This Heart of Mine (69 page)

“Make sure that she knows I did not want to leave her,” Velvet whispered weakly. “Make sure that she knows that I love her.”

“I will not let her forget you,” he promised.

“Uncle!” Velvet called out.

Michael O’Malley hurried to his niece’s side. “What is it, my child?”

“Give me the miniature that you carry of me. I am certain you have one that you planned to show my lord Akbar.”

“I do,” he said, reaching into his robes where it had been all these weeks. Drawing it out, he handed it to her.

“Give it to my daughter when she is old enough,” Velvet said to the eunuch, and then she fell back against the pillows.

Adali nodded his head, his eyes filled with tears. Kneeling, he kissed her hand, and then rising once more he hurried from the cabin, not even daring to turn as he said, “Farewell, my princess,” lest she see the tears upon his cheeks.

Velvet was exhausted and worn. Her will to live had been badly sapped. For the next three months she slept constantly, only rousing for Pansy, who spoon-fed her mistress soup made from chickens that had been brought aboard and were kept caged on deck. It was only in the fourth month of her journey that Velvet began to rouse from her torpor.

They sailed in a convoy of six ships, for the de Mariscos would take no chances in bringing their child home safely. They had stopped in Zanzibar to take on fresh water, more chickens, fruit, and vegetables; and later when they had rounded the horn of Africa, they stopped several times to trade for these items with the natives, most of whom were wary when they saw the ships, fearing slavers. Halfway up the African coast, Murrough put well out to sea, for although he and his fleet could outgun any Barbary pirates rash enough to attack them, he preferred to avoid such danger with his sister in such a weakened condition of both body and mind.

Velvet, however, improved daily, for her basic will was to survive. Her body responded to Pansy’s tender nursing and her uncle’s and brother’s concern, even if her conscious mind did not.

Pansy, although she attempted restraint before her mistress, was totally overjoyed to be going home. Velvet overheard her
thing woman one day as she sat upon the deck, little Dugie in her lap.

“You’re going to meet your father soon, Dugie. You’ll like him, for he’s a wonderful man. Did I tell you that you look just like him? And you’ll see your grandmam and your grandpa, too, my lamb. Oh, you’ll like England, me darlin’!”

Dugie stared up at his mother, bright-eyed, taking in every word she said. At first he’d been afraid of the sailors who looked so very different from the emperor’s soldiers who had courted his mother and played with him in an effort to please her. He was, however, unable to resist the ship’s elderly sailmaker who sat cross-legged sewing upon the deck almost every day. The sailmaker, a man without chick or child, was flattered and happily demonstrated his craft to the tiny boy, watching over him when Pansy was serving her mistress. Gradually the child began to win over other sailors on the vessel, many of whom rarely saw their own children, if in fact they even acknowledged them. Dugie, to his delight, found himself being petted and spoiled quite royally.

“He’s going to be impossible when I get him home,” Pansy said indulgently.

Tonight they would anchor in the London pool, and Velvet would see her parents for the first time in five years, and her husband for the first time in two and a half years. Alexander Gordon.
“Alex,”
she whispered his name into the wind. What kind of chance for happiness did she have with him now? Perhaps he would want their marriage annulled, and that, thought Velvet, would suit her quite well. She would go back to Akbar. She had, after all, been unfaithful to Alex even if she hadn’t known it. She couldn’t believe Uncle Michael when he said that Alex wanted her back. Her parents wanted her back, but Alex? She did not think so, proud bastard that he was.

Did she want to be his wife? No! Yes! At this point she simply didn’t know. How could she love again the man who had ignored her pleadings and fought a duel over nothing? His alleged death had caused her to flee, had brought her to Akbar, had given her Yasaman, and now his resurrection had stolen her happiness and taken her child from her. It was all his fault, and she was not certain that she would or could ever forgive him.

“You look so serious, little sister.” Murrough was by her side, throwing an arm about her.

“I am afraid of the future,” she said truthfully.

“Come, poppet,” he said in an attempt to cheer her up,
“Mother and Adam are anxiously awaiting your arrival at Greenwood. Be happy! You are finally home.”

“And Alex? Will he be anxiously awaiting me, Murrough?”

“Mother sent Alex home to Scotland before I left. She said she would send for him when you returned. Since she couldn’t know exactly when we would arrive, I do not believe she has yet dispatched a messenger to Scotland.”

“Good! I am not ready yet to see him.”

“Velvet …”

“He is as much to blame for this situation as I am, Murrough. Had he not involved himself in a duel with Lord de Boult, none of this would have happened. I have lost far more than my husband in this matter.”

“He’s a proud man, Velvet. Be generous,” Murrough counseled.

“Why?” she demanded. “Should we both not be generous and forgiving of
each other?”

God’s boots, he thought, how she has changed. I wonder how wise we have been in bringing her back. “Sometimes,” he said aloud, “a woman must show a man the path, sister. Remember that in your dealings with Alexander Gordon.”

“What is today’s date?” she asked him.

“It is the ninth of August,” he replied.

“Today is my daughter’s first birthday,” she said, and then, turning, she left him to return to her cabin.

He felt as if she had hit him. The timbre of her voice had been calm, almost matter-of-fact, but how he had felt the raw pain in it. A loving father himself, Murrough O’Flaherty could not help but wonder about his sister’s child, the infant princess she had been forced to leave behind. She had not talked of her daughter until now, and frankly he had not been brave enough to ask her. He had spoken to Pansy, who had told him of his little niece’s early beauty, of her rare turquoise eyes.

“I ain’t never seen a baby so pretty,” Pansy had allowed, and then she had said, “It weren’t right making m’lady leave her baby behind, but the bishop feared that Lord Gordon would not accept the lass, and the lord Akbar wouldn’t let his daughter go anyhow. He said ’twas all he had left of his love for m’lady. They said in the zenana that they never saw him so taken with a woman as he was with Mistress Velvet.” Then Pansy, as if remembering her place, had stopped speaking for a moment before saying, “I shouldn’t talk so much. You’re not going to tell on me, Captain O’Flaherty, are you?”

“No, Pansy, I’ll not tell on you if you’ll not tell Velvet that I was asking.”

Murrough shook his head. It was a tragic situation. All he could hope was that Alex and Velvet would make their peace and that Velvet would have another child as quickly as possible. She would never forget the child in India, but perhaps in time with other children around her the memory would fade and her lost daughter would seem like a child stillborn. Remembered, but not known.

He gave orders that a boat was to be lowered over the side of the
Sea Hawk.
With luck the family barge would be awaiting them when they docked. For once his plans were executed like clockwork, and the barge was indeed at the appointed place. Velvet, Pansy, Dugie, Michael, and Murrough boarded it, and it began its trip up the river to Greenwood. It was already dark, and the night was cool. Velvet drew her cloak about her.

When she had been well enough to care, she’d learned that some of her clothes had been packed by Daisy and sent with Murrough to India. Although there were several pretty gowns among her things, she had chosen that morning to wear a black silk dress with a low neckline and plain sleeves with simple white lace cuffs. There was something spare, almost severe about the gown. The matching cloak was lined in white silk.

The barge bumped the Greenwood landing and was made fast. Looking up, Velvet thought she had never seen her mother run so quickly, and Daisy easily kept pace with her. Behind them came Velvet’s father and Bran Kelly. Murrough jumped out of the barge and, turning, lifted his sister onto dry land.

Skye stopped short and stared at the young woman in the black cloak. In her mind she was remembering the child of almost thirteen years she had last seen, and the woman before her did not fit that memory. This was a beautiful woman, a woman who had known love and suffered for it. What had happened to her little girl? Then, as quickly as the thought flew through her head, the answer came behind it. Time. Time had passed. Time she and Velvet had not shared together, and in that time the child had become a woman. Her eyes filled with tears, but whether they were for the lost moments she and her daughter had missed or for Velvet’s own pain, she knew not.

Opening her arms, she said, “Welcome home, my darling!” And Velvet, enfolded in her mother’s embrace, knew that nothing had changed between them.

Skye hugged her daughter tightly, instinctively knowing her child’s greatest fear, and whispered reassuringly to her, “I
have not yet sent for Alex, my love. First we must talk.” Feeling Velvet relax, she knew that she had said the right thing. She caught her daughter’s face between her hands.

“Oh, how beautiful you have become!” Then she kissed Velvet once on each cheek.

“There is so much to tell you, Mama. Things I haven’t talked about since I left India. They cannot wait! I need to talk with you!”

“Yes! Yes!” Skye agreed. “Tonight! I promise!”

“Velvet!”

She turned from her mother and ran into her father’s arms. With a groan Adam de Marisco buried his face in his daughter’s neck. “I thought never to see you again!”

“It’s all right now, Papa,” she reassured him.

“The thought of your suffering, my poppet …”

“I did not suffer, Papa.”

“But you were sent to the harem of the Grand Mughal,” he protested.

“It is called a zenana in India, Papa, and my lord Akbar loved me. He took me for his wife. I did not know that such happiness existed.”

Beside them, Daisy wept tears of relief at the sight of her daughter, Pansy, and her first grandchild. Bran, however, the more practical where their children were concerned, seeing his child in good health, relieved Pansy’s most immediate fear.

“That bandy-legged Scotsman you handfasted yourself to promised to wait for you. He even asked my permission to formally marry you. I hope you’re still of a mind to do so if only for my fine grandson’s sake.”

“Aye, Da! The more little Dugie looked like his pa, the more I missed Dugald. He’ll be mightily surprised to learn he’s got a son.”

“And what were you doing tumbling into bed with the man before you were properly wed?” demanded Daisy, recovering and reaching out to give her daughter a smack.

“Ma! ’Twas only once!”

“Once is enough!” snapped Daisy.

“Do you think we might adjourn to the house?” Michael O’Malley asked plaintively from the barge where he still sat, blocked from disembarking by the crush upon the quay. “Night air from the Thames is not particularly salubrious and is known to harbor bad humors.”

“Oh, Michael darling, yes!” Skye said. “I’ve not even thanked you for all your help!”

“Thank me inside, dear sister, and I can but hope you have
some good peat whiskey to take the chill from my bones. I ran out months ago.”

“Aye,” replied Adam de Marisco, pulling his brother-in-law up from the barge. “I’ve a barrel, and for all you’ve done for us, Michael, you can bathe in the damned stuff if you want!”

They moved up the lawn from the river into the house, and Bran and Daisy took Pansy and her son off to their own rooms, while Adam, kissing his daughter good night, promised to come and see her first thing in the morning. Then he escorted his stepson, Murrough, and brother-in-law to his library for some of the promised whiskey.

Taking her daughter’s hand, Skye led Velvet upstairs to her apartments.

In Velvet’s room a large oak tub stood steaming with the hot water emptied into it by a line of footmen. “I thought that you would prefer to bathe yourself tonight,” Skye said quietly. “Pansy and Daisy need their time together, too. When was the little boy born?”

“Shortly after we arrived at Akbar’s court in Fatehpur-Sikri, Mama. I didn’t even know that Pansy was with child. She carried small, and she was afraid to tell me. The court physician informed me. Dugald had cajoled her into bed the night they were handfast.” Velvet removed her cloak and, turning her back, had her mother aid her with her bodice and skirt. “Have they brought my things from the barge yet?”

“They are in your dressing room, my darling.”

Velvet walked into the smaller room and, opening a leather-bound trunk, rummaged until she found what it was she sought, a small stone vial. Moving back into her bedroom, she uncorked the little bottle and, climbing up the steps to the tub, poured a stream of pale gold liquid into the hot water. Immediately the room was filled with an exquisite fragrance. Descending from the steps, Velvet pulled off the rest of her clothes.

“What is that?” Skye asked. “It’s absolutely lovely!”

“Jasmine, Mama. I prize its perfume above all others.” She rolled her stockings off her shapely legs.

Skye could not help but look at her daughter. She was simply gorgeous in her nudity. Velvet’s long legs rose up into a wide span of hips and taut, round, silken buttocks. Velvet had had no breasts to speak of when her mother had last seen her, but the dainty buds of childhood had become full and voluptuous with five years’ passing. Her belly was faintly rounded, not as maiden flat as it should have been. Suddenly Skye
looked closely at her daughter, and Velvet, caught unawares, could not hide the sadness in her eyes. In that moment, Skye realized the truth.

“Was my grandchild a boy or a girl?” she asked.

“I have a daughter, Yasaman Kama Begum, Mama. Yasaman means Jasmine. She is one year old today.” Velvet climbed into her tub, leaving her mother speechless.