Puritan.”
“Heaven forfend!” her eldest brother exclaimed.
“Is mama here yet?” Charlie asked his sibling.
“She arrived two days ago and is already well ensconced in the dower house,” Henry answered. “God’s blood, Charlie! I have never seen her so despondent. When you sent word you were coming, I rejoiced. Perhaps your presence, and that of Autumn, can cheer her up.” Then, suddenly, the Marquis of Westleigh looked about, saying, “Where is Bess?”
“That is why we are here,” the duke told his elder brother. “Freddie and I were in Worcester. Roundheads, led by that devil, Sir Simon Bates, invaded Queen’s Malvern one morning. Bess, and my majordomo, Smythe, were killed in cold blood. Autumn shot the trooper who did it.” Then he continued to tell Henry in detail what had transpired that terrible day.
“Sabrina and William?”
“Saw nothing, thank God! I am taking them all to Patrick, and then I shall join the king,” Charlie said quietly.
Henry nodded. “I understand,” he said. “You have no choice now in the matter. Ahh, Charlie, I am so sorry!”
“Sorry for what?” Their mother, Jasmine Leslie, entered the room, and immediately her daughter flew into her mother’s embrace.
“Mama!” Autumn burst into tears.
“What is this? What is this?” Jasmine demanded, first hugging her child and then setting her back to look into her face. The now Dowager Duchess of Glenkirk was as beautiful at sixty as she had been at forty, but the look in her eyes was bleak.
“Come into the Great Hall,” Henry said, “and Charlie will tell us everything, Mama.” He quickly instructed his servants to see the children to the nurseries with his own brood, and bring wine and biscuits for his family. His wife, he explained, was not home, being out tending to some sick tenants, but even as they settled themselves in the Great Hall of Cadby, Rosamund Wyndham Lindley hurried in with a smile, greeting her guests and fussing at her servants to bring the refreshments in a more timely fashion.
“They do take advantage of Henry,” she said with a twinkle. Rosamund was Henry’s second wife, and the mother of his children. The marquess’s first wife, his beautiful cousin, Cecily Burke, had died six months after their wedding, when she fell from her horse as she took a particularly high jump, breaking her neck. Cecily had died instantly, and Henry had gone into shock, refusing to leave Cadby, seeing only his brother, Charlie, and his older sister, India, as he mourned his young wife.
Two years after Cecily’s death, the Marquess of Westleigh was invited to the wedding of the Earl of Langford’s heir. Charlie, who had also been invited, prevailed upon his elder sibling to go.
“You can’t mourn forever,” he said bluntly. “Mama certainly never did.”
So Henry Lindley had gone to the wedding at RiversEdge and, to his astonishment, met the girl who was to be the love of his life. Rosamund Wyndham was, at almost sixteen, not ready to consider marriage, but the Marquess of Westleigh knew what he wanted. God rest his sweet Cecily, but he was finally ready to get on with his life. He courted Rosamund with a mixture of charm, humor, and determination. Unable to resist him, Rosamund wed Henry Lindley shortly after her seventeenth birthday. She had ruled his heart and his house ever after.
They were barely settled about the roaring fire when the dowager duchess, mentally counting heads, said, “Where is Bess?”
“She is dead,” Charlie told his mother, and then proceeded to relate the entire tale.
When he had finished Jasmine Leslie looked at her youngest child, amazed. “You shot a Roundhead trooper?” she said.
Autumn nodded.
“God’s blood!” the dowager duchess exclaimed. “I remember a time when my grandmother did a similar deed to save my life, and that of my children. ’Twas a brave act, as was yours. I am proud of you!”
“Surely, Mama, you do not condone murder,” the Marquis of Westleigh said, shocked at what his sister had done. This fact his brother had omitted when telling him the tragic tale earlier.
“The man was scum and had murdered both Bess and a trusted servant,” the dowager duchess said. “Autumn was protecting herself, for who knows what this Sir Simon Bates would have done otherwise. The fact that he accepted responsibility for the trooper’s death shows my daughter proved to this villain that she is a strong girl, and not to be taken advantage of by any!”
“Sir Simon Bates is known to be totally ruthless. What if he holds the death of this man over Autumn, over the family?” Henry said in worried tones.
“How can he?” Autumn spoke up. “The only people in the hallway of the house were the trooper, Sir Simon, and myself. What proof could he possibly offer for my act? I am but an innocent and unmarried maiden, and certainly incapable of such a terrible deed. If we should ever see Sir Simon again, and he accused me, I should believe he was attempting to extort moneys from us, as we are known to be a wealthy family. Or perhaps the threat of such a tale would be an attempt to force me into marriage with him. A wealthy, well-connected wife could not harm Sir Simon’s future when the king is restored to his kingdom. Particularly a wife whose brother is the king’s first cousin.” Autumn smiled sweetly at her astounded relatives, but her mother laughed.
“You are quick, my child,” she said with a chuckle. She turned to Henry. “You fret too much, my dear. Autumn is perfectly correct. There is no proof that she killed that trooper, and no other witnesses than herself and this Sir Simon Bates. I expect he is still in a bit of a shock that a slip of a girl could be so brave, and remember, he did give her his weapon and encourage her to dispatch Bess’s murderer. He’ll say nothing, I assure you all. And now, Charlie”—she looked directly at her second son—“what are you about?”
“I have closed Queen’s Malvern up and I am taking my children to Glenkirk. Then I will declare for the king, Mama.” He stood before the fireplace, legs apart, his hands upon his hips in a gesture of defiance.
Jasmine sighed deeply. “Of course you will, Charlie. You are Henry Stuart’s son, and but for an accident of birth would have been England’s king. You have attempted to remain neutral in this strife. But you can no longer be undecided, and Cromwell’s ilk has forced your hand. I understand, my son. I am not happy about this turn of events, but I do understand. You can do nothing else now. But why take the children to Scotland?”
“Because left here, they would endanger Henry and his family. Cromwell’s people have not hesitated to use children as pawns. We cannot forget poor little Princess Elizabeth, imprisoned in Carisbrooke Castle, who has only recently died because these godly Puritans did not properly care for the poor girl. Nay, Charlie’s children will be safer, and more than likely forgotten, at Glenkirk.”
“And when his in-laws come calling, which they will,” Henry asked, “what the hell are we to say to them?”
“You will lie, Henry,” his mother instructed him, “and say you do not know where your niece and nephews are. You will admit that Charlie came here, but you will say you know not where he was going, for he refused to tell you, fearing to endanger your family. It is a small lie, and a perfectly plausible explanation. The Earl of Welk has neither power nor the funds to pursue the matter. Common sense will tell him the children are safe in their father’s care. He may bluster and blow, but there is nothing he can do but
