Vixens. Bertrice Small
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“Parker Randolph had committed bigamy, Your Majesty,” Jasmine explained. “There was on his father’s plantation a young slavegirl who was every bit as fair as Parker and his sisters. His father had bought the girl when she was a child to grow up and to serve as a maid for his daughters. After these two young women were married, events that took place within a single year, they begged their father to give this faithful young slave her freedom. He did. The girl, however, asked to remain on the plantation as a paid servant to Mrs. Randolph, a frail lady who was happy to have her companionship.
“Parker Randolph fell in love with this girl, but she would not succumb to his blandishments. She told him he could only have her if he married her. He resisted for a time, but finally his lust overcame his judgment, if indeed he was blessed with any sense. He and the girl found a backcountry preacher who did not know either of them. They were married, legally and lawfully. The girl’s name was, most fittingly, Delilah. Parker convinced her, however, that their marriage must remain a secret until the proper time.
“When he began to court my granddaughter, Delilah became angry, but Parker Randolph assured his naive and jealous wife that he was just doing it to make his family happy. When the marriage plans were announced, Parker explained to his wife that while he did indeed intend to wed my granddaughter, it was simply for her large dowry and for the great wealth she would eventually inherit. His family needed that wealth, and he had learned a secret about Fancy’s family that would give him full control over them.” Jasmine stopped here and sipped her cup of whiskey. She had suddenly realized how right it was that the king know the truth.
“What was the secret?” he asked her.
“Fancy had told him that her grandmother, her mother’s mother, was a foreign princess from a land called India. The only thing Parker Randolph could remember about India from his few studies was that its people were dark skinned. He decided then and there that we were Negroid, which made Fancy a girl with African blood in her veins. He told his wife, Delilah, that he would threaten to expose this to all the Colonies if Fancy’s family did not obey his every wish. Should this shameful knowledge, plus the fact that their daughter was really his concubine, and not his wife, become public, Parker reasoned, Fancy’s family would be ruined in the Colonies. They would pay him whatever he desired, he told the gullible Delilah, to keep these secrets.
“Delilah protested that Fancy’s children would be considered his heirs. Yet any children she gave him would be thought bastards. But Parker Randolph promised this woman that it would never happen. Fancy, he said, would never bear his children. Now I understand why he was able to promise his wife such a thing. But on the wedding night Delilah was unable to contain her jealousy. She secreted herself in the bridal chamber before the bride herself arrived. She watched as Fancy was undressed and prepared for the bridegroom. My daughter wrote to me that when Delilah saw her husband with Fancy, saw them make love, she was unable to contain herself. In a terrible rage she revealed herself to them.
“Parker Randolph was furious, especially when she told Fancy that she was not her bridegroom’s real wife. Fancy was devastated. Of course he denied it and said that Delilah was mad and could prove nothing. My sweet granddaughter then cried that she believed him, and would stand by his side no matter what. It was then that Parker Randolph laughed and scorned both women as fools. He was indeed married to Delilah, he told Fancy. Then he went on to tell her exactly what he planned. She would be forced to pretend, while he reaped the benefits of her wealth. Delilah would be forced to watch, he said, as he enjoyed Fancy, and there was nothing she could do about it.”
“But there was,” the king said.
“Yes,” Jasmine answered. “Delilah Randolph reached for the nearest thing at hand. It was a heavy silver candlestick. She hit her husband with it, once, twice, three times. That is when Fancy began to scream uncontrollably for help. It came quickly, but it was too late. Parker Randolph was dead, Your Majesty. The scandal of what this young man had done would have ruined the Randolphs. It would have ruined my grandchild had it become known that her virtue had been compromised.
“While her in-laws wanted to somehow blame her for the terrible tragedy, the more influential branch of the Virginia Randolphs would not permit it. They compelled their relations to face the truth. To soothe Parker’s family, the portion of Fancy’s dowry already paid was not reclaimed. Nor would my son-in-law allow the Randolphs to take out their wrath on Delilah. At first they claimed she could not have been wed to their son, but Delilah drew forth from her bosom the marriage lines the preacher had given her. Parker obviously never knew she possessed such proof. Kieran Devers sent Delilah north to Boston with enough money to start a dress shop. He told her if she ever showed her face in Maryland or the Virginias again he could not protect her.”
“And Fancy came to England,” the king said.
“She could hardly remain in the Colonies, Your Majesty,” Jasmine said quietly. “The truth couldn’t be told under the circumstances. There would have been no chance for my granddaughter. It was said that Parker Randolph had a fit and died on his wedding night. That in the midst of said fit he fell, accounting for the wound upon his head, much of which had been cleaned up before he was shown in his coffin,” Jasmine explained.
“Why does Fancy consider herself responsible for his death?” the king inquired.
“She says if she had not married him, none of this tragedy would have happened. She realized too late that she was just in love with the idea of marrying the handsomest man in the colonies, she told her mother. As the youngest child in her family, she never did anything to distinguish herself until she caught Parker Randolph’s eyes. Perhaps it is unreasonable for a sensible person to believe this, but she did at the time. I do not think so any longer. And that is the truth of the matter, Your Majesty, as my daughter related it to me in her correspondence last summer.” Jasmine finished her whiskey and placed the small blue-and-white china cup on the table next to her.
“I will take good care of her,” the king promised.
“I know you will,” Jasmine replied. “The royal Stuarts have always been good to their women, and I should know, shouldn’t I?”
“You would have made a magnificent queen,” he replied.
“So it was said at the time, Your Majesty,” she answered him, and then she stood up. “I shall go home now, my lord. Good night.”
The king jumped to his feet and escorted her to the door. He kissed her hand, and said, “This will indeed remain our secret, madame. I would not like Fancy to believe that I had intruded, for I am sure she will eventually tell me in her own words what happened.”
“I am certain too, Your Majesty,” Jasmine responded. Then reaching up, she touched his saturnine cheek with her gloved hand. “You are nothing like your uncle,” she told him. “He was all golden and blue eyed. You are very French.”
“My mother said I was the ugliest infant she had ever seen,” the king laughed. “She called me her black boy.”
Jasmine laughed too. “But you have become a most distinguished gentleman, and more important, your heart is good, Charles Stuart.”
“I think that as fine a compliment as I have ever received,” the king responded. He bowed to her, and then Jasmine opened the door. Outside the little page jumped quickly to his feet to escort the dowager duchess of Glenkirk back to her carriage, even as the door to the king’s privy chamber closed behind them.
Chapter 5
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