10. ...and a Debut
As Mr. Andrews pulled out his chair, giving both myself and the woman to his left a polite but strained smile, I noted both a side eye flick and a jaw clench from my ‘boyfriend’; I would have to wait to ask him about it. And, now that I thought about it, I was pretty sure Ian hadn’t mentioned ‘Mr. Graham Andrews’, which seemed like an odd omission as he was obviously a part of this group - however grudgingly, to some of them. Curiouser and curiouser.
Mr. Graham Andrews smelled like soap, and leather, with a faint scent of horses. Not wholly appropriate cologne for an event such as this, but I liked it. It made an intriguing combination with the lavender on my right. I was in the middle of a hot boy sandwich, I realized, biting back a chuckle. Hopefully they would both be enjoyable dining companions.
Now it was time to observe. From experience, I knew that the best way to survive in unfamiliar situations was to keep one’s head down and most importantly, blend. Tread water. Don’t make waves.
When I saw Lady Wallington remove her gloves, I did the same. I waited for our hostess and several other ladies to sip their wine before I touched my glass. The food arrived - silver service, I noted, keeping my hands in the proper position. I was pleased to see the other ladies had done or were doing the same.
Ian gave me a sweet, encouraging smile. As I smiled back at him, I felt Lady Wallington eyeing us from across the table with interest. In the meantime, I studiously avoided acknowledging the gazes of the other guests, which ranged from polite, subtle glances to blatant, open stares.
After everyone had been served a round of amuse-bouche, Lady Wallington finally turned and began speaking to... the man to her left. Shit.
I turned to my left and greeted Mr. Graham Andrews with a cautious smile. Before I could say ‘good evening’ he leaned over to me, gestured at my plate and said: “A word of advice, limit your portions, my good lady.”
I looked at my plate, then turned back to him with narrowed eyes. “And why might that be, Mr. Andrews?”
His eyes widened, and then he gasped and chuckled briefly. “Allow me to rephrase, my lady - we are likely to have twenty courses during this evening.”
“Oh!” Laughter bubbled up, but at least I was able to keep it acceptably quiet. “Thank you for the warning,” I replied, setting my fork and knife to done. Twenty courses? Ian might have warned me.
“I fear I owe you an apology, my lady. My obscenely late arrival this evening has stolen my chance of learning your name.”
“I am Lady Isabelle, of California. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said, inclining my head.
“The pleasure is mine,” he replied, carefully reaching for my hand. He was definitely going to kiss it. Mildly annoying, but fuck it, he was hot. And, you know, ummm, politeness.
He had soft lips, despite the short, neat beard he wore. Not bad. I could feel Ian watching me - or us? - and he wasn’t the only one.
Why was it so goddamn hot in here‽
The next dish was more caviar - on toast points this time. It was delicious.
“Mmmm,” I murmured, making full, rebellious eye contact with Mr. Andrews while devouring most of the plate.
He grinned at me as he followed suit. “I will say this, Lady Wallington does serve the best caviar.” Mr. Graham Andrews was certainly a better guest to be seated next to than some of the others. Mr. Nash, for example, was still occasionally gazing down the table at me with uncomfortably fascinated glances; at the other end, some blonde girl was trying to burn a hole in my cheek with her sneer.
By the time we had finished the soup and fish courses, most of the other diners seemed to have satisfied themselves that I wasn’t going to dance on my plates, splash wine onto my neighbor, or otherwise embarrass myself, and had returned their attention to those in their immediate vicinity. Even Mr. Nash had lost interest in watching me. And yet, the young blonde in green and silver towards the right end of the table was still tossing angry sneers and glares in my direction. I had seen her in the garden but Ian had not introduced us.
She reminded me an awful lot of Margaret Sullivan. Margaret, the most annoying and uptight out of all of my classmates - and in an all girl’s Catholic school, that was saying something - saw me kissing my girlfriend Didi Perez and spent the better part of the next month loudly announcing that I was a dyke. Right up until Anne got home from running away yet again and caught wind of it. She was....furious, to put it mildly. I don’t know exactly what happened between the two of them but Margaret Sullivan never looked at me cross-eyed again.
“Okayyyy,” I said, mostly under my breath, and Mr. Andrews looked at me sharply, nearly spilling his wine. Politely, I pretended not to notice. When the footman stepped forward to refill our glasses, Mr. Andrews spoke to me once more.
“Lady Isabelle, I feel I know you somehow. Have you spent much time in the West Indies?”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes, managing to only raise an eyebrow instead. “I am certain that we have never met.” Cute. But he would have to do better than that as a pickup line.
“Indeed,” he returned thoughtfully. Over the next few courses, Mr. Graham Andrews was a very charming and intriguing dining companion. When the main course arrived - slices of roasted duck, in far too much orange sauce - Lady Wallington finally turned to her right.
Yippee! “Hi,” I whispered to Ian. I fought to keep my smile subdued, very aware that everyone was watching me again.
“Hi,” he said, smiling at me openly. Obviously he had no such concerns.
“I’m glad that I’m finally allowed to talk to you,” I told him.
“It has been an agonizing wait for me, my lady,” Ian admitted in a quiet voice.
I peeked at the strikingly pretty, auburn-haired woman on his other side. Milicent, married to Captain Nicholas Carew, from London; the captain was currently fighting in the civil war in England. Milicent was a fun and bubbly 30-something, and Ian had spoken of her and her husband fondly. “‘Agonizing’? Truly?”
“I enjoy speaking with you,” Ian replied simply, sending a sweet little thrill through me. We chatted together quietly about the food, drinks, and flowers until Lady Wallington opened conversation to the entire table.
My heart stopped.
I kept a pleasant, neutral expression on my face, but inside I was panicking. What if someone asked my opinion about the civil war? Or the current king? I thought it was a king. What if it was a queen? Smile and nod, Izzy, just smile and nod. I fought to keep my face neutral while my brain set itself on fire with hypotheticals and everything that I had researched slid out of my head.
By the time the cheese course arrived, I realized that no one was expecting me to say anything; I was the lieutenant commander’s arm candy. And somehow, I had only just noticed that with the occasional exception of Lady Wallington, none of the women were speaking. Every single one of them was doing the smile and nod!
I had never been so fucking relieved and pissed off at the same time. And yet, in this instance...I relaxed so much more once I realized that all I was supposed to do was serve as dignified decoration. Eating quietly and not embarrassing myself? Easy. Even in a corset. Mom would have been very proud. Shit, Mom would have been beside herself.
Smile and nod, Izzy, just smile and nod.
That was going well until Ian spoke to our hostess. “Lady Isabelle was admiring your flowers when we arrived. Have peonies, by chance?”
Lady Wallington positively gushed with delight. “I do indeed! I’m rather impressed that you knew that, Lieutenant Commander.”
“In fact, I did not. Lady Isabelle pointed them out to me. I believe she favors them very much,” he added dryly, shooting me a quick, teasing smirk.
I grinned into my wine glass. Of course, he knew that I had loved them because I had been squealing about how gorgeous they were.
“My goodness, Lady Isabelle!” She beamed at me. “Peonies are truly difficult here. They’re quite rare, you know. I don’t think anyone else has ever recognized them before.” She gazed at me expectantly.
“They’re absolutely stunning, Lady Wallington,” I replied with a genial smile, and our hostess smiled back, sufficiently flattered. From the corner of my eyes, the blonde was back to shooting daggers at me.
“Have you any interest in gardening, Lady Isabelle?” Lord Wallington asked me.
“Yes, my lord,” I replied. He nodded at me, raising an encouraging eyebrow. “I oversee the gardens at my family’s estate.”
“And do you grow peonies there?” Lady Wallington queried.
“Yes, my lady. They hold a prominent place in my bulb section.”
Her eyes widened in interest, and I waited with bated breath.
Thankfully, Lady Catherine caught our hostess’s attention by asking her something about her yellow roses. Ian smiled at me again; apparently I had passed that little interaction.
Someone tell my heart rate.
Eventually, Lady Wallington declared that it was time to split. Ian gave my hand a brief, affectionate squeeze as he helped me from my chair, and I smiled up at him gratefully. I had managed to survive dinner, all eighteen freaking courses. Now I just needed to survive the next few hours as well. I joined our hostess and the other ladies in making a prim procession of rustling silks from the dining room to the drawing room.
Following the example of the others, I took a whiskey from the tray as we entered. The room was large, with stone flooring, and a number of colorful rugs, large couches and chairs. In the center of it all was a round, wooden object bound in copper or maybe bronze. A brazier perhaps? Here, plants and flowers were present but limited to the edges of the room; the scents mixed headily with the mishmash of the women’s perfumes, soaps, and scented oils. Experience and intuition told me that this private enclave of ladies would be far different than the mixed dinner we had just finished.
My first clue? Well, that was when I heard the sound of water. Running water? Here? No. No, it was not running water. It was the sound of ladies going behind the screens to relieve themselves.
My god.
It also explained why there were no footmen in this room. Instead, there was a maid, standing silently in the corner.
I helped myself to another whiskey and took up an inconspicuous spot near the sideboard, taking in the room. Maybe I would be able to stand here quietly and wallflower it up.
Ladies here fell into one of three distinct categories: lauded wives and mothers; eligible young maidens; spinsters. There was no subsection for ‘educated, worldly-wise, and happily single’, and it didn’t take a thorough knowledge of history to know that I was rather firmly into the territory of ‘spinsterhood’. From all of my romance novels, I knew I would occupy a low-rung on the social ladder. In fact, this clique of ladies probably wouldn’t be interested in me at all–-
“Lady Isabelle?” I looked up to see Lady Wallington giving me an expectant smile. Everyone in the room was staring at me.
Shit!!! I swished my way over in what I hoped was a calm and sedate manner, keeping a small, neutral smile plastered to my face.
“My lady?” I asked, inclining my head respectfully.
“Won’t you join us?” She patted the empty seat on the couch next to her. Will you walk into my parlour? said the Spider to the Fly.
Like I have any choice. “That’s very kind, my lady.” I managed a cordial smile to the group and down in the indicated seat - right between Lady Wallington and Lady Alice. Luckily the seating in this room seemed designed for corseted ladies to sit and stand without assistance.
A small, nervous smile bloomed across my face. While I knew it was a huge honor to have our hostess take an interest in me, all I could think about were the many, many ways I could fuck this up.
When I realized that all of the women were looking me over like a group of Aunties - clothing, skin, hair, gloves, posture, jewelry - my stomach sank. Did I belong? If I did belong, what was my status amongst them? Same thing, different century. New, and old. Only, I wasn’t sure how to respond to it in this setting. I pretended to be a statue, keeping my gaze demure and aimed down. It worked at home; I could only hope it worked here. Could they hear my heart racing? I was starting to feel very, very warm under their collective stares, and grateful for deodorant.
...Oh my god, I was going to have to learn how to make deodorant. Fucking 1649.
“It’s about time we had some new blood in this dull place,” Lady Aaoka said, breaking the silence. I looked at her with wide-eyed apprehension, but she merely smiled, giving me one of those looks that women of color give other women of color when they’re thrilled to no longer be alone. “You are most welcome, Lady Isabelle.”
That, at least, was promising. Ian had mentioned that the Talbots were ‘well-travelled’ and very wealthy; like everyone else, they were here as part of the Somers Isles Company at the ‘request’ of the king to expand the colony.
“I’m most pleased that you could join us tonight, Lady Isabelle,” Lady Wallington said, looking me over with interest. “We’ve all heard a great deal about you, but I prefer to get my information first hand.”
I swallowed. The only thing missing from this impending interrogation was a bare lightbulb swinging back and forth over my head.
“You’ve been the talk of St. George’s since your arrival,” Milicent nodded, eyes wide. “It seems there is some new and interesting gossip about Lady Isabelle every day!”
“There is?” That was ominous. How much could they have heard about me in the few days since I’d arrived? It wasn’t as though I’d been posting anything to my social media accounts for them to follow. I swallowed the nervous laugh that went with that and focused.
“Oh, yes,” one of the maidens chimed in enthusiastically. “First you arrived with that woman captain--”
“The books you borrowed--”
“Your trip around the island with our Lieutenant Commander.”
“The lengthy hours you spent with the island’s best tailor.”
“And his most expensive silks,” Lady Alice added, looking at my clothing pointedly.
“Your trip to the jewelers--”
“And then of course your purchase of the Sea Wind.”
They were all talking over each other, trying to one up who knew the most relevant and up to date information about Lady Isabelle.
“There was talk that your time on our island was short. I’m happy to have been misinformed.” Lady Aaoka raised her glass slightly in my direction.
Jesus, had I been posting to social media without knowing it? All they were missing were pictures of my dinner menus.
“Now that you are committing yourself here, it’s time we became friends. It’s a small island after all.” Lady Maynwaring smiled at me, and I was reminded of the time Maestro had gotten loose and caught a dove.
Committing myself. I imagine it would look that way to the locals. Why else would I buy a local business? Of course, Ian was far too discreet to have gossiped about my real reasons for purchasing the place. Thank goodness. I could only imagine what these people would make of the details I’d revealed to him.
“Is it true that you used your ship as collateral?” Lady Aaoka asked, sipping her wine.
“No, my lady.” I winced, thinking of the rage fest my sister would go on if I had. “I did not require collateral. I paid in full, with cash.” I wondered if they knew that word. My statement was met with hushed whispers.
Milicent raised an eyebrow. “And no man to sign for you?”
“I heard a rumor that you are a widow,” said a quiet, timid voice.
“Ah yes, that explains much,” Lady Oakwood nodded. “Especially your spending habits and advanced age.”
I stiffened. “Excuse me?” She didn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed or flinch afterwards.
“At least you seem to have the sense to marry again.” I was too stunned to respond, but Lady Oakwood prattled on. “Not that the Coventrys of Avington need your dowry, of course, but it does go some way to ensure a proper match.” She gazed at me expectantly.
“I am not a widow, my lady.” That announcement was met with more whispering from the others.
“You’ve never been married?” The blonde in green and silver asked judgmentally.
“I have not.” I said firmly, and she sneered in response before whispering something to the dark-haired girl beside her.
“Watch that one,” Lady Alice murmured into my ear. “Miss Rosamund is both a dalcop and a cumberground.”
She was a what, now?
“Surely you’ve been courted,” Lady Aaoka said, looking me up and down.
Courted. How quaint. “Yes, but--”
“Courted in earnest and yet never married?” Lady Maynwaring shook her head. “Why ever not?”
“He died,” I said curtly. There was little point in explaining life in the twenty-first century to this group, and they didn’t get any more details about him. A murmur went through the assembled women. Before I could gather myself to give a rousing speech about how much more there was to life than marriage and pushing out babies, Lady Wallington leaned forward and spoke to me again, one hand pressed to her heart.
“It is fortunate for you to find love again, and still young enough to bear children.” My uterus winced.
“Now, Catherine,” Lady Wallington steamrolled over that moment to another target, leaving me stunned in her wake. Lady Catherine was a petite, delicate looking teenager squished between Lady Oakwood and Lady Aaoka. She looked like she would have preferred to have joined me in being a wallflower. “Have you received any new letters from your dear husband, Commander Sutton?”
“Not since the last,” she replied, her cheeks pinking.
“And you do intend to provide him with children upon his return, yes?” Lady Wallington asked, leaning forward.
Wow, really? Was she on mission to knock up all the island’s fertile women?
“I do intend that,” Lady Catherine replied quietly. “Yes, my lady.”
“Good. Children are a delight,” Lady Wallington declared to the room at large, ending with a look at me.
“Have you been so blessed?” I dared to ask. Why the hell I risked bringing the attention back on myself I couldn’t say. I just didn’t want to see Lady Catherine pale any further.
“Indeed. I have two sons. And a daughter,” she added as an afterthought. I swallowed down my horror with more whiskey. “She has three of her own in Spain. It is an unfortunate distance, though advantageous at the time.”
“Spain is a beautiful country.” The words just slipped out, but I might as well have waved a red flag in front of all of them.
“What language do they speak in California? I’ll allow that you are well spoken for one not born to the language. You must have had an English governess.”
“I speak – American.” Well, that wasn’t a lie, exactly.
“Is that close to Arabian?”
“Where is California?” One of the girls in the maiden area asked intently. “What specific region of the earth?”
“The Americas,” I managed.
“And your family?” Another urged.
“My family?” My gut told me not to start with my jailbird sister.
“Do you have a family name, Lady Isabelle?” Milicent tilted her head at me in question.
“Perhaps in California they do not have surnames?” Thomasin queried. “The name of your estates, then?”
“Lady Isabelle -- of Heron’s Landing,” I blurted out. What even was that answer?
Lady Maynwaring took mercy on me. “You are a stranger to us, Lady Isabelle of Heron’s Landing from the Kingdom of California,” she stated plainly. “The Coventrys are old family friends.” Lady Wallington and a few of the others nodded in agreement.
Ah. So the Aunties wanted to make sure I was good enough for Ian. Some of them, anyway. Some of these bitches just wanted to pick at the new girl. Old and new.
“I assume Lieutenant Commander Coventry delivered you that stunning piece this morning?” Lady Wallington eyed my necklace with some self satisfied expression I couldn’t place, drawing the attention of the others as well.
“Yes, actually.” I fought the urge to fidget under their stares.
“A piece from Mr. Vaisman’s?” Lady Aoaka asked.
Milicent shook her head. “No, she got the earrings at the jeweler’s...” She trailed off as the ladies on either side of me frowned at her interjection.
“It’s a gift of congratulations. For acquiring the Sea Wind.” I added self-consciously.
Lady Wallington and several other of the married women tittered and laughed. “No matter the reason, it is wonderful to see the lieutenant commander has finally parted with that piece. It’s been in his family for generations, you know,” she said deliberately to the room.
Generations?? “P-Pardon?” I stammered. My tongue felt thick. I was wearing an heirloom‽
Lady Wallington nodded emphatically. “Lady Avington sent it with him, hoping it would be a good luck charm in bringing him a wife.” She smirked elegantly. “Of course, with the lackluster options here it’s been secured in his footlocker gathering dust for years.”
Stunned, I found my fingers drifting to touch the pendant. Why hadn’t he said anything?
She continued, going through a well-worn spiel of gossip about Ian’s older brother, Lord Parque, who was on his third wife and yet to produce any heirs, and how disappointed their lady mother was.
“Tell us, dear, when is the date? The lieutenant commander has been neglectful in mentioning it to us.”
What date? Did they mean Anne’s release? “I don’t know--”
“I didn’t realize the lieutenant commander had proposed,” Lady Catherine said, confused. You and me both, Catherine.
“He hasn’t,” I laughed along with the whole room but stopped when I realized we found very opposite interpretations of my words hilarious.
Lady Wallington dabbed at her eyes, motioning at Lady Alice. “Yes, we can figure out the dates later.” Lady Alice agreed, waving it off. “Though it will obviously need to occur before Victory returns....when is that by the way, Catherine?”
“End of summer, latest,” she said in a whisper.
“A summer wedding will be delightful,” Lady Wallington beamed, and the Ladies Aaoka and Alice were beside themselves with excitement. “It might be difficult to arrange the accommodations with Andrews, especially with – well, can’t be helped. But you’ve seemed to develop a nice rapport with him at dinner, so that will help move things along.”
“Lady Isabelle is a genuine charmer,” Lady Aaoka laughed. “Andrews usually only has glares for the other guests, but he was all smiles seated next to you.”
“Perhaps she and Mr. Andrews are better suited to each other.” Rosamund sniffed.
What is with this girl?
Lady Aaoka sniffed. “Heavens! That’s a thought!”
“No! Would you dare? Graham Andrews!” Lady Alice laughed, her blonde curls bobbing.
Lady Oakwood looked shocked. “To think!”
First the reactions and whispers when he arrived, and now this. I wondered what it was about him that they found so distasteful. He was charming and attractive, and seemed like the kind of person you could chill and have a beer with... oh. That was why they didn't like him. I made a mental note to chat with him more.
“A brute he may be - he’s a handsome brute though,” Thomasin said. “Ten years ago I may have considered the match myself!” The assembled ladies giggled.
“He does have all that land!” Milicent exclaimed. “And did you hear? He’s just acquired another fifty acres!”
Lady Alice laughed mischievously. “There’s more to it than that! He bought it right out from under Henry Macfaddon simply because has been hosting the western militia on his lands.”
Lady Wallington interjected with a dark expression, then shifted to change the subject. “Milicent, have you considered matching Margaret with him?”
She shook her head. “Margaret is just fourteen. I’d consider Davies before Andrews. Davies is an earl’s son, after all, and he’s becoming rather eligible aptycock. If he is still unmarried in a few years I might try for the match. Fourteen feels too young for me.”
“Catherine,” Lady Wallington said, “you were thirteen at your marriage to the commander, is that correct?”
“I was two weeks shy of fourteen,” Lady Catherine confirmed.
Ewwwww. I tried not to let my eyes bug out of my head. Thirteen?
Lady Wallington had noted my expression, however. “Indeed. Much too young.” She nodded, and several of the others along with her. Geez. The girl looked like she wanted to melt into the couch, and was fortifying herself with whiskey instead.
“How do you intend to dance tonight when you’ve never been taught?” Rosamund asked loudly.
“How do you know that she’s never been taught?” Lady Aaoka asked before I could respond.
“It’s well known she admitted to needing instruction from the lieutenant commander,” Mrs. Lloyd replied deprecatingly.
Jesus Fucking Christ, was there anything that happened on this island that didn’t make it through the gossip circuit?
“Is it true that you’ve been feeding those sad little ragamuffins in the square?” Milicent asked me.
“It’s odd behavior,” sniffed one of the Oakwood twins, and the other girls in the maiden section nodded in agreement.
“It isn’t odd at all,” I snapped. Now my hackles were raised. “Charitable works are a family tradition and one I’m very proud of. My mo- lady mother oversees the trusts and finances of a number of such institutions through our family’s foundation.”
A hush fell over the room.
“Philanthropy?” Thomasin asked, sitting up straight. “Your family is involved in philanthropy?”
“Yes, going back many generations.” I nodded. “It’s very important to us.”
“Well then, how noble of you,” Lady Wallington said, smiling smugly. “Wouldn’t you agree, Agnes?”
Mrs. Lloyd sniffed in response.
“I hear that Lady Isabelle is an excellent equestrian,” Lady Catherine said charitably, and I shot her a grateful smile. Thanks, girl.
“Yes, I’m sure she’s excellent at....riding.” Rosamund said loudly, and the room fell silent.
I could have taken the high road and changed the subject, but I’d had enough of those little bitches and their catty whispering.
“Is there a problem, Miss?” I returned sharply.
The girl opened and closed her mouth a few times, shocked that I’d addressed her directly. “Pardon us, Lady Isabelle,” started the youngest Lloyd girl with a faux-polite smile, but Rosamund recovered quickly.
“We are only attempting to understand why someone like Lieutenant Commander Coventry would be interested in someone like you,” Rosamund said with an overly sweet tone. She gave my hair a long, disapproving look for emphasis.
“You have a lot of anger, Izzy,” Dr. Chabliss had said. “Anger is just another emotion. And you can control your emotions. Find what’s bothering you, the root, the reason for the anger. Make it work for you.”
I placed my whiskey to the side and smiled at her. “One can never truly understand the male mind. However, if his only other option is...you,” I gave her a disdainful look up and down, adding a light scoff at the end, “then perhaps his affection is less sincerity and more desperation.” One of the older women stiffened, and Rosamund’s cheeks flared red. “Lady Wallington, thank you for your hospitality.” I stood, smoothing my skirts. “I hope it would not be an offense in your culture if I wish to continue my evening away from those who would sour my memories of your lovely dinner.”
To my surprise, several of the ladies stood as I did, immediately clamoring.
“Oh, no, no,” Lady Wallington said, eyes wide as she clutched at my arm. “It isn’t desperation at all--”
“--from a very good family, and he’s the most eligible bachelor here--” Aaoka chimed in from my other side.
“Lady Isabelle, he’s never spoken about anyone the way he speaks of you,” Lady Alice said earnestly, moving in front of me. “Truly.”
“He has never brought a lady to a single dinner,” our hostess hurried to assure me. “In all the time he’s been here, you are the first, my dear.”
“And the way he was smiling at you throughout dinner!” Lady Aaoka added, nodding.
We were just about to pass the screens where the chamber pots lay waiting. There were still hours left to this event, and it wasn’t like a better bathroom option was going to present itself. When in Rome, right?
“Thank you, ladies. I will certainly take your kind words into consideration.” We were just about to pass the screens where the chamber pots lay waiting. There were still hours left to this event, and it wasn’t like a better bathroom option was going to present itself. When in Rome, right?
“I appreciate your gracious words, ladies. Thank you,” I said, and ducked behind a screen.
Afterwards, I joined the procession that was heading to the garden. Lady Wallington informed us we had the first tour, after which the gentlemen would be joining us. We exited into the rear garden to the sounds of string instruments; the musicians played next to a grand stone dance floor. I wondered how much a place like this would cost to build.
Lady Wallington took us through rows and rows of various flowers, soaking up our compliments and praise while continuing to gossip. As soon as I noticed the other women beginning to break into smaller groups, I felt like it was finally safe to drift off on my own.
Grabbing another glass from another footman’s tray with a murmured ‘thank you’, I found a small, somewhat hidden archway of roses, relieved to be away from the others, and downed half of the glass. I had been drinking all night and it was only barely taking the edge off.
I wandered through the roses, enjoying their beauty and aroma. It was soothing to have only my own thoughts; I was overrun with those after the drawing room. That group of ladies had felt as though it was made of private jokes and innuendo. An heirloom? Surely Lady Wallington was mistaken.
This was probably just a necklace that was very similar to the one she was familiar with. Sure, the lieutenant commander and I had been spending some time together, and clearly there was a very strong attraction, but nothing serious enough to warrant the gifting of an heirloom. We haven’t even known each other for a week yet!
I laughed to myself. Those ladies were just bored and coming up with gossip to entertain themselves. The ladies at my mother’s dinner parties were much the same. New, and old. “Some things never change,” I said, moving to examine the huge, winged, marble statue in the center of the orchid section. Fairy? Nymph? Goddess?
Before long, I heard male voices in the garden; the rejoining of the ladies and gentlemen, which meant there would be dancing before much longer. I was excited to see Ian again, even if I was nervous about dancing in front of everyone. Another row of orchids, I decided. Then I would go back to the others.
Lady Wallington’s gardener really did keep a lovely garden; it was easy to lose yourself in the beauty of the place. I had never had any luck with orchids, perhaps I could obtain some secrets while I was here.
“Lady Isabelle?”
Startled by the haughtiness that crept through in only two words, I whirled around to see Lord Leigh. He was dressed in black and grey, and looked nearly as severe as a Puritan. He removed his hat and bowed, revealing a head of slicked down hair. It looked even odder up close than it had from across the table.
There is also Lord Leigh, Ian had said, all but sneering, and would have stopped there without some prodding. As best I would make out from Ian’s polite descriptions, Lord Leigh had been born a bastard, and was named heir to the Barony of Portsmouth only when his father was on his deathbed and had no other surviving offspring. I’d gotten the impression that Ian’s issue was more who the man was than how he had gained his title. Something about...gambling debts? A lack of honor? Ian had called him a dirty-beau, a rake, and a stampcrab. I hadn’t understood all of it. I had barely understood any of it, in truth.
I curtsied. What did he want? “Evening, my lord,” I returned, waiting for him to state his intentions. Wasn’t it obvious that I wanted to be alone?
“You were enjoying the flowers, yes?”
No, Einstein, I was enjoying the fucking flamingos. “The Wallingtons have a charming estate,” I replied neutrally.
He nodded at me. And then nothing. Oh my god, what was happening? Was I now expected to carry a conversation I didn’t even want to have? And why did people keep seeking me out? Casually, I made my way around the arrangement of orchids, putting myself firmly within view of the other guests. Lord Leigh was making my skin crawl.
I saw Ian, and caught his eye, relieved. He smiled at me, and was making his way over when Lady Wallington stepped in front of him and caught his attention.
“Damn it,” I mumbled.
“Lady Isabelle?”
“Yes, Lord Leigh?”
“I am to offer you congratulations on your purchase of the Sea Wind,” he said, smiling awkwardly.
“That’s very kind, thank you.” Another lengthy pause. I looked over at Ian only to discover that Lady Wallington had been joined by Lady Alice and Milicent, Lady Aaoka right on their heels. ...And two other male guests from the party were making their way into the orchid area. My heart sank; I doubted they were coming to take in the flowers.
“Do you enjoy dancing?” Lord Leigh asked in a sudden rush.
Etiquette Through the Centuries: It was considered a slight of the highest order for a lady to refuse a gentleman a dance unless it was already promised to another.
Insulting a baron seemed like a bad idea.
“Well, I--”
“Lady Isabelle?” Two new voices spoke in unison.
Lord Leigh had been joined by Henry and Robert....something. The youngest sons of Lord...somebody, recently arrived in Bermuda with shares in the Somers Isles Company and intent on finding their fortunes. I knew I had just been speaking with their mother in the drawing room, but everybody and their mother was coming out to Bermuda as part of the damn Somers Isles Company, and I was having a hard time keeping them all straight. Henry was the oldest, and didn’t look like he would be old enough to drink in the Kingdom of California.
“Henry Maynwaring,” he said, bowing. Lord Leigh scowled.
Curtseying, bowing, polite greetings and introductions.
I was abruptly swarmed with questions, each trying to outdo the others. Where was I from? How did I find Somers Isles? Did I ever get to London? Did I enjoy roses? Where was my family from?
Just smile and nod Izzy, just smile and nod, I told myself, but this was far, far worse than the drawing room. Inside, I was screaming.
I glanced over at Ian, but he looked just as trapped as I was.
Out of options, I resigned myself to feinting fainting. “I am feeling rather warm,” I began, opening my fan and waving it at myself dramatically. I was working my way up to a good swoon - a bed of Lady Wallington’s lady slipper orchids would have to bear the brunt of it, unfortunately, but it couldn’t be helped - when Mr. Graham Andrews suddenly appeared.
“Lady Isabelle,” he announced loudly, “Such a pleasure speaking to you earlier. Pardon me, gentlemen.” And just like that, the three younger men turned to try their luck elsewhere. Impressive. Though I did resent the ease at which he had been able to accomplish it, I consoled myself with the knowledge that I wouldn’t have to pull leaves and mulch out of my hair now.
Ian was still occupied, I saw, though he was now watching through narrowed eyes. In fact, he seemed more agitated now than when I had been surrounded. I, on the other hand, was curious as to the reason for Mr. Graham Andrews’ sudden appearance. I raised an eyebrow at him. Well?
“I was hoping to continue our earlier conversation. And,” he confided with a charming, disarming smile, “I’ve been cornered by Lord Leigh and the like at parties and can’t say I care for his company. I hope I wasn’t presumptuous.”
“Thank you, Mr. Andrews.” I took another sip of my drink. “That was a fucking nightmare,” I murmured, and he gave me a strange look. He had looked at me that way at dinner also. “Yes? Is something the matter?” My tone was a bit testy.
He paused. “Lady Isabelle, would you tell me about your homeland? I’m so curious about your accent,” he said, blue eyes narrowed. His sudden intensity was almost alarming. ...Was he hitting on me?
“Why do you ask?” I smiled at him pleasantly.
“I am a curious man. And you are an intriguing lady.” He picked one of Lady Wallington’s roses and offered it to me, smiling gallantly.
I knew that Mr. Andrews was offering the flower in exchange for information; I accepted the pretty little rosebud anyway. I was really curious to see where, exactly, he was going with this.
“I’m from California. In the Americas.” It was fascinating how these words just flowed from my mouth now.
“The Americas?” His handsome face looked pensive. “That land clearly produces exceptional women. Would you agree?” He looked at me intently again.
It didn’t seem as though he was trying to intimidate me, but his manner and size were almost overwhelming; I had to resist the urge to step back. “I think exceptional women can be found everywhere that they are allowed to thrive,” I said with a small, nervous laugh.
He beamed at me. “I couldn’t agree more. They are my favorite type of women.”
It almost felt like he was flirting with me. Almost. I smiled back, cautiously. I really had no idea what to make of him.
“So, Lady Isabelle of the Californias, I apologize for these fancy fucks here.” Had he just said ‘fucks’? Surprised, I chuckled, and he leaned in, his deep voice conspiratorial. “Keep your eyes on Rosamund. She’s a real fucking piece of work. Had to fight her off myself last year. She has claws,” he informed me, still grinning.
“No kidding,” I said, laughing again. First Lady Alice’s warning, now this. “She’s been glaring daggers at me the entire evening,” I said, punctuating that statement with a low screeching cat noise. He laughed, and that was when it hit me. He was being normal. Most people that I encountered here, especially the men, were so deferential that having one speak to me as an equal felt almost foreign here. I untensed. Somewhat.
“My Lady Isabelle! You are full of surprises!” He raised his glass to mine, and we clinked them. “I don’t know about you, but I generally prefer less formality on an evening out.” He gestured at the array of stiff, well-dressed people.
I laughed. He had no idea. “Generally, I agree. It can be nice to fancy it up from time to time, however.” I tilted my head at him. “What do you usually do for fun?” I wondered if ladies were allowed to have male friends here.
Six. Freaking. Months.
“Usually on a good night such as this, myself and all those on my estate have a large bonfire and barbeque. The distillery keeps everyone’s glasses full.” Did he mean that had his own distillery? The ladies had mentioned how vast his lands were. “Those nights are my favorite. And we dance. Do you dance, my lady?”
“Yes. Well, some. Most of the dances I know are...foreign here.” I could feel him staring at me again.
“May I?” He extended his hand; I tucked the flower behind my ear, then accepted. “A very old friend taught me this.” He began to move slowly: step together, step to the side, other side, arms up and over, twirled me in, and then back out.
It was a swing dance! ...Something I thought of as being very modern. “You know how to swing?” I asked him, delighted. So the swing I knew was just a newer version or something; either way, it was refreshing to be able to do a dance I knew well.
“An old friend taught me a long time ago.” He was smiling again. Over his arm, I saw Ian rapidly crossing the garden in our direction, released from the Aunties at long last.
“Well, you’re very good,” I told him. “It’s obvious you’ve had a lot of experience with it.”
He looked down at me, pausing briefly before he spoke again. “I’m only okay. She’s much better.”
I scoffed. “You’re far better than okay. Your friend must be a dance master or something,” I laughed, and Mr. Andrews nodded slowly.
Ian was standing in front of me the next time I whirled out. “Lady Isabelle,” he said, offering me his hand. “I believe I have claimed this dance.” I grinned at him, placing my hand in his.
“Mr. Andrews.” I inclined my head at him in farewell.
“One moment Lieutenant Commander - dammit.”
I heard Mr. Andrews’ curse of frustration and gave him a quick good-bye wave over my shoulder as my date led me down yet another row of roses.
“You looked like a tender young lamb surrounded by hungry wolves,” Ian said in a low voice.
“I did feel as though one of them might attempt to take a bite out of me,” I shuddered. “Lord Leigh in particular.”
“I saw that you were saved by Mr. Andrews,” he added. His eyes flicked to my ear - only then did I remember the rosebud I’d secured there.
“Ian,” I turned to him, withdrawing the flower. “Mr. Andrews knew a dance from my homeland! I didn’t think that anyone would know those here,” I said, then stopped myself. I could hardly explain the true oddity of it to him, could I?
I didn’t mention the ‘fuck’ part.
Ian was unusually silent for a long moment. “I suppose that provided you some comfort,” he replied eventually, giving me a reserved smile.
When had I plucked the petals from this flower? I let the stem fall to the ground.
“I feel much more comforted now,” I said, rubbing his arm appreciatively. “I missed you,” I added quietly. I was out of my element here, and I really had not enjoyed being surrounded that way without knowing how to handle it ‘appropriately’.
Ian abruptly stopped walking, then met my eyes with a piercing, inquisitive look. “Were you troubled?” He asked me sharply.
Troubled? It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. “No, nothing like that,” I assured him. He looked unconvinced, so I went into more detail. Reluctantly. “My culture is very different. If a man asks me to dance, and I don’t want to, I can simply say ‘no, thank you’ and it doesn’t obligate me in any way. Things are not that way, here.”
His eyes narrowed in building anger. “Did you feel forced by Mr. Andrews?” His words and tone were quite deliberate, and Ian looked every inch the lieutenant commander.
“No, not at all,” I assured him firmly. “He didn’t pressure me. He only wanted to know if we knew a dance in common.”
He searched my face, and after a while, seemed mollified. “Very well. You need not worry for the remainder of the evening. You and I have made an arrangement, Isabelle, with regards to dancing,” he reminded me, taking my hands. We were alone, and somewhat secluded, I noticed. Other than the camellia shrubs, that was. I wondered how many damn sections of plants Lady Wallington had in this place. In the distance, the clock struck midnight.
“Yes, I suppose we have,” I replied, softly. “You should know that if you dance with no others, we will give Lady Wallington and the others much to gossip about.” That was one thing in the books I already knew from real life. I moved to look at more of the shrubs.
“Given my knowledge of those ladies, they would gossip about the fish and frogs if there were no other subjects readily nearby,” Ian responded dryly.
I chuckled. “Yes. They have very vivid imaginations.”
“Oh?” Ian arched an eyebrow at me, giving me an assessing look. He paused at the pendant, and I found myself hoping that he was looking at the background.
I nodded, taking in more of the garden area we found ourselves in. When I glanced at Ian, he was still waiting.
“No,” I scoffed. “It’s silly.”
“Isabelle,” Ian smiled down at me. “This is a rare glimpse into the ladies’ drawing room,” he prompted, closing the distance between us. “Please, indulge me.”
It was hard to think with him staring at me like that. I swallowed nervously; my mouth had suddenly gone dry. “It seems that we have become quite the topic of conversation. Poor Ralph’s frequent runs through the town have been observed and remarked upon. Among other things...” I glanced at Ian, who nodded thoughtfully, a hint of a smile toying with his mouth. “Everyone is aware that we’re spending time together, and Lady Wallington is under the impression that this necklace is an important family heirloom,” I said, touching the pendant. It sounded so dumb when I said it out loud. “Apparently, all of St. George’s has us practically married,” I said, forcing out a laugh to show that yes, I understood just how ludicrous of an idea it was. Izzy, shut up. You are blabbering. Blathering? Blabbering? It doesn't matter, just shut up! Ian was gazing down at me in silence, with that same slight smile. Why didn’t he say something?
I couldn’t stand the quiet. “This is how it is in small towns, people make up things. We haven’t even kissed--”
And then he kissed me. It was soft, brief, and chaste.
I was completely stunned, and not just because of how soft his lips were.
“Isabelle,” he began, then paused. “The opal is indeed an important piece. I would not have given you a superficial bauble.” His eyes were intense as he gazed down at me. “May I kiss you again?”
I nodded. It wasn’t as though I could speak. He searched my face questioningly, looking for consent. For a kiss I was inviting. How chivalrous. I nodded at him once more, and he pressed his lips to mine, very cautiously. Once I melted into him, however, wrapping my arms around his neck, he gave in, kissing me deeply. He tasted like whiskey, tropical fruit, and delight.
When we disentangled, I felt weak. Ian was still looking down at me intently, but it was different somehow. I felt my mouth curving into a smile as I met his eyes.
“I believe I have claimed all of your waltzes for the evening, my lady,” Ian asserted, offering me his arm.
As we walked through the garden to join the others, I was too giddy to stop smiling completely; I could only hope that I was at least keeping myself relatively composed on the outside.
Oh my god, he had kissed me! It had been perfect, and I could hardly imagine a more romantic setting for a first kiss. I swallowed a squeal and tried not to grin like an idiot.
The Aunties were watching us like hawks as we made our way back through the roses; Lady Wallington had a knowing smile, and Lady Alice and Lady Aaoka were whispering to each other. Rosamund and her crew were watching us as well, but with much less pleasure. Then we began to waltz.
Here’s the thing about the waltz: it’s a very close dance. Where I come from, people twerk on social media in bikinis and it’s not even news; but here, the freaking waltz was still considered provocative by a number of people. An unmarried couple dancing the waltz was apparently an astonishing sight.
I tuned all of them out, and focused on my gorgeous, graceful partner. It was the easiest thing in the world to do. Ian was currently sporting a self-satisfied smile; it went well with the intense look in his deep blue eyes.
“I dare say I am the envy of every man in attendance this evening,” Ian told me in a quiet voice. “You have captured the attention of all present.”
The catty girls from the drawing room glared at me with bitter disappointment. They had probably expected me to fall on my face. I let out a low laugh. “Speaking of envy, it seems that I am dancing with the most eligible bachelor on the entire island.”
Ian chuckled, shaking his head. “There are far wealthier bachelors here.”
“Miss Rosamund,” I ventured, and Ian’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Did you...spend time with her?”
“Briefly.” He frowned. “It did not take much for me to learn that we were not well-suited,” Ian added.
I raised an eyebrow. That sentence had been positively loaded with subtext. “Did she accept that with grace?”
His jaw clenched. “She did not.”
At least now I knew why Rosamund and her friends had been mean-mugging me all night. And now Lady Wallington’s pointed comments made more sense as well. “She isn’t very well liked, is she?”
“She is not.” Ian said with emphasis. He made a face, shaking his head slowly. “But as her uncle is one of the principal shareholders in Somers Isles-” Of course he was “- she is a fixture at these events.”
I nodded. Anne had similar, shall we say, likeability issues? But Mom would kick up an epic social hurricane if either of her daughters weren’t invited to an event that she deemed important. It was easier to send out the invitations and hope for the best.
Ian stayed close to my side for the rest of the evening, on and off the dance floor. He even warned Lord Leigh off with a Stern Look at one point. We took another dance break for refreshments, and I hid a yawn behind my hand. A number of the attendees had begun to stagger under the weight of their alcohol, I observed. Miss Rosamund looked especially intoxicated.
“It is rather late,” Ian remarked attentively. “We have stayed beyond the length of time civility requires, if you are ready to retire for the evening?”
“I am ready to leave...but I would like to spend a little more time with you before ending the evening.” There was a huge list of things for me to take care of tomorrow - technically today - but I didn’t want to part from Ian any sooner than necessary. Also, I was really hoping we’d get a chance to kiss again before the night was out.
He nodded, giving me an affectionate look. “We could take the carriage back to the Sea Wind, and then stroll for a bit,” he suggested.
“Wonderful. You have the best ideas,” I told him grinning.
We were heading to say good night to our hostess when I noticed Rosamund. You ever read a bitch who thinks she’s being subtle? That was Rosamund. She was standing with her friends, holding out a glass of red wine and being very careless with it. They were standing along our path, and not very far from Lady Wallington and the rest of the Aunties; we would have to pass them.
“How do you feel about dueling?” I asked Ian suddenly.
He blinked down at me. “Pardon?”
“If someone were to challenge you to a duel right here and now, what would you do?”
“I suppose I would have to accept,” he said slowly.
“I’m about to be challenged.”
“Challenged?” He frowned. “In what way?”
“Take a look at Miss Rosamund. She’s aiming to soak me in her wine.”
Ian looked at me sharply. “You seem quite certain.”
“I’m familiar with her type,” I replied neutrally.
He greeted the group with his usual charm and I couldn’t help but smile at him. Ian was captivating that way. He was just so....delicious. Rosamund was smiling too, but....differently. It was very ‘cat that just swallowed your canary right in front of you’ and that was the self-satisfied smile she turned on me... Right as she threw her wine at me.
She was aiming for my face! I wasn’t able to dodge her entirely, but I managed to redirect it.
“Oh, how clumsy of me!” She exclaimed, imitating surprise. “I didn’t see you there in the dark.” She simpered.
When I met her eyes, something ran through me, and red bloomed across my vision.
I don't know if it was the look of celebration in her eyes, or her puerile smirk, or how proud she was of her asinine, racist comment. Whatever the reason - it was Izzy, not Lady Isabelle, that was running the show in that minute.
“You little bitch,” I said in a low voice. One of her friends gasped.
Rosamund turned bright pink. “What did you say?” She hissed, stepping up into my face.
I kept it mild, you fucking cunt. This little tart thought she was going to intimidate me. I smiled at her deliberately, pulled her close to me by the front of her dress, and spoke quietly enough that only she could hear. “I called you a little bitch,” I repeated calmly into her ear. Then I promptly stiff-armed her out of my way, giving her a little shove as I let go.
As I turned back to Ian, a shriek went up behind us, followed by gasps and some laughter. I turned around just in time to see Rosamund - who had apparently toppled over backwards over one of Lady Wallington’s low, long flower pots and gone sprawling - attempting to right herself. “Do you know who my uncle is?” She screamed at me. The battle cry of the entitled.
I scoffed and rolled my eyes. The response of the unimpressed. She didn’t like that very much at all.
Rosamund was full of indignation and fury as she began to charge, screaming like a banshee. The stupid little girl was actually going to come after me. I sighed, and adjusted my ring. She was looking for a fight, so I was going to give her one. I was going to have to wallop this child in front of everyone she knew here.
Cons: It would be shamefully undignified, for both of us.
Pros: I would get to wallop her ass in front of everyone she knew here.
“Don’t,” Ian warned her, stepping in between us before she could reach me.
It was a very bittersweet moment. On the one hand, how chivalrous! On the other? I was surprised to find that I was actually disappointed. I’d been looking forward to punching her in the throat.
Mr. Andrews stepped up to my other side as Rosamund set up for another attempt. Eager for a front row seat to the likely catfight, I had assumed, but he caught her as she tried to lunge around Ian.
“Really, Rosamund,” Mr. Andrews chided in a deep voice that carried across the garden. “Clearly you have had plenty to drink. If you wanted to share your wine with the lady, any of your betters here would help you pour.” Mr. Andrews gripped her arm firmly and wouldn’t let her escape, despite her continued attempts to lunge for me. “I will see you back into the care of your governess.” Mr. Andrews gave me a sweeping bow and a huge grin as he took the struggling, crying Rosamund out and away from Bermuda society.
Shit. Everyone was staring at us. I whispered to Ian. “I really do think we ought to--”
“Yes, quite,” Ian replied, offering his arm. By this point, Lady Wallington had been joined by her husband. Our farewell involved more bowing and curtseying, of course, during which I kept my eyes and head down in an attempt to appear reticent - however unlikely that was at this point.
“My sincere apologies for Miss Rosamund’s vulgar behavior,” Lady Wallington said formally.
“Thank you, Lady Wallington.” I shook my head. I was starting to feel embarrassed about my behavior as well. ...It was the sort of thing my sister would have done. “It is not your burden. I offer my apologies to you for my strong response.”
“I did not think it overly strong, my dear,” Lady Wallington whispered to me. I turned to her in surprise; she had a wicked gleam in her dark eyes. “Good night, Lady Isabelle. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon,” she added, with a secret smile.
I admit to being more than a little puzzled by the warmth of our farewell; my expectations were much lower. Ian swept me out quickly, doing no more than nodding his farewells to any we passed on our way. I saw Mr. Andrews near a wagon, patting a horse and speaking to a very pretty, well-dressed woman with bronze skin and purple-black hair. A woman from the Americas? She was smoking a cigar as she lounged in the wagon. Mr. Andrews saw us and motioned to get our attention. “Lieutenant Commander, a moment?”
He had a very ‘cock of the walk’ strut as he approached. “The young lady is safely back in the custody of her elders and won’t be bothering you or your intended any more. I have spoken with her Aunt as well about keeping dear Rosamund on a shorter leash.” He took my hand and kissed it politely. “Lady Isabelle, I look forward to hosting you on my land soon,” he said by way of goodbye.
What? “Hosting me? On his land? What did he mean by that?” I asked Ian. Mr. Andrews was climbing in the front wagon with the woman at his side, taking up the reins himself. Cool. That explained the smell of horses.
“I believe you made quite an impression on Mr. Andrews,” Ian told me with a cordial smile. “He has invited us out to have a look at his lands, despite his normal aloofness.”
“I see.” Whatever the hell that meant.
Gerta was already at the carriage when we arrived, snoozing on the rear bench. “Gerta,” I said, gently rousing her. “We’re taking off.”
“Ja, lady, ja,” she said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “Bitte, lady.”
We were pulling out of the Wallingtons’ lane when Ian leaned forward, a troubled expression on his face. “You are owed an apology for the way our otherwise splendid night was interrupted.”
“Certainly, but not from you.” Fucking Rosamund. “I rather thought I owed you an apology for losing my temper.” I shuddered. “My lady mother would have been most displeased with my actions.” Vivienne St. Germaine did not approve of fisticuffs.
“Rosamund’s actions are her own deficiency,” Ian said firmly. “My apology is due for other reasons. You warned me of her intentions and my response was not swift enough to intervene.” He paused. “‘Lost your temper’?” Ian queried, his brow furrowed attractively. “Is it to do with being provoked?”
“Yes. I was rather provoked.” Ian nodded, and we fell into comfortable silence. I gazed out the window. Even the sky was vastly different than it had been during my last trip to this island. The small groves of trees didn’t block the sky in the same way that blocks of buildings did, and the stars were so much more visible here and now. The world wasn’t full of pollution yet. I wanted to go out and see this place from horseback, on a real ride.
When I looked back, I found Ian staring at the pendant, and I was feeling....risqué. Gliding slowly, I moved my hands up along the neckline of my bodice until I reached the chain. The handsome Lieutenant Commander didn’t move his eyes from the vicinity until I wiggled it. He looked slightly startled as his eyes came up to meet mine, so full of longing that it took my breath away.
He recovered more quickly. “You wear that piece as though it was made for you.”
“You have a way with words, Ian Coventry,” I replied eventually. “I have a very full day, but I was thinking of making time to take out a horse this afternoon. Would you care to join me?”
“You wish to go riding?” Ian looked delighted. “Perhaps we could get a small group together? We need to be properly chaperoned, and I am certain Mistress Gerta does not ride,” he added.
Properly chaperoned. Right. “Perhaps,” I said hesitantly. “A small group?” I fought the urge to yawn again.
He nodded enthusiastically. “I routinely ride with Talbot and Wallington. I’m positive their wives would be amenable. Would that do?”
I wasn’t thrilled about the idea of having a bunch of chaperones, but I knew better than to go off on horseback alone through a foreign area. And I really wanted to go riding. “Alright. I hope they’re decent equestrians?”
“More than fair,” he assured me, beaming.
We pulled up to the inn a short while after. As Ian helped me down from the carriage, he gave me a discerning look. “Lady Isabelle, I believe you are in need of rest.”
“I regret to say that I believe you are correct.” I said, biting back another yawn. The carriage ride had made me sleepy, my adrenaline was wearing off, and the numerous drinks I’d consumed over the course of the evening were adding up. I sent Gerta off, assuring her I would be heading to bed myself shortly.
Ian moved to walk me through the front door, and I paused, pulling out my keys. I had attached them to the pretty ribbon Ian had tied to this morning’s sonnet, forming a loop that I could slip over my wrist. “I have my own entrance now,” I informed him with a grin as I moved to unlock it. “Oh,” I said, dismayed. The lantern had gone out - little wonder, it had been hours - and the staircase was pitch black. “Fudge,” I said, squinting as though I would suddenly develop magical vision powers.
Ian stood at my side, peering up into the black. “Would you prefer to go through the main entrance? It is rather dark, Isabelle.”
“No kidding,” I mumbled. Hmmm. “Lieutenant Commander, would you be so good as to walk me up the stairs? It’s my first time entering this way.”
“Of course, my lady.”
I closed the exterior door and threw the small latch; I didn’t want to try to fumble around with an unfamiliar key in the dark.
“Ian?” I whispered. It felt gauche to speak at a normal volume.
He was quiet as well. “I am here, Isabelle.” I turned towards the sound of his rich, lovely voice. “Take my hand.” He held on firmly once we found each other, carefully guiding me towards the side. “Here is the handhold,” he said, placing my hand on it. I had forgotten that there was a handhold - or as we called it, a railing - and wondered how he had found it so quickly. My heart was racing as he led me up in the dark.
“Here’s the door. The key?”
“My left wrist,” I murmured.
“May I?” His voice was like velvet in my ear.
“Mmmhmm.” He started at my elbow, gently running his hand down to my wrist to the ribbon. “It’s the larger key,” I added. Ian moved my hand closer to the door, then maneuvered the key into the lock so easily that my mind went to dirty places. And here we were, heading to my bedroom.
“Here we are,” he said, opening the door smoothly.
“You have no idea how amazed I am at what you just did,” I told him as I entered. “I would have been fumbling around in there for hours.” I paused, blinking. The slits of moonlight coming through the window were like full light after the darkness we had just made our way through, and the bedroom looked altogether different than it had the last time I was here. In the time I had been gone, it had been filled with my things, the new furniture, and the other items I’d requested. I had no doubt that the front room would look similarly new. The room smelled pleasantly of cedar and roses.
“My pleasure,” Ian said. He gestured at the new beeswax candles in their holders. “You ought to light one of those when you lock the door behind me.”
I grew conscious that I was fidgeting with the keys I wore; my movement to tuck them into my sleeve attracted Ian’s eye, and he reached out to catch my wrist. The ribbon had caught his attention.
He grinned at me, bowing slightly as he turned to leave. “Ian, wait. Uh...There’s a custom where I’m from...” I had been so bold just a moment ago, and now I was losing my nerve.
“Please go on,” he cocked his head at me curiously. “I enjoy hearing about your home.”
The words spilled out in a rush. “Our custom is that a gentleman walks a lady to her door. And then, before he leaves, he kisses her good night. Especially boyfriends. If both parties are...tractable, that is.”
“The good night kiss,” Ian said slowly, his expression thoughtful as he looked down at me. “Now that we have initiated the exchange of such pleasantries, this custom comes into play?”
Pleasantries. He was adorable. “Yes.”
“I am indeed tractable,” Ian said in a low voice, stepping up to me. He ran his hands gently up my arms, the heat from his fingers burning through my sleeves. I stood on my tiptoes, impatient to feel his mouth against mine again.
The lieutenant commander was a wonderful kisser.
“Boyfriends?” He queried once we separated. I stared up at him dumbly. Oh my god, I was drunk. I hadn’t even realized I’d said that out loud.
“Um, yes,” I said slowly. “Sorry. I don’t know why I said that. You’ve just been so helpful and wonderful...”
“I am not familiar with the term ‘boyfriend’,” Ian clarified. “What does it mean?”
Of course he wasn’t. “It’s a part of that whole dating thing we do in my homeland. In California, if neither of you wants to date anyone else and you become an official couple, boyfriend and girlfriend are the common titles.” I wondered if I sounded as ridiculous as I felt.
“Isabelle?” Ian was smiling down at me mischievously. “How does a couple decide to be boyfriend and girlfriend?” I blinked. He was unending with the questions tonight. “Is there any sort of a ceremony or ritual?”
“It’s not that formal,” I shook my head. How was such an elementary school level conversation making me so flustered? “The couple just agrees that they don’t want to spend time with other people...in that way.”
“Isabelle?” He was giving me that soul-piercing gaze of his, and my skin was growing warmer and warmer.
I swallowed. “Yes, Ian?” My voice was a whisper.
“Would you be my girlfriend?” He made it sound like a formal proposal. I wanted to laugh, but even nervous laughter wouldn’t come up.
“Okay,” I murmured. “Yes. Yes.”
“I assume kissing is a part of this also?” I nodded wordlessly, and Ian leaned down to me again. “Your homeland does have the most delightful customs.”
Everything was different this time.
It was our first time being alone together in a dark room, our first kiss felt well behind us now....and I couldn’t speak for Ian, but I was feeling an excellent, inhibition lowering buzz. I wanted him so badly, and for the first time in weeks I felt all my walls melt away into nothingness.
Kissing him deeply, I curled my fingers up into his hair, molding my body against his. Ian wrapped an arm around me, kissing me back arduously while his other hand roamed over my clothing. I divested him of his coat, letting it fall to the floor, then sighed with contentment as I ran my hands over his upper body. The linen was so thin as to be nearly non-existent, giving me plenty of contact with the solidity of his excellent physique.
The bed was only a few steps away; it was nothing to pull him back with me, and the mattress was high enough to be more like sitting down than falling. And then Ian was on top of me, bearing me back as his kisses traveled from my mouth to my neck, down to the expanse of exposed skin at my neckline and back up again.
There are few things in this world as enjoyable as being pressed under the weight of a man that you want to be there.
He kissed me, deftly loosening my lacing, then tugged down at the edge of my neckline, getting access to more skin. Even with all the yards and layers of heavy brocade and petticoats, I could feel him. The warmth of his skin, the firmness of his body, the strength of his hands. And his desire, which was very evident through the thin fabric of his trousers.
Then I felt him pushing up my skirts and petticoats, slowly running his hand up my stockinged leg to my bare thigh. We both shuddered as skin met skin again.
“Your skin is divine.” Ian paused when he reached my hip, inhaling sharply as he gave my rear a hearty squeeze.I whimpered, grabbing him by his shirt to pull his mouth back to kissing distance.
Ian murmured something. It sounded an awful lot like “I love you” but I wasn’t sure, and we were kissing again before I could respond. Not that I would have had anything intelligent to say. The entire world for me at this moment was Ian and I, pressed against each other, kissing, embracing, arching and writhing. Dry humping, really, and yet in this time, surrounded by restrictions and limitations, it felt like much more.
Bit by bit, he roamed further up my legs, moving to cup my hips and my rear end in his palms as he ground against me, setting me ablaze.
In the nearby distance, I heard footsteps. They drew closer. No, I begged mentally. We were so, so very close-- The hallway door opened and we both froze as someone entered the outside room; there was a light shining from beneath the door.
“Lady Isabelle?” It was Josefa-Maria, dutifully arriving to help me out of my ridiculous clothing. It was so very, very late. I had really hoped that the maid was fast asleep - and not just for selfish reasons.
Ian sprang back as though he had been yanked with a vaudeville hook, melting into the dark. Before I could say anything, Josefa-Maria knocked at the bedroom door.
“Lady Isabelle?” She called again. The lieutenant commander had managed to grab his coat and sword belt, I noticed, scanning the floor for any evidence of his presence. I had no idea where he had disappeared to. “Yes, I’m here,” I said, opening the door.
“I hope you were not waiting long, my lady,” the maid said apologetically. “I did not hear you return.” My heart was racing; even with the lantern she had brought in, I still had no idea where Ian was. She lit a candle, stifling a yawn.
“Let’s get this done quickly, so we can both get to our beds,” I told her. I forced myself to calm down, making small talk with the maid about the party while she unlaced me. Finished unlacing me, I realized, suddenly and unexpectedly nervous. If she noticed anything, she said nothing.
Inside, I was pissed - not at her, of course. But the situation? That was infuriating. Here I was, a grown ass woman who owned the building we were in and I had to sneak around like a fucking teenager. God, I hadn’t even snuck around then!
“Don’t worry about clothing,” I said as she moved to lay out and prepare pieces. I still had no idea where Ian was and I didn’t want her to discover him. “We’ll do that in the morning.” The new dressing gown I had gotten from Matheo was hanging from one of the hooks, a cassock-like creation in flowing grey silk. It was meant to look sufficiently like outerwear to be worn in front of other people, but simple enough to put on without the assistance of servants. I slipped it on and belted the sash.
“Yes, my lady.” She nodded. “Mistress Anika said you’ll want your things left in the front room instead of your sleeping chamber in the mornings, going forward?” She peered at me to confirm.
“Indeed.” I was already ushering her out of the room. “I’ll be sleeping in late,” I added. “Good night, Josefa-Maria.” I locked the door behind her, then turned around to survey the room. “Ian?” I whispered.
I sighed with relief as he came out from behind the bathing screen, grinning sheepishly. His expression turned to one of bemusement. “What is that you’re wearing?”
“A dressing gown,” I said. He only stared at me in confusion; I was just as confused about why he was wearing his coat again. “Never mind.” I shook my head, eager to pick up where we had left off.
I had just gotten in a solid smooch and was working on leading him back to the bed while simultaneously getting that stupid fucking coat back off of him when he groaned and pulled away from me.
Ian took a deep breath. “Isabelle,” he began, gently disentangling my hands from his neck. “I dare not.” I blinked up at him, confused. “My dear,” Ian said slowly, clasping my hands within his own, “do you not understand how perilously close we came to...” He paused, staring at me in curiosity and confusion. “If we had not been interrupted by your maid, would you have allowed things to continue?”
Ummmm. “Why don’t you tell me what the right answer is, and I’ll say that,” I suggested brightly, kissing him until he dragged himself away.
“My God, Isabelle,” he said softly, shaking his head. Ian closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Calming breaths, I assumed. “My discipline will only go so far,” he said, then gave me a very careful, brief kiss. “You must come down to lock the door,” he reminded me. Once down the stairs, he listened at the door for a long moment. “Good night, my dear.” He stole one last kiss before darting off into the night.
I locked the door with a heavy sigh.
My bed felt empty and cold now without Ian. All I had left was the smell of him in my new sheets and pillows. I groaned in frustration. He had left me so wound up I felt like I was going to explode.
I snuggled up to the pillow that smelled the most like Ian and closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. “Mmmm.” I had been ready to kiss him days ago, but it had been worth the wait.
Sighing with pleasure, I replayed the highlights. Alone in the garden, under the stars, the first press of his lips to mine...and then, when he charmingly asked to kiss me again. Kissing me goodnight over and over and over again...Ian running his hands over my skin...the way it had felt to be pressed beneath him while his hands roamed beneath my clothing.
I pretended that Ian had never left. It wasn’t difficult. I could still feel his hands and fingers, slowly exploring my form. A shiver ran through me remembering the way he had kissed along my neck, squeezed my thighs and hips and cupped my ass, setting me on fire even though he hadn’t removed a single item of my clothing. And now he was gone and so were my clothes, but the fire was still burning. I replaced his hands with my own, letting them go farther and farther, imagining that he was rubbing and stroking those sensitive places. I peaked in record time, quietly gasping into the pillow that still smelled like him.
Release. Even if it was only a brief reprieve.
The pendant, now securely tucked away in my new jewelry box, was my last thought as I fell asleep. With the kiss and everything else that had followed, I had forgotten to ask him more about it. An heirloom gift. He really did like me, then. I fell asleep smiling.
