Bedazzled

moment and then peering beyond him anxiously.

James Leslie, the duke of Glenkirk, stepped quickly forward, a smile on his handsome face, his arms open to enfold his mother into his warm embrace.

'Jemmie!' she cried out, her eyes filling with tears even as his arms closed about her, and he kissed her soft cheek. 'My bairn!'

Glenkirk laughed, and then he hugged his mother. 'Hardly a bairn, madame. Nae at my age.' He stepped back, and gazed upon her. ' 'Tis good to see you, madame. When we learned that you would be coming, we brought over our entire brood so you could finally meet your grandchildren, some of whom are already half grown.'

'And your wife, Jemmie,' his mother said. 'You have been married more than a decade, and I have never met her.'

'Jasmine has been so busy having our bairns that I couldna let her travel. She was nae a lass when I married her after all.' He tucked her hand in his arm. 'Come, and let us go into the chateau. They are all awaiting you, my wife and family, and my sister, and her children.'

'Jean-Claude,' Lady Stewart-Hepburn said, turning to her son-in-law, ' 'tis really quite good of you to have us all.'

'The chateau is large,' the due de St. Laurent replied cordially, 'and a few more children makes little difference.'

His mother-in-law raised an eyebrow, and then she laughed. James Leslie had three sons of his own, plus two stepdaughters and two stepsons. Seven in all, and it was hardly a trifle especially when added to her daughter and son-in-law's six children. Her youngest child, her daughter, Francesca, had married her dashing French duke fourteen years ago when she was sixteen, and had lived happily with him ever since. Shortly afterward her beloved second husband, Francis Stewart-Hepburn, had grown suddenly ill, and died. But he had lived to see both of his daughters settled. Francesca with her Jean-Claude, and Jean, or Gianna as she was known, the wife of the marchese di San Ridolfi. Their son, Ian, was another matter, and had yet to settle down.

'How is Jeannie?' the duke of Glenkirk asked his mother as they entered the house.

'So Italian that you would never fathom that she was a Scot,' his mother answered him.

'And Ian? What mischief is he up to these days?'

'We must speak on Ian,' came the terse reply.

They entered a bright salon where the family awaited them.

'Grandmere! Grandmere!' Francesca's children rushed forth to surround her, demanding her attention as they welcomed her.

'Welcome, Mama,' the duchesse de St. Laurent said as she kissed her parent. 'I thank God that you have come safely to us.'

'The trip is long, and it is tedious, Francesca,' her mother replied, 'but not dangerous.' How beautiful she was, Cat thought. She has his wonderful auburn hair, and my eyes. When she smiles, I see him. She acknowledged Francesca's children, the four boys and two little girls, greeting each by name. Then, looking across the salon, Lady Stewart-Hepburn saw that her eldest son had joined a beautiful woman with night-dark hair and spectacular jewelry.

Seeing the direction of her gaze, the duke of Glenkirk led his wife forward. 'Madame, my wife, Jasmine Leslie.'

Jasmine curtsied gracefully. 'Welcome to France, madame. I am pleased that we finally meet.'

'As am I,' the older woman said, kissing her daughter-in-law on both of her smooth cheeks. Then she stepped back a pace. 'You are very beautiful, Jasmine Leslie, and quite different from the wife I chose for Jemmie when he was young.'

'I hope I compare favorably, madame,' Jasmine answered.

Lady Stewart-Hepburn laughed. 'Isabelle was a sweet child, but a moon to your sun, my dear. Now, I want to meet my grandchildren! All of them! I consider your bairns mine, too, as my Jemmie has been father to them longer than their own sires, eh?'

For a brief moment, Jasmine was speechless, and her turquoise eyes grew misty. Then, recovering herself, she beckoned her offspring forward. She was truly touched that Jemmie's mother could be so generous.

'Madame, may I present my eldest child, Lady India Lindley.'

The young girl curtsied prettily.

'And my eldest son, Henry Lindley, the marquis of Westleigh. My second daughter, Lady Fortune Lindley. My son, Charles Frederick Stuart, the duke of Lundy.'

While the girls curtsied, the young boys bowed.

Lady Stewart-Hepburn acknowledged them graciously, saying to the eleven-and-a-half-year-old duke of Lundy, 'We are distantly related, my lord, on your late father's side.'

'My grandfather spoke of you once,' the young duke replied. 'He said you were the most beautiful woman in all of Scotland. I see he did not lie, madame.'

His stepgrandmother burst out laughing. 'God help us all, my lord, but you are surely a true Stuart!' She wondered what this boy would say if he knew that the now-deceased old man who had been his grandfather had once been an unstoppable satyr who had destroyed her first marriage.

'And these are Jemmie's bairns,' Jasmine was continuing. 'Our eldest, Patrick, then Adam, and Duncan. We had a little lass, but lost her almost two years ago. She caught measles and died a month after my dearest grandmother. She was named for that lady, and for Janet Leslie. Janet Skye.'

'I remember my great-grandmother, Janet,' Cat told Jasmine. 'We called her Mam. She was a very formidable woman.'

'As was my grandmother,' Jasmine replied.

'Is it true you were once in a harem?' India Lindley suddenly burst out.

Cat turned to look at the girl. She was easily on the brink of womanhood, and every bit as beautiful as her mother with black hair and the most wonderful golden eyes. 'Yes,' she answered. 'I was in the harem of the sultan's grande vizir.'

'Which sultan?' India persisted.

'There is only one sultan,' Cat said. 'The Ottoman.'

'Was it exciting or awful?' India's eyes were alight with unbridled curiosity.

'Both,' Cat told her.

'India!' Jasmine was mortified by her daughter's outrageous behavior, but then, India was so damned headstrong, and always had been.

'My mother was raised in a harem,' India volunteered.

'Was she?' Now it was Cat's turn to be intrigued.

'My father was the Grande Mughal of India,' Jasmine explained. 'My mother was English. She is married to the earl of BrocCairn.'

'I remember your mother,' Cat replied. 'Velvet is her name. She stayed with us at Hermitage years ago. You don't really look like her, do you?'

'I have some of her features, but I am mostly a mixture of my maternal grandmother and my father,' Jasmine answered.