Free Darling Jasmine by Bertrice Small Page B

well,” Jasmine decided, “but not for a week. It will take at least a week to make certain their clothing is in good repair, and to tutor them in their deportment.”
    â€œI agree with you, madame,” James Leslie said with a small smile.
    â€œYou do?” Jasmine was somewhat surprised.
    â€œWe cannot always disagree,” he replied, a twinkle in his eye.
    â€œPerhaps not,” she answered him, not certain what he exactly meant by the wry remark.

    It was ten days before Jasmine was satisfied that her children were ready to leave for Archambault. She had kept her small staff busy washing, pressing, brushing their clothing until Skye had complained the nap would be worn off the fabrics altogether. The little trunks were packed neatly; the nursemaids given detailed instructions as to the children’s care, and what to do in the event of this or that.
    Finally, irritated, Skye snapped at her granddaughter, “I have raised seven children, my darling girl, and I will be with my great-grandchildren. I know what to do. We leave on the morrow, and I’ll hear no more about it!”
    The earl of Glenkirk repressed a small smile. Jasmine looked so worried. She was a good mother but far too obsessed with her offspring. He didn’t doubt for a moment that this little trip to Archambault for Madame Skye and the children was all the old woman’s idea. She had promised to help him, but he had not been certain he trusted her, especially after the last time. It would appear now, however, that his fears were groundless. She was whisking Jasmine’s youngsters off so that he might be alone with their mother. He didn’t know how she was going to do it, but he suspected that the children would not return to Belle Fleurs. He chuckled softly. What a holy terror Madame Skye was. He was glad to have her on his side this time.
    In the morning, his arm about Jasmine, he watched as the grand old lady and the children departed Belle Fleurs. The rain had gone, and the day was bright and sunny. It was the end of February, and there was a definite hint of spring in the air. Jasmine sniffled, and he warned her softly, “Do not cry, madame, lest you distress the bairns. They are happy for this little adventure. Do not spoil it for them.”
    â€œI have never really been parted from them,” she murmured low, attempting to disengage his arm, but he held her firmly.
    â€œSee how fine Henry, India, and Fortune look upon their ponies,” he pointed out to her. “They sit their mounts well. Was it you who taught them, madame?”
    â€œAye,” she said. “My father taught me when I was very small. In India women do not sit upon horses, but my mother had ridden with my father, and so he taught me. What freedom I had! I could hunt tiger and other beasts with my father and my brother, Salim. It was something my sisters were never allowed to do, if indeed they even considered such a thing.” She waved after the pony cart containing Charles Frederick and his nursemaid.
    He turned her gently to reenter the château. “How many sisters did you have, madame?” he inquired. “I have five sisters, and three brothers. Two of my brothers and three of my sisters live in Scotland. The others live in Italy.”
    â€œI was my father’s youngest child. My siblings were grown when I was born,” Jasmine told him. “I had three brothers, though two are dead, and three sisters.”
    â€œWhy did you leave India?” he asked her bluntly.
    â€œMy eldest brother, Salim, now the Mughal emperor, Jahangir, had an incestuous lust for me. He murdered my first husband, a Kashmiri prince, in order to clear his path to my bed. My father was dying and knew that my foster mother would be unable to protect me once he was gone. So he sent me secretly to England, to my grandmother de Marisco, with whom he had had a tenuous sort of contact over the years.” Jasmine laughed