Do you have a dower house at Glenkirk?”
“Nay, but there is one at Cadby, and why the architects of these houses think widows need less room simply because they no longer have husbands is beyond me,” Jasmine said indignantly.
“Mama. Adali said we had guests.” Autumn came into the hall. Her gown was of simple silver-blue damask, both bodice and skirt, with a wide collar of white linen edged in silver lace. Her hair was neat but not dressed, being plaited into a thick braid.
“Tres charmante!” Philippe de Saville said with a smile.
“This is my daughter, Lady Autumn Rose Leslie, monsieur le comte,” Jasmine said formally. Then she turned to the young girl. “Autumn, this is my cousin, Philippe de Saville, the Comte de Cher. With his permission you will call him Oncle Philippe.”
Autumn made her curtsey. “How do you do, Oncle Philippe,” she said, and gave him her hand. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
He kissed the elegant hand and bowed. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, ma petite. How lovely you are. We shall have no difficulty in finding you a husband.”
“Oh, but I mean to go to Paris to court to seek a husband,” Autumn replied frankly. “Certainly no one of importance lives in the provinces, Oncle. I am an heiress, you know, and will accept only an aristocrat of good family with his own wealth, so I may be certain he doesn’t wed me merely for mine, and will not love me.”
Philippe de Saville laughed heartily. “Mon Dieu, ma cousine, she is like every other woman in this family. Outspoken, and most frank. Ma petite,” he then said to Autumn, “your mama will explain the situation to you, but for the moment there is no real court in Paris because of our civil disturbances. Within the next year, however, that will change. In the meantime you will partake of society here in the region, and you will not find it lacking, I promise you.” Rising, he directed his next speech to Jasmine. “Come to Archambault for the twelve days of Christmas, but come before, on St. Thomas’s Day. My sisters will probably come to see you before then, so they may begin their plotting.” He bowed to both women and then took his leave.
“No court?” Autumn looked crestfallen.
“Perhaps it is better that you make your debut into society here first,” the mother soothed her daughter, secretly relieved. Autumn couldn’t know it, but court was such a bother, and the French court was more formal and devious than England’s court. I don’t know if I have the patience for this sort of thing anymore, Jasmine thought.
“I like Oncle Philippe,” Autumn said with a smile.
“You will like his sisters too,” Jasmine promised, “and they will be most valuable in introducing you into society here. You are related by blood through your great-grandfather de Marisco, whose mother was the second wife of the Comte de Cher and great-grandmother of Oncle Philippe.”
“I never knew I had a French family on your side, Mama. Papa would occasionally mention his uncles in France. Where are they?”
“Nearer to Paris. Eventually we shall meet them when the young king reaches his majority and the country is safe.”
“I will need new gowns if I am to go to Archambault,” Autumn said slyly. “You would not want me to appear a poor and unfashionable Scots cousin, Mama.”
Jasmine laughed. “We will wait until my cousins Gaby and Antoinette arrive, which, if the weather remains pleasant, will certainly be in a day or so. They will know just what to do.”
“May I ride this afternoon?” Autumn asked her mother.
“Of course, ma bébé, but remember, do not stray far. You do not know your way yet,” Jasmine cautioned.
Autumn loved the horse she now rode. He was a tall and slender black gelding she had named, simply, Noir. She had changed from her gown into dark green woolen breeches lined in silk to protect her delicate skin from chafing; a white silk shirt that tied at the neck and had full sleeves; and a dark leather jerkin with carved ivory buttons edged in silver. Her boots, which fit to the knee, were of brown leather. The afternoon, while cool, was not cold, and so she wore no cape or cloak.
She followed a trail behind the gardens beyond the low stone wall into the woods. The trees were now bereft of their leaves, which had fallen and dried. They made a pleasant crunching noise beneath Noir’s hooves. Soon the chateau disappeared behind her. About her in the branches, the rooks chattered companionably to each other as they preened. Autumn followed the trail until she came to a brook that rushed swiftly over a rocky streambed. Stopping, she debated whether they might cross it without injury to herself or the horse.
“It is not safe,” a voice suddenly cut into her consciousness.
Startled, Autumn looked across the water and saw a man, dressed as casually as she was, sitting beneath a tree, while his own horse browsed nearby. “How do you know?” she demanded of him. “Have you tried?”
“The bottom is uneven, mademoiselle. It would be a pity for such a fine animal as the one you ride to break his leg and have to be destroyed,” the gentleman said.
“But I am curious as to what lies beyond this brook,” Autumn said, wondering who the man was. Probably a poacher who didn’t want her to know what he was up to, and so was attempting to scare her off.
“The water is the dividing line between the lands belonging to the chateau of Belle Fleurs and the lands belonging to the Marquis de Auriville,” the man said. “You would be trespassing, mademoiselle, should you cross over,” he told her.
“Who are you?” Autumn said boldly.
“Who are you?” he rejoined.
“I am Lady Autumn Rose Leslie. My mama owns Belle Fleurs, and we have come to live here, for England is not a happy place now.”
“Neither is France, mademoiselle. You have merely exchanged one civil war for another, I fear,” he said as he arose from his place and stretched lazily. He was a very handsome man with a long face.
“Are you a poacher?” she asked him, not doubting for a moment that he would lie if he were.
“No, mademoiselle, I am not a poacher,” he said with an amused laugh. How ingenuous Lady Autumn Rose Leslie was, he thought.
“Then who are you?” she again asked him, thinking that he really was very tall. Every bit as tall as her brother Patrick.
“I am a thief, mademoiselle,” he replied.
Not in the least nonplussed, she countered, “What do you steal, monsieur?” He was obviously mocking her. He didn’t look like a bandit at all.
“Hearts, cherie,” came the startling reply, and then the man turned, caught his mount and, vaulting into his saddle, blew her a kiss as he rode off.
Astounded, Autumn watched as the man and his horse disappeared into the trees on the other side of the stream. She suddenly realized that not only was her heart racing, but her cheeks felt hot. It was all very confusing. Taking his advice, Autumn turned Noir back toward the chateau. If the lands on the other side of the brook did belong to someone else, then she really did not have the right to ride there unless she gained the owner’s permission first.
When
