Vixens. Bertrice SmallЧитать онлайн книгу.
suddenly burst out, “We’re going to court this winter, Cousin Frances!” Her bright blue eyes were sparkling with excitement.
“We have been to court before,” Diana Leslie said softly.
“But only to be presented to the king,” Cynara replied. “They say he is the best lover in all the world.” She smiled archly.
“Cynara, mind your manners,” Jasmine chided.
“Well, everyone says it, Grandmama,” Cynara replied.
“We only visited a day at court,” Diana explained to Fancy. “We met the queen, too. She is not particularly pretty, but she is very nice.”
“They gave us sobriquets,” Cynara continued. “Everyone who is anyone at the court has a sobriquet. They called Diana Siren. They say she is so beautiful that she could lure men to their destruction, but I don’t think she ever would. Diana is far too sweet.”
“And Cynara they have called Sin,” Diana added with a mischievous grin. “I cannot imagine why. I wonder what they will call you, Cousin Frances.”
“My family calls me Fancy. I could not pronounce my name when I was a very little girl. I called myself Fancy in an attempt to say Francey, which is what my brothers first called me. Soon everyone was calling me Fancy. When someone calls me Frances, I wonder what it is I have done wrong,” Fancy finished with a little smile.
“Your mother’s first house was called Fortune’s Fancy,” the duke of Lundy remarked.
“I never lived in that house,” Fancy told them. “It was destroyed in a fierce storm six years after it was built. It was one of those storms that sometimes comes from the Caribbean in late summer. The house that replaced it is called Bayview. It was built on the same spot and oversees the Chesapeake.” She sighed, and her lovely face grew sad. “I will miss it.” Her voice trailed off.
“Of course you will,” Jasmine said briskly. “It would not be natural if you didn’t. I am an old woman. I have lived all but sixteen years of my life in England and Scotland, yet I still think of the palace where I grew up. It was set on the shores of a beautiful lake in a region called Kashmir. As I was the last, and the youngest of my father’s children, and my mother was English-born, my father thought it better I live there where the climate was more temperate than farther south where his court was, and the air tropical. My first husband was a Kashmiri prince. He was very handsome with dark eyes,” she told them, smiling.
“How many husbands have you had, Grandmama?” Fancy asked.
“Three,” Jasmine answered her, quietly pleased that this new arrival had addressed her as Grandmama. “The first was Prince Jamal Khan. He was murdered by my half brother. That is why my father sent me to my own grandmother in England. I traveled many months to reach here. My second husband was the marquis of Westleigh, Rowan Lindley. He is your grandfather, Fancy. My third husband was Jemmie Leslie, the duke of Glenkirk. And your uncle Charlie’s sire was Prince Henry Stuart, who had he lived would have followed his father, King James, onto the throne.”
“How did my grandfather die?” Fancy asked, curious. “Mama says she never met him and always thought of Lord Leslie as her father.”
“Your grandfather was killed by a religious bigot in Ireland. The bullet was meant for me, however, but Rowan died instead,” Jasmine explained. “I was just enceinte with your mother, dear girl.” She smiled. “You have a very large family here on this side of the ocean, Fancy Devers. In time you will undoubtedly meet many of them. My own grandmother had six living children. They have in their turn spawned many progeny, who have done the same. I believe my grandmother’s descendants now number over four hundred souls in England, Scotland, Ireland, and the colonies.”
“Gracious!” Fancy exclaimed. “I did not know that. All Mama said was that we had family here.”
“Has your mother been happy?” Jasmine asked.
“I have never known Mama to be unhappy until recently,” Fancy replied. “She and Papa can sometimes be most embarrassing, for they seem to love each other fiercely. I thought . . . I hoped I might find that kind of love one day, but . . .” She stopped, and said no more.
“Love,” Cynara said grandly, “is but an illusion, Cousin.”
“Indeed?” her grandmother noted dryly. “Considering your lack of expertise in such matters, Cynara, I am surprised you should believe such a thing.”
“I have heard it said,” Cynara began.
“I am relieved to learn your opinions are not based on personal experience,” Jasmine answered sharply. “It is unwise, Cynara, to repeat such things, as it only makes you look foolish and ignorant. You are, after all, only fifteen.”
“You were married when you were my age, Grandmama,” Cynara said pertly. She tossed her dark head, and her curls bounced.
“It was a different time and a different place,” Jasmine answered. “My father was not well, and he wanted me settled before he died. My foster mother was not particularly happy about my youthful marriage at all.”
“Did your husband make love to you right away?” Cynara queried her grandmother, wickedly.
“Whether he did, or he didn’t, is not a topic for discussion!” Jasmine turned to her daughter-in-law, whose face was flaming at this point. “Really, Barbara! Have you no control over this girl? What Fancy must think of her I can only imagine.”
Fancy, however, was already fascinated with her cousin Cynara. Cynara was so very beautiful, and she seemed so sophisticated, even though she was a year younger than Frances Devers. Wisely, though, Fancy said, “Would you think me rude, Grandmama, if I asked to be shown to my room? My travels have been quite fatiguing.”
“Of course not, dear child,” Jasmine said quickly. She arose. “I shall take you. I have chosen your room myself. It is near to mine, and Diana is on the other side of you.” She linked her arm in Fancy’s and led her from the hall.
“What do you think?” the duke of Lundy asked his wife.
“She is lovely,” Barbara Stuart replied. “Is it not interesting how alike she, Cynara, and Diana look? She is tired now, but in a few days we shall get to know her better, but Charlie, I think your mama’s judgment will hold as it usually does in these matters.”
The duke of Lundy nodded in agreement. “I suspect that you are correct, my dear,” he responded.
“Does Grandmama think she killed her husband?” Cynara asked her parents boldly.
The duchess of Lundy closed her eyes in exasperation. Cynara was so damned reckless in her speech. And her acts, Barbara Stuart thought. What was going to become of her?
“There is no evidence that your cousin killed anyone, Cynara,” her father said quietly. “I will appreciate you not repeating gossip, especially unproven gossip.” He stared hard at his youngest daughter.
“Well then, why is it said of her that she did?” Cynara demanded.
“There was some terrible tragedy,” the duke explained. “Even I do not know the truth of the matter. But you will keep in mind that if a crime had been committed, then your cousin would have been charged, and she was not. A bridegroom dying after his wedding is very unusual. It is precisely because there is little knowledge of what happened that people have decided to make up these stories, Cynara. I hope that you will never find yourself the subject of such gossip.”
“Does Grandmama know?” Diana ventured softly.
“I believe she does,” the duke replied.
“Poor Fancy,” Diana said. “How difficult it must have been for her to lose her bridegroom in some dreadful manner. And then be sent away from all she knows and loves for her reputation’s sake.”
“You left Glenkirk when you were eleven,” Cynara said, “and it hasn’t affected