Wild Jasmine (46 page)

Sybilla stamped her foot again. “I saw how you looked at the Earl of Glenkirk, you low-bred hussy!
He is mine!
I will not have you with your exotic, whorish ways flirting with the man I am to marry. If you so much as speak to him again, I shall tear your heart out! Do you understand me?
Do you understand me
?” Her voice rose in dramatic intensity, and her pretty face grew red with anger.

“Ohh, Sybilla, what a little fool you are,” Jasmine replied impatiently, her own anger giving an edge to her voice. “I could hardly look away from the earl when he was introduced to me. There was nothing in my look but dispassionate curiosity. I would be more careful of how I spoke,
stepsister
. Your father has not yet broached the subject of a match between you and the earl. What if you were overheard by the earl’s servant and he spoke with his master? You yourself could ruin everything you hope for, and then what would you do, Sybilla?” Jasmine wisely ignored the girl’s remarks about her background. She knew who she was.

“Jasmine is correct, dearest,” Velvet said, agreeing with her daughter. “You simply must learn to master both your temper and your tongue.”

“And high time too,” Skye put in.

Sybilla’s lower lip began to tremble. Her beautiful blue eyes filled with tears of self-pity. “You are
all
against me,” she declared. “Only Papa understands me!” Sybilla sobbed dramatically.

“God’s nightshirt!” Skye exploded. “The wench should be smacked!”

“No one is against you, Sybilla,” her mama said in rather sharp tones. “You are anxious about Lord Leslie, to be sure, but you must not take out your apprehensions on those who love you. I wonder if indeed you are old enough to marry. Your behavior is most childish.”

As evening approached, Skye sat with her granddaughter Jasmine in her own day room and again considered Lady Sybilla Gordon.

“I hope Alex will approach the Earl of Glenkirk quickly,” Skye said. “If Sybilla wants him, ’twould be just as well to see her married off to the fellow as soon as possible. Why go to the expense and the trouble of sending her to court?”

“And if she were married and back in Scotland,” Jasmine teased her grandmother, “you would not have to be bothered with her at Queen’s Malvern ever again, eh, Grandmother?”

“ ’Tis truth, my darling girl, that you utter,” Skye admitted. “I have never been able to warm to the wench. As a little one she was always demanding of Velvet’s entire attention, even when Velvet’s elder lads were small and Velvet enceinte with another of them. Sybilla could hardly bear to be out of her sight. She has ever been her mama’s girl, a whining, troublesome chit of a creature. Velvet has overcoddled her out of a sense of both pity and guilt.”

“She does not look like Lord Gordon,” Jasmine noted.

“She looked more like him as a child,” Skye said. “I expect she resembles the creature who bore her, the silversmith’s bold wench.”

“Do you think I looked at Lord Leslie in a flirtatious manner, Grandmama? Since I would just as soon be rid of Sybilla also, I do not want to ruin her chances with the gentleman,” Jasmine said with a mischievous smile.

“I think it was Lord Leslie who looked at you with interest in those fathomless green eyes of his,” Skye replied. “You are most extravagantly beautiful, my darling girl. Sybilla is a pretty thing, but she cannot hold a candle to you. Alas, I think she knows it.”

“Oh dear,” Jasmine fretted.

Skye laughed. “As long as you do not encourage him, my darling girl, you cannot be blamed for whatever happens.”

“I do not wish anything to happen,” Jasmine declared vehemently. “It is bad enough that the Marquess of Westleigh has been a constant visitor every few weeks since spring. Why will no one understand that I simply want to be left alone to myself? I have been quite happy since I came to England last winter, Grandmama. I have a family, and I am safe.”

“And that is enough?” Skye asked.

“For now it is, Grandmama. When I left India almost a year ago, I was heartbroken and quite devastated by the events surrounding my departure. The husband I loved was dead at my beloved brother’s behest. My father was close to death. But now that time and distance have had their effect upon me, Grandmama,” Jasmine said, “I find that I both want and need time to enjoy life before I must settle down to being a wife and mother again. Can you understand that? I know I must eventually remarry,
but not now.
”

Skye nodded. “I understand,” she reassured Jasmine.

“Sybilla, on the other hand,” Jasmine continued, “very much desires to be married to the Earl of Glenkirk. Perhaps I can help her in a roundabout way. I think I shall have my dinner in my room tonight. I find that after the strain of today, my head is aching fiercely.”

Skye chuckled. “You are indeed anxious to be relieved of your stepsister’s company, my darling girl, but I will not have her driving you from your own board.”

“She is not, Grandmama,” Jasmine replied, “but I do fret her. She cannot seem to help herself. She will be at her best if I am not there. Perhaps she will even impress the Earl of Glenkirk enough that he will consider Lord Gordon’s proposal. Everyone is correct when they say that Sybilla must make a good impression on Lord Leslie before she goes to court. It will be far harder there for her to attract his attention if the English court is anything like my father’s court was. It was a noisy, gossipy, busy place.”

“Royal courts are royal courts the world over,” Skye said. “Very well, darling girl, you may absent yourself from the board tonight that Sybilla have an opportunity to shine before the object of her desire. It is unfortunate that she will neither understand nor appreciate your motives. You are far more generous to her than she to you.”

Jasmine’s absence was duly noted that evening, but Skye’s explanation was so easily given that no one thought any more on it. Mrs. Garman, the cook, had done her very best to follow her mistress’s instructions. The meal was a simple, hearty one which began with some excellent perch that had been caught that very afternoon by the visitors to Queen’s Malvern. The fish had been delicately broiled and were served with dill and lemon. There was also a large dish of mussels that had been steamed in white wine until their shiny black shells had opened. There was a single side of beef that had been packed in rock salt and roasted over a slow fire; a large game bird pie with rich wine-flavored gravy oozing from its crisp golden crust; and a platter of lamb chops. There were turnips and fresh peas, fresh bread, crocks of sweet butter, and a wheel of sharp, hard cheese. October ale and a rich red wine were served to drink.

“Madame,” the king said as he wiped his mouth prior to digging into a second serving of plum tartlet, “ye keep a verra fine table, to be sure. I canna remember when I hae enjoyed a meal last as much as I hae enjoyed this meal. My compliments to your cook.”

“Would it be too much trouble, Your Majesty,” Skye said, “if I ask Mrs. Garman to come out of her kitchens that Your Majesty might tell her yourself. She is a simple country woman who would never, in her wildest dreams, have expected to serve Your Majesty. ’Twould be a rare moment she would treasure for the rest of her life.”

“Aye,” the king said expansively. “Bring the lady before me that I may praise her most excellent skills.”

Mrs. Garman was called for and, accompanied by Bramwell, the majordomo, came from her kitchens, flushed, beaming, and quite nervous. She curtsied so low before James that Skye feared the poor woman would be unable to arise without tumbling back upon her well-padded posterior, but Bramwell, one hand beneath the lady’s elbow, guided her successfully to her feet again.

“A verra fine meal, good lady,” James Stuart said. “I canna remember ever having eaten a better one.”

“ ’Tis a pleasure to cook for Yer Majesty,” Mrs. Garman replied. She was then escorted out and returned to her kitchens to tell Priss and Mary, the kitchen maids, and little Wat, the knife boy, that though she could barely understand the king,
for he spoke with a very thick tongue, he was a most fine gentleman indeed.

When the meal had been cleared away, Skye cleared her throat, saying, “I will now tell Your Majesty of how my granddaughter Jasmine came into this family.”

“Twill nae be necessary,” the king replied. “Lady Sybilla herself told both Jemmie and me before dinner the whole sad tale. Velvet, my dear, yer a brave lass, but then I always knew that ye were,” the king said with a warm smile at the Countess of BrocCairn.

“
Just what did Lady Sybilla tell you, sire?
” Skye asked pointedly of the king, and she sent both her daughter and son-in-law a fierce look.

Alex Gordon was visibly white about the lips, while his daughter Sybilla wore the pleased expression of a cat that had just cornered a plump mouse. The girl’s look was, in fact, such a look of pure triumph that Skye wanted to slap her.

The king looked quite confused. He could not understand what was wrong.

The Earl of Glenkirk came to his monarch’s aid, saying, “Lady Sybilla has explained to us how her mother was kidnapped years ago and forced into a shameful, carnal bondage, during which captivity she was forced to bear a child which she gladly left behind upon her rescue. Indeed, we have been told that Lady Gordon was so ashamed of this tawdry incident in her life that she did not even tell Alex. Lady Sybilla has elaborated on how this child, now grown, came to England and forced herself upon the good natures and good hearts of Lord and Lady de Marisco. Is that not so?”

“No, my lord, it is not so. What Sybilla has told you is an outrageous fabrication,” Skye said quietly, although those about her who knew her realized that those well-controlled tones represented just the merest tip of her outrage.

Sybilla, however, unwisely arose and cried out, “
It is true!
I have not lied!”

“Leave this table and go to your room,” Skye told the girl. “
At once!
”

“Jasmine seeks only to ruin my life!” Sybilla wept uncontrollably, obviously overwrought.

Skye turned to her horrified majordomo. “Bramwell, escort Lady Sybilla from the hall,” she ordered. Her gaze swung to her son-in-law, the Earl of BrocCairn. “I hold you entirely responsible for
your
daughter’s behavior, my lord. You will send
her home to Dun Broc tomorrow. I will no longer have her in my house.”

Velvet cast a beseeching look toward her father. “Papa,” she pleaded weakly.

“I am in entire accord with your mother, Velvet,” Adam said.

“What is wrong?” the king asked, finally finding his voice.

“Lady Sybilla has lied to Your Majesty,” Skye replied.

“
Lied? To me? To her king?
” James Stuart looked astounded, as if such a thing were not possible.

“Jamie, I apologize for my lass,” Alex Gordon said, shamefaced. “Please forgive Sibby and allow my belle-mère to explain.”

“Madame, enlighten us, if ye will,” the king said, now fully recovered from his surprise and quite curious to know what was really going on. “This situation is strange, most strange indeed.”

“Once, Elizabeth Tudor and I were friends,” Skye began, “and then I was a thorn in her side, but that is another tale altogether.”

“Do ye nae then believe in the divine right of kings, madame?” the king demanded, interrupting. His divine royal rights were a very sore point with James Stuart, who strongly believed in them and in himself.

“Aye, Your Majesty, I do,” Skye said with a small twinkle in her Kerry-blue eyes, “but Elizabeth Tudor was a queen,
not a king.
”

James Stuart stared at Lady de Marisco, and then understanding dawned in his amber eyes. “Heh!
A queen, and not a king!
” he chortled. “Heh! Heh! Heh! ’Tis a fine jest, madame. A verra fine jest indeed. Heh! Heh!”

The atmosphere about the table was more visibly relaxed now as Skye took up the thread of her tale. She spoke movingly of that time so many years ago when all their destinies had been changed by Elizabeth Tudor’s seemingly innocent demand that she and Adam mount a trading expedition to India. Skye chose her words carefully in order to protect both her beloved daughter and granddaughter, that James might understand not just their plight, but also the difficulty presented to the Indian emperor when Velvet’s uncle had come to take her home.

“Velvet tells me Akbar was a most moral man who had studied all the world’s religions. There were even Jesuits at this
court, and their daughter was baptized a Christian,” Skye told them.

“When the Mughal learned that Alex was alive, there was no question that Velvet must be returned. Alex, however, had only been her husband for a few months. Akbar had been her husband for almost two years, and they shared a child.

“The Mughal would not compromise his principles. Since she would not go willingly, she was drugged and removed forcibly. She was not allowed to take her child, for the Mughal knew of the prejudice practiced in Western lands. He knew there were those who would call his daughter base-born, yet under the laws of the land in which she was born, the land to which she was native, she was not only true-born, but a royal Mughal princess as well.”

“Aye,” James Stuart agreed, “of course she would be. I can find no fault wi this reasoning, though I know some would.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Velvet said, her eyes bright with unshed tears. The king might be called “the wisest fool in Christendom,” but he was really quite intelligent and had a kind heart. He had fully understood her plight.

“Unfortunately, Sybilla Gordon, whom Alex fathered and legitimatized, and whom my daughter has raised with love, is wildly jealous of her stepsister. We have remonstrated with her, but to no avail, sire.”

“The lass needs to be beaten,” the king said. “A good beating and a diet of bread and water will bring any recalcitrant child to its senses, Lady de Marisco. Now, I think, I will seek my bed. The fish are up early, as ye must know.”

When the king had left the hall in the company of Lord Leslie, Skye and her family sat back down at the high board, the wine cups were refilled, and they discussed the evening past.