Intrigued. Bertrice Small
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“and I bid you good day.”
“Good day, my lord,” Jasmine replied. “My felicitations to your exemplary lady wife.” Then Jasmine turned and departed the Great Hall of Cadby.
The Earl of Welk turned to the Marquis of Westleigh. “Your mother is a formidable woman, my lord.”
Henry restrained a smile. “She is, sir,” he replied with the utmost seriousness.
“You will contact me?”
“Should I receive any communication from my brother, sir, of course,” the marquis responded immediately. Not that he meant to keep such a promise, but he must appear to be sympathetic and cooperative. His own family had to be considered, but he would never betray any of his siblings. His mother was correct in her estimation of John Lightbody, Earl of Welk. He had neither the power nor the wealth, nor powerful friends who would pursue the issue for him. Still, Henry Lindley considered, there was no use making enemies. With charm and a smile, he bid the Earl of Welk a good day, watching as Lightbody left his home.
“You are clever,” his sister Autumn said, arising from her chair by the fire, where she had been seated the entire time. “Mama is clever in a haughty way, as her royal heritage dictates, but you, Henry, are clever in a different way. I will wager that Bess’s father actually believes that you will contact him if Charlie should send a message to you. He left you in a far calmer state than our mother left him,” she concluded with a chuckle.
Henry smiled a slow smile. “There is no sense making enemies one does not need,” he said. “Now Welk will return to his wife with a reasonable explanation for his failure to obtain custody of Charlie’s children. The man is a fool to believe our brother would relinquish his offspring to them under any circumstances.” He shrugged. “Where is Mama now?”
“Back in her house, overseeing the repacking of her trunks. She will leave some of her possessions there, I believe, as it is now her home in England. Tell me about Belle Fleurs, Henry. You were there once, I know. Is it big? Is it pretty?” Autumn asked her eldest brother.
“Aye, we were there as children,” he said, “when Mama was attempting to avoid marrying your father because she was annoyed that King James and his wife had ordered it. She had no idea how deeply he loved her and hid us all there until one day he found us.” The Marquis of Westleigh smiled with his memories. “I was close to seven then, and India eight, Fortune five, and Charlie still in nappies. It was long ago, and yet it seems like yesterday,” he chuckled. “What fun we had there! Mama allowed us to run wild, which we did. We almost forgot our native tongue. Then our great-grandmother came, with news that our great-grandfather had died; and close on her heels was your father, whom we quickly began to call Papa, because the truth was, we all wanted a father most desperately.
“Belle Fleurs is small and exquisite. I remember it had wonderful gardens. It is near Archambault, which as you know is the home of our French relations. I do not think Mama’s been back to Belle Fleurs in over thirty years. I know, however, she has always kept staff on to see the place was kept up. I believe India and her family went there one summer, and Charlie took Bess there for their honeymoon. Still, it has been years since the family went to Belle Fleurs for any extended stay. I imagine it will now be your home, Autumn.”
“I will return to England and Scotland when the king is restored,” Autumn said.
“You might wed a Frenchman,” her brother told her “and besides, no matter what Charlie and Mama say, it will take much skill and not just a few years to remove Master Cromwell from his place and restore Charles II to his throne.”
“But the majority of the people hate pocky Cromwell and his minions!” Autumn said.
“The people, dear little sister, have no real power, whatever the politicians may say. The people do what they are convinced to believe is the right thing to do. Power, Autumn, is the headiest aphrodisiac of all. Few can resist its lure. In times past it was the king’s own council who held the greatest power. Today it is the Parliament. England has not had quite its cropful of Master Cromwell and his adherents quite yet. Go to France, dearest sister, and make a new life for yourself. What a wonderful adventure you have ahead of you, Autumn! Do not be afraid of it.”
“But what will become of you, Henry, and the others?” Autumn wondered aloud, with regard to her siblings and their families.
“In Ulster our brothers have married and continue to do what they can to protect their people from Cromwell’s men, although they do little damage in the north. Fortune, Kieran, and their family are safe in Mary’s Land. Charlie has gone to join the king. Patrick will not, I am certain, but rather draw in his Glenkirk people for their own safety’s sake. India and Oxton, like me, will remain on our estates, attempting to remain neutral but doing whatever we must to protect our lands and families. We aren’t important families and with luck will survive this storm intact. And you, darling girl, will go with Mama to France to find your true love, and your fortune.”
Suddenly Autumn was weeping against her brother’s black velvet doublet. “I l-liked it better in the old days, when we were all together and no one was fighting or afraid,” she sobbed.
Henry Lindley, Marquis of Westleigh, sighed softly and stroked his sister’s mahogany-colored hair. “So did I, Autumn,” he said sadly, “so did I.”
Chapter 3
Sir Simon Bates rode alone as his horse traveled up the gravel driveway that lead to Cadby. Several days after the unfortunate incident that had resulted in the death of the Duchess of Lundy, he had returned to Queen’s Malvern to see if Autumn was all right. The beautiful young woman had touched him, and he was still amazed that she had had the courage to shoot the trooper who had killed Lady Stuart. Queen’s Malvern, however, was bereft of its family. Only the servants remained, and the duke’s beautiful horses, grazing in their pastures.
“Lady Autumn has gone to join her mother, the Duchess of Glenkirk,” Becket informed Sir Simon in his plummiest tones. He moved to close the house’s door.
Sir Simon Bates jammed his booted foot into the opening and said, “And just where is that?”
“I am not certain, sir,” Becket replied.
“Surely you know. You must know! And where is your master, and his children?” Simon Bates could feel his anger rising at being bested by this servant. He was the government’s representative.
“The Duchess of Glenkirk may be with her oldest son, the Marquis of Westleigh, or with her oldest daughter, the Countess of Oxton. All the household was informed was that young Lady Autumn would be joining her mother. As for my master and his children, I have no idea where they have gone. The duke wished it that way, as he felt your attack on his home last week, and the murder of her grace, was because of his connection with the king and his family. Now, sir, if you will remove your boot from the door . . .” Becket finished, looking directly into Sir Simon’s fathomless dark eyes.
“Which is closer?” Sir Simon persisted, “Cadby or Oxton?”
“They are equidistant from Queen’s Malvern, sir,” Becket said.
Sir Simon Bates removed his foot from the door and found it immediately slammed shut in his face. The insult passed unnoticed, for his mind was considering where he might find Autumn Leslie. He cared nothing for where the duke and his offspring had fled. That was the business of the government, and as far as he knew Charles Frederick Stuart was not wanted for any crime against the state. His wife’s murder had been an unfortunate accident. Mounting his horse, he considered, and decided that the girl would have gone to her brother for protection, and not her brother-in-law. He turned his horse toward Warwickshire.
Now he could see, as he arrived several days later, that Cadby was every bit as impressive as Queen’s Malvern. It was madness that had brought him here. He had no right to be chasing after this girl, he knew. He was hardly the social equal of Autumn Leslie, but one look and he had been bewitched by her. He had to know she was well, and could one day be happy again.
Again