LITMIR.BIZ

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      “I am in complete agreement with you, brother, but you know what Mama will say. Particularly now that our father is dead in defense of the Stuarts.”

      “I will send a messenger to Cadby, saying that you are coming to be with Mama,” the duke said. “The rest of it I prefer to tell Henry and his family myself. It is not something one can write in a letter, although I must send a message to Bess’s parents in Dorset. Welk and his wife are now openly Puritans, but they are still Bess’s family.”

      “Do not tell them what you intend to do with the children,” Autumn said. “They will want their daughter’s offspring, but they must not have them, Charlie. They must not be allowed to make Brie and Freddie and wee Willie into joyless, condemning psalm-singers.”

      He nodded. “I shall tell them only the truth—that Bess was murdered by a Roundhead trooper in defense of one of her servants. It will be enough,” the duke said with a grim smile.

      On the following day the duke sent one of his own servants off to Dorset to inform his in-laws of their daughter’s demise. The messenger was instructed to return at his leisure with the Earl of Welk’s response. Becket would then write to the Earl of Welk, explaining that his master and his children had departed Queen’s Malvern; that they would be traveling; and that the duke had not said when he would return. Charlie knew that when he explained his plan to his mother and brother Henry, they would understand and not betray either his whereabouts or that of the children to Johnathan Lightbody.

      The day after the messenger had been dispatched to Dorset, the Duke of Lundy, his youngest sister, his children, and several servants departed Queen’s Malvern. Gazing back at the beautiful house with its ivy-covered and ancient brick walls, they all wondered if they would ever see it again. To protect their destination, the servants would not be dismissed until December, when they would be given their two-years’ stipend and the assurance of their places when the duke returned home to Queen’s Malvern one day.

      “The east wing doesn’t look too bad,” Autumn said softly.

      The duke stared at the blackened walls and smashed lead-paned windows. “The servants rescued most of the paintings,” he said bleakly. Then he turned his horse toward his brother’s estate, a twoday ride across the countryside.

      Cadby, home to the Marquis of Westleigh, was a fine old brick house set above the banks of the river Avon, its green lawns running down to the water. Henry Lindley greeted his brother warmly and hugged his sister, exclaiming over her beauty effusively.

      “We’ll have to find you a fine husband,” he teased her.

      “Where?” Autumn demanded. “Certainly not in the England of today, unless, Henry, you expect me to wed a sober-sided 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

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