet would sit in the place of honor at the high board and receive her gifts. Skye had already announced that the gift she and Adam planned to give their daughter would be the last gift she received.
“ ’Tis midnight,” Adam finally announced as the tall clock in the Great Hall began to strike. He stood up and, raising his goblet, said, “Happy Birthday, Velvet! May this birthday be the best one you have ever had, and may you remember it always!”
The other guests raised their goblets, calling out, “Happy Birthday, Velvet! Long life! Happiness!”
Velvet beamed appreciatively, and then her green eyes grew as wide as a child’s as her gifts were placed before her all at once, appearing magically from beneath the tables where her relatives had hidden them. There were perfumed leather gloves lined in sheer silk and embroidered with small gemstones, several small pieces of jewelry, a particularly beautiful set of paste buttons fashioned like flowers that rivaled real jewels, a charming loupe mask of black silk embroidered with floral sprigs in gold and silver threads, a handsome wide comb decorated with pearls around its arch, and finally a set of two silk handkerchiefs that had been monogrammed by Sibby in dainty stitches.
Velvet ohhed and ahhed appreciatively as each gift was opened and admired. When there was nothing left, she looked up and said to her mother, “Now Mama, what is this surprise that you and Papa have for me?”
Skye and Adam chuckled simultaneously, and then Lady de Marisco signaled to her servants, giving her husband a very arch look as she did so, her daughter Willow thought.
The doors to the Great Hall opened and several footmen guided in a square platform that had been set on wheels. Above the base of the contraption was a railing from which brass rings holding a blue velvet curtain hung. The curtain enclosed and hid from view the mysterious contents of the platform.
“Well, Mama, this is most curious!” Willow declared. What on earth was the curtain hiding? Her mother had certainly never given
her
anything like this as a gift, and why choose her youngest sibling’s thirty-third birthday? What was so special about this birthday?
The platform was carefully wheeled into the center of the U-shaped table and brought to a halt directly before Velvet.
With a great sense of drama, Skye and Adam came to stand on either side of it, even as everyone crowded about around Velvet so they might also see what was hidden. Slowly, slowly, the de Mariscos drew back the heavy curtain revealing to view what appeared to be a living tableau.
In the foreground of the platform stood a beautiful young woman dressed in the absolute height of fashion. Her gown was of scarlet silk with an undergown of cloth-of-gold embroidered with tiny pearls and sparkling diamante. The neckline of the dress was low and square. The sleeves were designed with small slashes through which showed little cloth-of-gold puffs of material. Cuffs of gold lace accented the wearer’s delicate wrists. The lady’s black hair was parted in the center and twisted into an elegant chignon. She wore red roses in her hair, and the ruby necklace about her neck was obviously worth a king’s ransom, as were the rubies cascading from her ears.
She was accompanied by three companions. A gentleman of mid-height wore exotic garb that consisted of narrow white pants, a white coat embroidered lightly in gold thread and pearls that came to just below his knees, and a small white turban upon his head. The other two people upon the platform were obviously twin sisters, who wore even more exotic garb fashioned of green and gold silks, part of which covered their dark hair.
The audience ohhed.
Velvet stared hard. There was something familiar about these people. She had seen them before. She knew them.
Adali! Rohana! Toramalli!
The names came suddenly into her head. Her heart began to pound violently. She gripped the edge of the table, white-knuckled.
She looked again, this time directly at the beautiful girl. Incredible and very unusual turquoise-blue eyes stared calmly back at her. There was something in their expression that tugged at her memory, but she could not quite place it. She carefully searched the girl’s face for something familiar, something she could recognize and identify. The room was deathly silent, the frank curiosity of the other guests hanging heavily in the air.
It was then that Velvet saw the small beauty mark on the girl’s face. A tiny dark mole just below her left nostril and just above her upper lip. No. It could not be.
It simply could not be!
She gasped with shock as memories began to flood her
very being. It was then the girl smiled tremulously and said, “Happy Birthday, Mama.” With a shriek of dismay, Velvet de Marisco fainted.
Instantly the hall was in an uproar, but Skye and Adam quickly took charge. The Earl of BrocCairn was directed to carry his unconscious wife to a settle near the fireplace. Captain Murrough O’Flaherty was directed to escort the girl on the platform and her companions off their stage. The rest of the guests were told to be silent, and then Skye began to force wine between her youngest daughter’s lips. Velvet moaned and opened her eyes.
“Ohhhh,” she groaned. Seeing her mother’s angry face, she closed her eyes again.
“Open your eyes, Velvet Gabrielle-Marie de Marisco,” Skye snapped. “Open your eyes this instant!
You promised me!
You promised me that you would tell Alex, and you have not, have you?
You have not!
”
Velvet’s green eyes fluttered open once more. Her mother was glaring furiously at her. She could not remember ever having seen Skye so angry. Alex, her darling Alex, was looking dismayed and confused. “I … I could not!” she finally managed to say to her mother.
“Sit up!” snapped Skye. “What do you mean, you could not?”
Velvet struggled into a seated position. She was very pale, and her face was already streaked with tears. For a brief moment she looked far younger than her thirty-three years. From beneath her wet lashes she glanced quickly at Jasmine and then as quickly away again. “Do you not remember, Mama?” she said softly. “Do you not remember that I said I should never tell Alex lest he reproach me with the knowledge?”
For a moment Skye looked confused. Was she getting old enough to have forgotten such a thing? “I thought that the pain being fresh and new was what made you declare such a thing,” she told her daughter. “I thought that there would come a time when you could trust Alex and enlighten him fully.”
“There was never such a time,” Velvet said bleakly, her voice low. “He is a Scot and would not understand.”
“In fifteen years there was never a time when you might have told your husband about your firstborn child?” Skye demanded, unbelieving.
“Ohhhh!” Willow and Deirdre gasped simultaneously, their eyes wide, their expressions unabashedly shocked.
“
What?
” the Earl of BrocCairn demanded, his face darkening with outrage. “What is this that your mother has said?
This girl is your child?
How, madame, can that be? And just when did you cuckold me, Velvet?” He looked angrier than any of his relations could ever remember having seen him.
“Tell him, Velvet,” Skye said implacably. “Tell him this instant or I shall tell him. I am astounded by your behavior and cannot imagine what Jasmine must think of you.
Tell him!
”
“Aye, madame, tell me,” the Earl of BrocCairn said menacingly.
Velvet looked nervously from her mother to her husband to Jasmine and then back to Alex. What was the use? The cat was certainly out of the bag now. There was no help for it. “Yasaman is my daughter,” she told Alex Gordon. “Her father is the Grand Mughal, Akbar.”
“How can this possibly be?” he demanded furiously.
Suddenly Velvet was angry herself. The memory of being forcibly separated from her daughter rose up, threatening to overwhelm her. All those years and so much between them lost. She had never seen this child take her first step or utter her first intelligent word. She had not kissed away bruises or helped her with her lessons. How dare he stand over her judging her, condemning her? She looked at Jasmine again. My God! she thought. By some miracle I do not even know yet, my daughter has been restored to me.
Standing up, Velvet said to her husband, “She was begat in the usual manner, my lord, but I was forced to leave her behind in India when I was sent home to you fifteen years ago. I never believed I would see my daughter again, Alex, but this is she. I have not a doubt. She carries her father’s mark between her left nostril and her upper lip.” Then she turned away from him and, opening her arms, said, “Come to me, Yasaman Kama Begum! You are the best birthday gift I have ever received! I long to embrace you as I have never before been able to do.” Tears of happiness slipped down her face.
With a small cry of joy, Jasmine flew into her mother’s arms. “Oh, Mama!” she said. “Ohh, Mama!” and she, too, wept.
Velvet hugged her daughter, covering her beautiful face with maternal kisses. “Oh, my darling,” she told Jasmine, “you are more beautiful than I could have ever imagined! Why are you here? I believed you married and settled. What of your father?”
About them the family milled, stunned and questioning. It was obvious that they needed answers. “Wait,” said Skye, and they all turned to her. “This story is too long to be told more than once. Gather around, my darlings, and together Velvet and my forty-sixth grandchild will tell you the story.”
“So that is what you meant last Christmas when you said you and Papa had forty-six grandchildren,” Willow said with a small laugh. “Have you known about her all along, Mama? Oh, of course you have! There is nothing in this family you do not concern yourself with, is there?”
“Sandy! Adam Charles! Sybilla!” the Earl of BrocCairn barked. “You will leave the hall immediately.”
“Nay!” their grandmother sternly countermanded his order. “You will all please stay.” She turned to her son-in-law. “This is a shock, Alex, I know. Jasmine, however, is a reality. Your children are her siblings. They should know her story from her own lips and from Velvet’s, not from some vicious backstairs gossip.” She put a gentle hand on his arm. “
Please.
”
“Very well,” he agreed, unable to refute her reasoning. Although Sybilla looked clearly shocked by this turn of events and was obviously near to tears, Alexander Gordon had to admit that his sons looked absolutely fascinated by all that was transpiring. “You may stay,” he told them tersely.
Chairs were brought from about the hall and drawn up around the fireplace. The ladies all sat, the gentlemen stood by their sides. The two Gordon boys settled themselves upon the floor, using their aunts’ silk-covered legs as a back prop. All eyes were turned to Skye, Velvet, and the beautiful young woman,
“This,” Skye began formally, “is Velvet’s firstborn child. In her native India she is known as Yasaman Kama Begum. She is an Imperial Mughal princess. Here in England she prefers that she be known by the English translation of her name, which is Jasmine. She has taken her grandfather’s surname for her own as well. Her companions are her high steward, Adali; and her maidservants, Rohana and Toramalli. They also served Velvet during her time in India. I believe, however, that Velvet will want to begin the tale.”
“You all remember that shortly after Alex and I were wed, he fought a foolish duel over the long-lost honor of a strumpet,” Velvet began, and she glared at her husband. Alex, not in the least intimidated, glared back. Jasmine, however, was fascinated to have this new piece of information to add to Mama
Begum’s tale of Candra. “Padraic, who was there, heard someone cry out that Lord Gordon was dead. Looking, he could see Alex sprawled upon the green. He rushed to tell me of this disaster before some stranger could.” She turned to look at her brother, Padraic Burke, who flushed with the memory of his heedless youth.