handleless round cup of blue-and-white porcelain. Bringing it to her mistress’s bedside, Rohana set the tray down, uncorking the carafe as she did so. The aroma of the pale golden Assam wafted up faintly spicy from the two cloves that floated in the tea. Rohana poured half a cup and handed it to Jasmine, who first breathed deeply of the hot liquid, then sipped it gratefully, murmuring her pleasure as it warmed her innards.
Across the room Toramalli was choosing her mistress’s garments of the day. A black velvet skirt and a bodice of silver-and-white brocade. The appropriate undergarments were laid out along with silk stockings, simple black velvet slippers, and jewelry. Rohana, meanwhile, was seeing to her lady’s bath in the small inner chamber that Jasmine had designated as a bathing room when she came to Belle Fleurs. A pump had been installed in the room, and hot water was heated in a small fireplace to warm the water drawn from the pump.
Finishing her tea, Jasmine arose from her bed. She could already smell the night-blooming jasmine oil that was being poured into the bathwater by her servant. “Are the children awake?” she asked.
“They are already in the hall,” Rohana said, helping her mistress from her chamber robe and into her tub.
“The nursemaids knew that Lord Leslie was here,” Toramalli volunteered. “The children are dressed in fairly proper fashion.”
Jasmine nodded, but said nothing further on the subject. “I cannot dally,” she finally remarked. “I will seem a poor hostess if I am not downstairs shortly. Is my grandmother awake yet?”
“Madame Skye has elected to remain abed this morning,” Toramalli said. “That ancient Daisy of hers came into the hall to tell Lord Leslie and to fetch something to eat for the old lady.”
Jasmine bathed and dressed quickly. She could barely sit still while Rohana did her hair. Slipping a strand of fat pearls about her neck, she affixed large baroque pearls in her ears, and, jewels bobbing, she hurried from her chamber and down into the hall. Approaching the entry, she could hear her children’s excited voices. She stopped a moment in the entry to observe the scene before her.
James Leslie, in black velvet, his short dark hair brushed straight back and just barely grazing his white linen neck ruff, sat in a high-backed chair by the fire. “Excellent, my young lord Henry,” he said to the little marquis of Westleigh. “Your bow improves with each try. You shall not shame your late father, your mother, or me when you are presented to the king, and pledge him your fealty for yourself and for Cadby. Remember, a gentleman is first judged by the reputation that precedes him, and secondly by his manners.”
“What of his purse?” Lady India Lindley demanded boldly.
James Leslie’s mouth twitched as he repressed a smile. Then he said seriously, “That, my lady India, should be no one’s business although there will be speculation a-plenty when a handsome and interesting man as your brother will undoubtedly become one day arrives at court.”
“Will you teach us to curtsy, my lord, as you teach Henry to bow?” India asked him.
“Your mother will see that your manners are polished before we return to England, my lady,” the earl answered the little girl. “I will speak with her myself on the matter.”
“Are you still to marry Mama?” Henry wondered.
“Aye,” the earl said. “The king has commanded it.”
“Do you love our mother?” India queried. “Our father loved our mother very much, and she he. I wish that Irisher had not killed our father, my lord. I miss him very much.”
“I am surprised that you remember him, my lady India. You were very small when he died,” the earl remarked.
“I remember a big golden man taking me up, kissing me, and tickling me,” India said. “Henry does not remember him at all, being so new when our father was killed. Mama tells us stories of our father.”
Suddenly Feathers, the family spaniel, barked sharply and scampered to the entry of the hall, leaping upon Jasmine’s skirts until she picked the small dog up.
“Hush, you little brute,” she gently scolded, and greeted them. “Good morrow, my darlings. I see you have already greeted our guest. Good morning, my lord.” She moved into the hall to join them.
James Leslie rose, and, kissing her hand, said, “Good morning, madame. I trust that you slept well.” He escorted her to the highboard, where the servants were beginning to lay out the morning meal. “Come, children. You may join your mother and me this morning.”
Lady Fortune Lindley, who was four and a half years of age, tugged upon her mother’s skirts, and when Jasmine looked down the child said, “Is this my father, Mama?”
Before Jasmine might answer, James Leslie said, “Nay, child. You have the same father as your brother and sister, but I would be a father to you if you will permit me. To all of you.”
“Do you have any little boys and girls of your own?” India questioned him.
“I did once,” James Leslie said, and his face grew sad.
“India!” Her mother admonished her, but India spoke again.
“Where are they, my lord? Where are your little boys and girls? Will they come to play with us when you are our father, too?”
“My children, ma petite, are in heaven with their mother, and your papa,” James Leslie told the little girl. “They have been gone a long time now. So long I cannot even remember their faces,” he concluded sadly. Drawing out a chair, he seated Jasmine first, then her two little daughters. “In future, Henry, when you are allowed to take your meals at the highboard, you will seat your mother thusly,” the earl told the boy, deftly changing the subject.
“Yes, sir,” the lad replied.
Jasmine was astounded. It had dawned upon her almost immediately that her children were speaking English again not just to the earl of Glenkirk, but to each other as well. They were dressed respectably and had shoes upon their feet. They were, in fact, being very polite. She hadn’t seen them like this in months.
“Their table manners will need improvement,” the earl said to her in an aside, then he turned to admonish them gently to pass the bread to each other when they desired some and not to tear off a chunk and toss it down the table.
Jasmine had a strong desire to giggle at this, but she managed to refrain from it. In a sense it disturbed her that her children had taken so readily to James Leslie. She felt almost jealous. Yet on another level she knew it was better they like their stepfather, and he they, than have an antagonistic relationship. The little ones did not have to know how she and the earl felt about one another. James Leslie was obviously a good influence upon Henry, India, and Fortune, judging by what she had seen this morning. She had to admit, although she did so silently and reluctantly, that an authoritative male figure in her household was possibly not a bad thing for her children. Absently she fed the small dog in her lap a bit of ham, patting Feathers as he licked her fingers.
“He is quite spoiled, I see,” the earl remarked.
“Rowan gave him to me when he was only a puppy. He was a birthday gift when I was eighteen,” Jasmine replied. “Actually, my real gift that year was Maguire’s Ford and its lands. I remember how angry my Uncle Padraic was that Rowan had obtained the grant for me. At the time I thought nothing of it. Now I, too,
