Darling Jasmine by Bertrice Small Page B

would have to in order to gain her trust and win his way into her bed, into her heart. What could he do that would please her? She lacked for nothing. James Leslie realized that he had absolutely no idea about how to court a woman who had everything. Had she been a simple lass, he would have wooed her with jewelry and other finery. She knew he liked her children, so there was no ingress there. What was he to do? And then he realized that he would have to seek advice from Madame Skye. He laughed aloud at the thought. Take advice from that beautiful and devious old woman? Aye! He would, for she knew Jasmine best, and was, if her reputation was to be believed, the most skilled and clever woman where the arts of love were concerned.
    James Leslie poured himself another large goblet of red wine and settled himself by the fireplace, sipping the liquid nectar slowly. Tomorrow they would go to Archambault, and he knew that Jasmine would devote her time there to her children. He, however, would seek counsel from Madame Skye on how to win her granddaughter, and win Jasmine he would.
    In the morning she behaved as if everything was exactly the same between them as it had been the day before. She came to the highboard dressed for riding, in green wool breeches, high leather boots, a cambric shirt, and her doeskin jerkin with the silver-and-horn buttons. She ate heartily, which both amused and delighted him. He liked a woman who enjoyed her food and did not toy daintily with her plate. His mother was such a woman. Jasmine never drank wine in the early morning. Her servants brought her a blue-and-white porcelain dish, pouring into it a fragrant hot liquid which she always drank with relish.
    Curious, he asked her, “What is it you drink, Jasmine?”
    â€œIt is called tea,” she told him. “Would you like to taste it, Jemmie? Adali, bring another saucer for the earl.” She smiled at him. “We brew it with hot water, using the leaves of the tea plant. It is native to India. The leaves are cured or dried before use. It is a very pleasing drink. My mother and my aunts frequently put cloves or cardamom in the tea to add additional flavor to it.”
    Jasmine’s steward placed a deep saucer before him and poured some of the tea into it from a pitcher. “This is black tea, my lord,” he said. “The Chinese grow a green variety.”
    â€œIt is more delicate,” Jasmine said. “Our Indian tea is a most hearty brew. Taste it, Jemmie!”
    He sipped at the hot liquid, finding the taste pleasant, but not particularly stimulating or exciting as wine, ale, or cider.
    â€œI am thinking of suggesting to grandmother that we import tea into England,” Jasmine told him. “The Dutch have been doing it for the past six years although they do not know how to market it and have not had a great success with it.”
    â€œThe Dutch are excellent merchants,” he replied.
    â€œIndeed they are,” she agreed, “but they still do not know how to sell tea. Tea is not spices or cloth that can be easily hawked to any housewife in the market. Tea must first be sold to the rich and the powerful. Only when they have taken it to their bosoms and made it a drink of the exclusive will the masses seek to have it.”
    Her analysis of the situation surprised him. He had always known that Jasmine was an intelligent woman, but he had put that particular brand of intelligence down to female common sense, but she was beyond that obviously. “You may be right, Jasmine,” he said slowly. “Aye, I can see where having tea drunk by a select few would eventually make it modish, and very desirable to the general population.”
    She arose from the highboard. “We’ll talk to Grandmama about it,” she said. “Come, Jemmie, and let us be off. I have not seen my darlings in almost two weeks, and I am eager to be with them!”
    They took the direct road to Archambault, arriving