Wild Jasmine (76 page)

Her eyes grew round. “Nay, I have not,” she admitted. “Is it true that your knees will be bare, my lord?”

“
Very bare
,” he teased her with a smile. “Does it excite you, madame, the thought of my bare knees?”

“Are your knees attractive, my lord, or are they knobby?” she teased him back. “I like a man with shapely knees.”

“You shall judge for yourself, madame,” he told her with a laugh. “Now you must tell me what your costume will be, for I have confided mine.”

Frances Howard stood on tiptoes, but even so the Earl of Glenkirk had to bend down so she might whisper in his ear. “I shall be coming as Venus, the ancient Roman goddess of love. My lord Rochester is to be Adonis. What think you of that?”

“Will your husband come as Vulcan, then?” Glenkirk asked her, deadpan. “And perhaps the king will be Jupiter himself.”

Lady Essex burst out laughing. “Lord bless me, my lord, you are most droll. I have no idea what Essex intends to wear, but I will wager that I could get him to come as Vulcan. I know I can! What a deliciously amusing idea! Shall I do it?”

“Would it be kind?” James Leslie asked her, now regretting that he had even suggested such a thing. This was a cruel court, and he found he sometimes fell into its unkind spirit without meaning to do so. Young Lord Essex had enough of a cross to bear with Frances Howard for his wife. She was neither dedicated to her task nor even particularly domesticated. She made a poor spouse, Glenkirk thought, though she was amusing. The rumor was that poor Essex had not even consummated the union, for his wife resisted all efforts on his part, disliking him so.

“I do not care if it is kind or not, Glenkirk, it is most clever, and I shall be admired greatly if I can pull it off. Essex will certainly look the fool, and so much the better,” Frances concluded.

“Why do you hate your husband so?” he asked her, curious.

“I did not want to marry him, but my father thought the match an advantageous one for the Howards. I told Robert Devereaux quite plainly how I felt, but he agreed with my father because he thought the marriage a good one for his family too. They said that I was a silly chit of a girl and must do as I was bid. I was literally forced to the altar. Why, my father beat me twice before the wedding day for my refusals, but I’ve had my way despite them both.”

“You are a formidable opponent, Frances Howard,” Lord Leslie said.

“I am,” she agreed calmly. “Now tell me, what think you of my costume? Is it original? Will I be admired?”

“Aye, it is, and you will be, madame,” the Earl of Glenkirk told her.

Jasmine returned to Greenwood the day before her uncle Robin’s annual fete. “I cannot, my lord, keep my costume secret,” she told Henry Stuart, “unless I am in my own house.”

Reluctantly, he allowed her to go.

Secretly, Jasmine was delighted to be back at Greenwood again. St. James Palace and Whitehall were overrun with courtiers and petitioners, and rife with intrigue, deception, and all other ills afflicting a royal court. Her every move was watched. Her every word was analyzed for deeper meaning. It was a constant strain that she did not enjoy, but bore for the sake of the young prince who loved her so passionately.

But even Jasmine’s family could not help but discuss her status as they sat together at dinner that evening.

“Well, my dear, you have certainly surprised us all,” her aunt Willow said sharply. “I would not have thought you capable of such a thing, and yet you have conducted yourself with dignity. I cannot, however, help but wonder what Mama must think of you now.”

“My grandmother worries about my future,” Jasmine replied.

“Do you mean she approves of your conduct, my child?” Willow demanded, looking slightly scandalized, yet at the same time thoughtful.

“Grandmother has known great love in her time. She well understands my position in this matter, Aunt,” Jasmine responded softly.

“Hummmph,” the Countess of Alcester snorted, retiring defeated. “Well, my child, I hope you will get
something
out of it. A manor, or a town house perhaps,” she said. “Something. You’ve gems enough, I vow!”

“Jasmine is to play a major role in tomorrow evening’s masque,” Velvet said proudly. “Sybilla also has a part. She will be the nymph of the river Wye; and Robin’s youngest daughter, along with my little Neddie, will join Prince Charles as mischievous wood sprites, Willow. ’Twill be a most beautiful and exciting masque, I believe.”

“I miss the old days,” Willow admitted. “We had such a fine time dancing at Queen Elizabeth’s court. ’Twas better than these silly and most expensive masques. Why, the king is constantly in debt, with all the queen’s expenditures. The treasury is not bottomless, you know, Velvet. Next they’ll be taxing our trading houses even more than they do now to pay for all this nonsense.”

“The king is generous,” Jasmine said.

“With other people’s money!” snapped her aunt. “Where will it end? I ask you. I must say I am grateful that all my
daughters are married to country gentlemen. ’Tis better to stay clear of a court where rampant spending is the order of the day, and a woman’s virtue may be so easily compromised,” Willow concluded emphatically.

“My daughter’s virtue was hardly
easily
compromised,” Velvet told her sister testily. “To have refused Prince Henry would have caused a far greater scandal than to accept his suit. But then, dear Willow, as you have spent most of your life down in the country, you could hardly be expected to comprehend the etiquette of the Stuart court, could you?”

Sybilla kicked her stepsister beneath the table, her eyes twinkling with merriment as their mother and their aunt battled back and forth. Their aunt Willow very much disliked being considered ignorant on any subject.

“I would be mortified if
any
daughter of mine comported herself in the fashion that Jasmine has,” Willow declared.

“And, indeed, Aunt, you would have every right to your distress,” Jasmine agreed, “for your daughters are all married to living husbands. I have not that good fortune, however, and as the prince is unmarried as well, we harm no one with our love affair, do we?”

“What happens when Prince Henry marries?” demanded Willow, ever sensible. “What will become of you then?”

“Of course the prince will marry eventually. He must for the good of the realm. I will leave court when that time comes. I have told Hal that. His wife must not be embarrassed by my presence. ’Twill be no hardship, I assure you. I have no great love for court life. Indeed, I miss my children and the country.”

“God’s foot!” Willow swore. “You are Mama all over again. I can remember how maddening it was to try and deal with her when I was a girl. You think as she thought, God help us all!”

Those gathered about the high board laughed heartily, and Willow’s brother, Robin, sympathized mockingly with her. “Aye, poor Willow! She has forever been unable to force Mama to behave like a dull goodwife. It has been your cross, big sister, has it not? And now to have a niece who is equally difficult. Ahhhh!”

“Laugh if you will, Robert Southwood,” Willow said, “but no good will come of Jasmine’s behavior with Prince Henry. She but draws attention to the family. Our security has always been in being unknown.”

“I am the king’s blood relation,” the Earl of BrocCairn said.
“It is impossible for us to be unknown in this court, Willow. I am sorry if it discommodes you, but there it is. I seem to spend at least half my year in England now, though I would have it otherwise.”

The talk now moved on to costumes for the Earl of Lyn mouth’s fete on the following evening.

“I hear the costume you are to wear in the masque is quite scandalous, Jasmine,” her aunt said. “Is it so?”

“I fear you will be quite shocked, Aunt,” Jasmine admitted. “But of course in India we wore fewer garments, and the body was not considered shameful. It should comfort you, however, to know that I shall change into another costume following my participation in the masque. The prince shall dress as the Sun itself, and I shall be the Moon.”

“Ohh,” Lady Southwood cried. “Our minds have been attuned, I think, dear Jasmine. Your uncle Robin is to come as the Evening Star, and I, the Morning Star. Our costumes will be mostly blue.”

“The prince will be in cloth-of-gold,” Jasmine said, “and I will be gowned in cloth-of-silver, Aunt Angel.” She turned to Willow. “And you, Aunt, how will you be garbed for Uncle Robin’s gala?”

“I will come as the ancient goddess of home and hearth,” Willow replied tartly.

“How perfectly appropriate,” murmured Lord Southwood, and he looked to his brother-in-law, James Edwardes. “And you, James? What clever idea has struck you, and does Willow approve?”

“I approve of everything James does,” Willow snapped at Robin. “He is, and always has been, the most sensible of men.” She beamed quite lovingly at her patient spouse, for Willow loved her husband dearly.

“I have found some old robes in our estate church,” the Earl of Alcester replied. “How long they had been there, I have no idea. Probably since the time of old King Henry. Willow most kindly restored them, and I shall come as a monk.”

The other gentlemen at the table, unable to help themselves, burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter. James Edwardes’s mild blue eyes twinkled, and even the ladies tittered.

Willow, feeling sore-pressed by her relations tonight, glared at them all and said, “If any of you says one word!”

Her family, however, was too overcome by amusement to utter a single syllable.

Chapter 20

T
he Earl of Lynmouth’s Twelfth Night gala was to be the largest he had ever held. The weather being unusually mild for January, lanterns were strung among the trees in the gardens of Lynmouth House, which bordered the river Thames. Bonfires were to be set in select areas of the gardens and kept burning all the night long. At midnight the guests would stream out from the house to view a magnificent display of fireworks that were set off from a large barge in mid-river. No one had ever done such a thing before, and many who must entertain the king in future were certain to be overcome with envy at the handsome Earl of Lynmouth’s cleverness.

The great ballroom had a stage constructed at one end. Inigo Jones had come himself to oversee the placement and building of the temporary structure. The Earl of Lynmouth, however, had borne the expense of it all. Although he would have never admitted it to his sister Willow, he was beginning himself to consider the great expense of this court and whether it was worth it. The brief magnificence of a masque was wonderful to look upon, but the values it instilled were not those values that Robert Southwood wished to pass on to his children, or grandchildren. His three eldest daughters from his first marriage were safely married; but the children his beautiful second wife, Angel, had borne him ranged in age from his heir, Geoffrey, who was twenty-one, to his youngest daughter, Laura, who was just eleven.

Laura Southwood, who was her father’s pet, had been rehearsing her role for days with her cousin, Neddie Gordon, and little Prince Charles, both of whom were ten. He had never seen her more excited over anything than she was over this masque. Lady Laura Southwood, for all her father’s worries, loved the Stuart court.

The family gathered at Lynmouth House in mid-afternoon in advance of the guests. A single room had been set aside for the costumes. There were tables set up by the various tiring women, and valets for their mistresses and masters; and beautiful
decorative screens behind which they would don their costumes. There were several large mirrors set in carved, gilded frames, so that the masque’s participants could view themselves prior to their performance. They would not appear before then.

A light meal was served, and then the family scattered, each to bedchambers assigned to them. Jasmine had eaten lightly. She had not felt particularly well these past few days. Her mother asked the obvious question as they sat together before a cozy fire.

“Are you with child, Jasmine?” The Countess of BrocCairn looked genuinely concerned, for no matter what her husband said, it was disturbing to her that Jasmine should give birth to a royal bastard.

“I am not certain yet, Mama,” Jasmine replied serenely.

“How long since your last moon cycle?” her mother asked.

“Five weeks,” Jasmine answered. “It is not enough yet for me to be sure. Please say nothing, Mama. I should feel quite the fool if it were not so, and Hal would be disappointed.”

“But you are sure, aren’t you?” Velvet probed.

Jasmine’s turquoise-blue eyes met her mother’s distressed green ones. How sweet she is, Jasmine thought, feeling almost protective of Velvet de Marisco Gordon. She is more of a sister to me than a mother, Jasmine considered, and then she nodded. “Aye, I am sure, Mama. I am sorry that it distresses you, for I am happy with the knowledge. It is what the prince desires most of all.”

“But the baby will be a bastard!” Velvet fretted.

“
A royal bastard, Mama
. ’Tis quite a different thing. Was not Lord Gordon’s father a royal bastard? The Gordons of BrocCairn do not seem to have suffered from the stigma of bastardy.”