Intrigued (37 page)

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Authors: Bertrice Small

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General

BOOK: Intrigued
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The winter was mild and the new winery was being built. It was finished by spring, when the men went back into the vineyards to prune, to cultivate, and to tie the vines. News was slow to reach the Cher, but it did come eventually. Autumn was furious to learn that in order to gain use of the English navy, Cardinal Mazarin had publicly come out in support of Cromwell.”
“Will it ever end?” she demanded angrily of no one in particular. “How is King Charles to be restored if France will not support him? Charles Stuart is King Louis’s first cousin! Queen Henrietta Maria is Louis’s aunt! His mother is Spanish. Why are we fighting with Spain? I do not understand this at all.”
“God only knows,” Jasmine replied. “Politics grows more confusing each day. Here the cardinal and the queen want a marriage with Spain, yet they quarrel over territory. But Mazarin is running France. The king confirmed his authority years ago. Part of the problem, I believe, is that the Prince de Conde, the king’s old enemy, offered his services to Spain and is commanding their forces.”
“Marshal de Turenne will beat him when it comes to doing battle,” Autumn predicted. “Louis spoke of how clever a strategist de Turenne was, and that he trusted him implicitly.”
The summer came, and with it a surprising visit from the Duke of Lundy. Jasmine wept at the sight of her second son, hugging him happily. They had not seen Charlie Stuart since Autumn’s wedding day, almost six years earlier. He was leaner than they had ever known him to be, and he looked exhausted.
“What has happened to you?” Jasmine cried.
He grinned his old familiar grin and kissed her cheek. “ ’Tis life on the run, madame. That, and the fact that both my English and my French funds are now held back from me. The Kiras don’t dare to disobey, although they have when they could loaned me funds against my own wealth.” He turned to his sister. “I was sorry to learn of Sebastian’s death.” Then his eyes took in her belly, and he cocked an inquiring eyebrow. “Little sister?” he said.
“I was called to Chambord last October when the king came to hunt,” Autumn began, but she got no further.
“Ah,” her brother said, and then, “He knows?”
“Aye, and is happy,” Autumn replied. “The income from the dairies at both Chenonceaux and Chambord are the child’s, to be paid quarterly. The names are chosen and the surname is to be, by royal order, de la Bois. He will officially recognize the baby when it is born,” Autumn told her brother. “I seem to be following in Mama’s footsteps, except that she loved your father, while Louis and I are merely friends.”
“You are asking me to remain and be the baby’s godfather, aren’t you, Autumn?” Charlie said.
“Of course you will remain!” she replied. “I think Mama will agree that you need to be fed up, for you are woefully thin, Charlie. Where is King Charles now?”
“Here, there, wherever he can gain a welcome. There is a rumor that Cromwell isn’t well. His son, Richard, is a fool and will not be able to hold England. Though Mazarin has signed a treaty with England for aid, King Louis supports his cousin. It is thought that when Cromwell dies, which is certain to be sooner than later if our information is correct, General Monck will support the king’s return. It seems to be a matter of waiting now.” He kissed his sister’s cheek and patted her distended belly. “If you don’t mind, little sister, I should just as soon await my cousin’s restoration here, where I can eat regular meals and sleep in a dry bed, as wait with the king, who does not always have these advantages nowadays.” He looked very tired. Both Autumn and her mother realized he had been traveling for some days in order to get to them. “Will you have me, Autumn? I cannot go home to England, and Scotland is also closed to me.”
“Of course you can remain, Charlie!” Autumn told her elder brother. “My hospitality can hardly repay the happy days I had at Queen’s Malvern so long ago. What news of your home? Of your children?”
“The children are safe with Patrick. Sabrina and Frederick will be practically grown and my wee Willie half-grown. I have not seen them since I left Scotland. Queen’s Malvern stands empty. Becket writes me when he can get a letter out of England. It will need restoration, but I have the funds and will rebuild it when we can return.”
“You will have to if you want to find a wife,” Jasmine told her son frankly. “And you must remarry, Charlie.”
“I know,” he agreed, “but right now all I want to do is eat, Mama. I smell beef cooking, do I not?”
Autumn struggled to her feet. “Come, the
salle a manger
is this way, big brother.”
“Are you staying here?” Charlie asked his mother as he seated himself at the foot of the table.
“Aye,” Jasmine replied. “Autumn’s time is quite near now. I wanted to be with her. You must meet your niece, Madeline, after the meal. She is a delightful child who looks just like her papa.”
“How old is she?” Charlie inquired, helping himself to a large slab of beef from the silver platter the servant offered.
“She will be four at the end of September,” Autumn said. Then, “Keep monsieur le duc’s goblet and plate filled,” she instructed her servants. She turned to her mother. “We must get Monsieur Reynaud to come from Nantes, Mama. Charlie’s wardrobe leaves much to be desired, and I doubt, brother, what little you carry is any better.”
“It isn’t,” he admitted between bites of food.
“The king isn’t going to be restored this year, I will wager,” Autumn said. “So, brother, you will come to Chambord in October with us. Louis is a delightful host, as you will see, but you will need a decent wardrobe. Mama, could the Kiras in Nantes release some of Charlie’s funds for him?”
Jasmine shook her head. “I would not even ask,” she told her daughter. “The Kiras have served us faithfully for more years than I have on this earth. If Cromwell will not allow Charlie to draw on his English funds, and Mazarin, by virtue of his treaty with Cromwell, has stopped the flow of his French funds, we cannot attmept to circumvent these orders and endanger the Kiras. My funds are available, and I shall make note of every penny you spend, Charlie. When your funds are released to you once again you will repay me. Agreed?”
“Agreed, madame,” Charlie replied, raising his goblet to his mother in salute.
“It is so nice to have a man in the house again,” Autumn said happily. “I had not realized until now how important a man’s presence is.”
The summer deepened, and a month after Charlie’s arrival at his sister’s home, Autumn gave birth to a second daughter on the twenty-fifth of July. Marguerite Louise de la Bois was a plump, good-natured infant, with her father’s dark black curls and dark blue eyes that Autumn suspected would one day be the amber of her sire’s. There was a great deal of a to-do made over the king’s daughter, much to her older sister’s irritation.
“She isn’t half as interesting as you are,
ma petite chou,”
Charlie Stuart said, picking up his niece and walking off into the gardens with her to show her the empty bird’s nest he had found.
“I am a big girl,” Madeline said. “Baby Margot smells,
Oncle.”
She giggled. “I do not pee my nappies. I do not wear nappies anymore,” she announced triumphantly, pulling her skirts up to show him.
Charlie burst out laughing. “Madeline,” he advised her, “a lady does not show a gentleman her treasures unless he is her husband.” He pulled the little one’s skirts down and pointed. “Look,
ma petite,
here is the bird’s nest I told you about.”
Autumn could not resist nursing her new baby for a month. Then Margot, as the baby was quickly nicknamed, was given to her wet nurse, the wife of one of the vineyard workers who had weaned her own baby in preparation for her duties. Her name was Giselle, and having borne four sons she doted on this wee girl who was the king’s daughter. It was soon obvious that Giselle would not only wet nurse Margot but care for her as well. Marie, Madeline’s nursemaid, was happy not to have the extra work of a baby as her little mistress was very active now and required much supervision. The only free time Marie seemed to have was when her little mistress was with the priest, learning her letters, or sleeping.
The king surprised them on the fifth of October, arrriving with the Comte de Montroi to see his daughter. Seeing the Duke of Lund, he raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“May I introduce my brother, Charles Frederick Stuart, the Duke of Lundy, your majesty. He is known in the family as the not-so-royal Stuart. He is visiting with us and stood as Margot’s godfather, along with Guy Claude. I hope your majesty approves.”
The king held out his hand and Charlie quickly took it and kissed it. “You are most welcome in France, cousin,” Louis said, “for we are cousins by virtue of your paternity.”
“I am honored that your majesty would acknowledge it,” the duke said, and he bowed again. Their kinship was quite distant, he knew.
“You will join us at Chambord,” the king told Charlie. “Your mother and sister are coming in two days’ time, are you not,
ma bijou?”
“We are,” Autumn said, curtsying prettily to the king.
“You have given me a beautiful daughter,” the king told her.
“She looks like you, sire,” Autumn replied with a smile.
“Then Mademoiselle de la Bois should grow up to be quite a beauty. I shall choose a husband for her at the proper time, madame,” the king said. “Do you plan to raise her yourself?”
“Of course! It is not the custom of the women in my family to foster out their children to others. Where I go, my daughters will go. They shall grow up here at Chermont, sire.”
The king smiled approvingly. He took his daughter from the arms of Giselle and walked about the salon with the infant for a few moments. Margot, usually quite vocal, was silent in her father’s arms. Finally the king kissed the baby’s little head and handed her back to her nursemaid. “She has charm and knows how to listen,” he announced. “Those two qualities are most valuable in a woman.” Then he turned away from his daughter and said, “In two days’ time, madame.” He kissed Autumn’s hand and then Jasmine’s, bowing to Charlie before he departed.
When the king had gone the Duke of Lundy said to his sister, “You have done well, sister. Will you have more children by him, or do you plan to remarry?”
“I do not know if I will remarry, but I suppose I might one day if I can find love again. For I shall not, Charlie, wed for any other reason, just as you taught me. I loved Sebastian. His death still pains me greatly, but I have survived. As for giving the king more children, I believe that would be ill advised. He will marry soon and does not need a bevy of illegimate offspring annoying his queen who, if the rumor is correct, will be the Spanish Infanta. The Spanish are not as open-minded about royal bastards as are the French and the English.”
They went to Chambord to join the king and his party, and once again Autumn was placed in the bedchamber next to the king. More sure of herself this year, she greeted the gentlemen with charm and assurance. She was congratulated on the birth of her daughter and much admired by all for her sparkling personality, and wit. The king had not lost any of his desire for her.
“I cannot believe a year has passed since we last made love,” he told her as they lay abed. The fingers of one hand caressed her breasts, moving down her belly to tease at her Venus mont.
“You are as passionate as ever, Louis,” Autumn told him, and then, leaning over, she kissed his mouth.
“There has been no one since our last sweet idyll?” he said.
“Of course not!” she said indignantly.
“You were, of course, full with my daughter,” he remarked. “Will you give me another child, Autumn,
ma bijou?”
he asked.
“It will be as God wills, monseigneur,” she replied piously. The king, she knew, was very devout. It would hardly do to tell him that she would not give him any more bastards. She sighed softly.
“You are sad,
ma bijou.
Why?” he demanded.
“I imagine this will be our last idyll, Louis, as you must marry soon. I will admit to enjoying your company,” she told him, turning his thoughts from children to himself.
“It is unlikely I will bring my queen to Chambord,” he said. “A man must have a place for himself alone where he may play. I shall always look forward to having you join me when I come,
ma bijou.
I may not, however, be able to come every year.”
“And perhaps you will prefer another companion,” Autumn said wickedly. “I am told Mademoiselle Mancini is quite in your favor.”
“When I am in Paris,
oui,”
he admitted. “Are you jealous?”
“Perhaps,” she answered him, and thought,
God’s blood, I have become such a coquette. I am not in the least bit jealous. The king may be my lover, but I am not in love with him. Why should I care about Marie Mancini? God help me but I say these words to flatter him.
His fingers slipped between her nether lips and, finding her
bouton d’amour,
began to play with it. “You need not be jealous of the Mancini,
ma bijou,”
he murmured against her ear, his tongue teasing at the interior of it. “She is nowhere near as beautiful as you are, and her passions are not nearly as great as are yours.”

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