Adali at the foot, Autumn on my right, and the rest of you wherever you choose.” She allowed Red Hugh to set her at the table’s head, smiling a small thanks to him.
Adali filled each plate, passing the first to his mistress, the second to Autumn, and then the rest, serving himself last. There were whole artichokes steamed and served with a piquant vinaigrette and a delicate olive oil. A boeuf bourguignonne with tiny green onions and slivers of carrot in a rich and succulent gravy; prawns broiled and flavored with fennel; a fat capon stuffed with onions, celery, and sage that Adali carved thin, juicy slices of breast from; a pink country ham. There were two kinds of cheese, a runny Brie and an English cheddar; freshly baked bread, still warm from the ovens, and a crock of newly churned sweet butter, which Adali placed upon the table for them all. On the sideboard there remained an apple tartlet and a pitcher of heavy golden cream. There was a hearty red wine served, but while she enjoyed two cups of it, the duchess declared that the wines from her family’s vineyards at Archambault were better.
When the meal had been thoroughly appreciated by them all and the inn’s servants had returned to clear away the debris, two wooden tubs were placed in each lady’s bedchamber. They were promptly filled, Fergus and Red Hugh generously helping the innkeeper’s staff in the task. Jasmine and her daughter then bathed before retiring. Lily, Rohana, and Toramalli would sleep in their mistress’s chambers. The men would sleep in the parlor, where they had eaten. They slumbered heavily for the first time in many nights, their beds steady and not rolling beneath them. When morning came they arose and ate a hearty breakfast. Adali had the previous evening ordered a basket of food for their journey that day.
For the next few days they traveled north along a road that followed the River Loire. Each inn they sheltered in at night was every bit as good as Le Canard Bleu had been, and Autumn complained that she was going to get fat with all this delicious French cooking.
“You do not have to eat it all,” her mother said.
“Mama, I need to keep up my strength!” the girl protested.
At Tours they crossed the Loire where it met the River Cher, following a secondary road, finally turning off onto a narrower track leading them deeper into the countryside. On either side of their coach they could see the dormant vineyards, and beyond a small hill was crowned with a beautiful chateau.
“That is Archambault, where my cousins reside,” Jasmine told her daughter. “When we are settled I shall take you to visit.”
“How far are we from Belle Fleurs?” Autumn asked.
“Not very,” her mother said even as their carriage and the baggage coach turned off onto a thin ribbon of a path, rumbling and lurching down the rutted and frozen dirt path. Bare branches scraped against the vehicle, almost impeding their passage. It had not been so overgrown when she had last been there, Jasmine thought; but then it had been so long ago. She would need to hire several gardeners, but Guillaume would be able to direct her there.
“Mama! Oh, Mama, look!” Autumn was pointing, her eyes alight. “Is that Belle Fleurs, Mama? Is it?”
Jasmine focused, and for a moment all her lovely memories came flooding back. Belle Fleurs had sheltered her and her four oldest children from James Leslie; and then Jemmie had come, and Belle Fleurs had become a place of idyllic love. It would never again be that way for her, Jasmine thought, but it very well could be for Autumn. Reaching out, she took her daughter’s hand and gave it a little squeeze.
“Aye, ma bébé, that is Belle Fleurs,” she said.
Chapter 4
The chateau was set on a tiny peninsula of land, surrounded by the waters of its lake on three sides. On the fourth side a large, beautiful garden was enclosed with a low stone wall. Built in the year 1415, Belle Fleurs was now 235 years old, but its original construction had been sound, and considered quite modern for its day. Constructed of flattened, rough-hewn blocks of reddish-gray schist, Belle Fleurs had four polygonal towers, with dark slate roofs that were shaped like witches’ hats, set at each corner of the building. The coach’s access to the courtyard was over a heavily constructed bridge through a tall, well-fortified chatelet flanked by rounded and corbeled towers rising high on either side of the entry arch.
As their vehicle came to a stop, a man of middle years hurried forward even before Fergus might come down from the box. Opening the coach’s door, he lowered its steps and offered a hand to Jasmine first, and then her daughter. “Welcome, madame la duchesse!” he said. “I am Guillaume. I hope your trip was a pleasant one.” He bowed neatly.
“Very pleasant,” she answered him, impressed by his air of assurance. “The house is ready to receive us?”
“Oui, madame, but I took the liberty of waiting until you arrived to hire more servants. My wife, Pascaline, and I can serve you and your daughter for the next few days. I see you have your own personal staff as well.”
“We will need gardeners to trim the trees and bushes along the entrance way,” Jasmine said, “and the road needs to be raked smooth. It is far too rutted.” She let him lead her into the chateau, followed by the others. They went up a small flight of stone steps past a covered stone porch and found themselves in a wide foyer. “Ahh,” she said with a smile, “it is good to be back.” Then she turned to her caretaker. “I remember my grandmother telling me that there once was another Guillaume here at Belle Fleurs. Are you related to him?”
“My great-grandparents, Guillaume and Mignon, had the pleasure of serving your grandparents, madame la duchesse. It was the lord de Marisco who bought the chateau from a Huguenot gentleman after the St. Bartholomew’s Massacre in Paris following Henri of Navarre’s wedding to the Princess Margot. The previous owner thought it advisable to retire to La Rochelle. Ah, here is my good wife. Come, Pascaline, and meet our mistress and the young mistress. You will show them and their maidservants to their chambers.”
Adali stepped forward. Age had shrunk him somewhat, but he still possessed an air of command about him. “I am madame la duchesse’s majordomo,” he said. “I have been to Belle Fleurs before. Fergus”—he beckoned the man forward—“and his wife, Toramalli, will want quarters together, and such are available, I know. Madame la duchesse’s personal captain will also sleep in the house.” He turned and favored the plump Pascaline with a brief smile. “Madame and the demoiselle will eat in the Great Hall tonight. You are prepared, bonne femme?”
“Oui, M’sieu Adali,” Pascaline said with a curtsey. She recognized authority when she saw it. “The meal is a simple one, but nourishing.”
“Excellent!” Adali said. “Now, mes amies, let us get the baggage unloaded as quickly as possible. I smell rain in the air.”
“Adali is in his glory again,” Autumn chuckled to her mother. “He is really lost without a house to run, isn’t he?”
“This is not Glenkirk,” Jasmine said to her daughter. “This is a small chateau as chateaux go. The kitchens are below us, as are the servants’ quarters. In addition to the Great Hall, there is a small library on this level, and upstairs only six bedchambers. Not apartments with several rooms, but simple bedchambers. Outside you will, when you have time to explore, find stables, a kennel, a falconry, and a dovecote.”
“It is pretty,” Autumn said, “but not very grand.”
“Nay, it is not grand. It is a chateau for lovers, or for a small family. My cousins’ chateau, Archambault, is grand, and eventually I shall take you to see it,” Jasmine promised.
They
