9. Isla #2
“Not alone. Not as long as I have you, James, and Fornette in my life. What you nearly said to Lady Beaulah, and thank God James stopped you by the way, but what you nearly said is so true. Beaulah wears high-collared, long-sleeved blouses to cover the bruises her so-called loving husband gives her. If that’s what comes with marriage, the both of us are truly blessed not to be tied to a man.
” She glanced over her shoulder at where Jonto was speaking to someone.
“That being said, maybe someday a kind, charming man will sweep you off your feet. If and when that happens, I’ll be your biggest supporter… and your maid of honor, I hope.”
“Celie.” Isla groaned and rubbed her temples with her fingers.
“Not you, too? How many times have I told you I have no plans to ever wed. I, too, am content with my life and with the people who have blessed me with their friendship. Now, since Uncle James has forced us into being polite hostesses, let’s split up and mingle, shall we? ”
“Of course. Just promise me you’ll keep that famous temper in check. These are very influential women in the community. Their husbands even more so. It’s not a good idea to take them on.”
With a sigh, Isla nodded. “I know. And I will. Thank you for those words of wisdom. This whole thing has me on edge. Go on and enjoy yourself. I’ll behave.
” With a smile, she watched Celie walk into the crowd and circulate among the guests.
Even though many of the more snobbish women considered her beneath them, Celie had always been caring and outgoing, taking soup to the ill or a kind word to those in need.
Because of her amiable ways, she had several friends among the guests and took advantage of the evening to catch up with people she hadn’t spoken to in a while.
Isla smiled as a friend approached, and so began her evening of polite conversations and mind-numbing gossip.
After the orchestra had played several waltzes, Isla was prepared to scream if another woman came up and whispered that Lord Jonto cut quite a dashing figure in his navy blue admiral’s waistcoat, dark trousers, and polished knee-high boots.
How often had she heard, “Oh, isn’t he just the most handsome man you’ve ever seen? ”
She’d had all she could stand when Sarai Goodwin tucked her hand through her elbow and giggled, “I’ll bet you sit up on your balcony just waiting to catch a glimpse of him riding across his fields.
” Isla disentangled her arm and forced a smile.
“Excuse me, Sarai. I need to check on the dessert preparations.”
Without waiting for a response, Isla pulled in a breath and wove through the visitors as she made her impromptu escape.
Upon entering the kitchens, she couldn’t help but admire the vast array of colorful desserts, the sight of which lifted her mood and brought a much-needed smile to her face.
The confections ranged from the trifle, artfully displayed in clear glass bowls so people could admire the tri-colored layers of sponge cake topped with custard fruit and whipped cream.
Many had mouthwatering garnishes of grated chocolate, toasted almonds, or an extra berry artfully placed in the middle of the cream.
Next came several goblets of syllabub. The bakers made each serving by first curdling cream with cider and topping the treat with a mint leaf to add that little bit of color and freshness.
Of course, there was the Spotted Dick—a crowd favorite—several platters of festive, traditional fruitcake and many tarts and pies.
With her hands clasped behind her back to avoid touching any delightful offerings, Isla bent over the table and drew in the sweet-smelling aroma of a hot apple pie a baker’s assistant had recently pulled from the oven.
She moved next to the head baker and waved at the various confections covering every inch of counter space.
“You’ve outdone yourself tonight, Sally.
Everything looks so wonderful. You must have been baking for several days to accomplish this. ”
Sally, a well-padded, florid-faced woman with a headful of curly gray hair and a ready smile known to light up entire rooms, held a large bowl of cream beneath one arm, vigorously churning the sweet concoction over and over until she coaxed it into a frothy delight.
Stopping to examine the consistency with a practiced eye, Sally nodded once to declare its perfection and then answered while spooning the cream over the apple pie.
“Lord Riordan paid several of th’ ladies in th’ community to assist, My Lady.
Of course, I’m in charge a organizin’ it all, but I trusted each woman to produce their very best.” She lifted an elbow to indicate one of the serving trays loaded with goblets of syllabub.
“I’m sure ya have no question of who made those. Can ya guess?”
Isla grinned. “I might just have to do a taste test to make sure, but I’d lay money on Sherry Wainwright doing the honors.”
“Ya guessed it in one. There’s no one in th’ entire city what makes a frothier, tastier syllabub than our Sherry.” She moved to a pumpkin pie and again slathered on a generous portion of whipped cream. “Now, why aren’t ya out there dancing with that fetchin’ new neighbor of yers?”
With a groan, Isla tilted her head back and closed her eyes. “Not you, too. All I’ve heard tonight is, ‘The handsome man did this’ and ‘What a delight it is to have him in our community.’ I swear, Sally, that gets to be?—”
She stopped mid-sentence when a familiar voice came from close behind her right shoulder. “Quite tiresome, I’m sure.”
Isla sighed and rubbed her temples before turning to face the man. “It is indeed. Now, who do you suppose they might be referring to, My Lord?”
Lord Jonto studied the ceiling as he spoke.
“Well, since this beautiful lady was just speaking of your handsome neighbor, I can merely, humbly assume she was speaking of me.” He placed his fingers on his chest and, with mocking sincerity, asked, “So, do you agree that I am, indeed, handsome and a delight?” He lifted his brows and lowered his gaze to look directly into her eyes.
“I’ll withhold my opinion on the topic if you don’t mind.
But what I will say is that we’re an isolated port city here in Fachan, and anything, or anyone, shiny and new, is bound to attract people’s attention.
” As she watched Sally finish garnishing the pumpkin pie, Isla surreptitiously pulled in Jonto’s scent.
It was rich and warm, and it took her a moment to identify the woody undertones of sandalwood and possibly vetiver.
The scent suited him as it matched his genial, easy-going temperament and had the added bonus of soothing her frayed nerves.
Sally, who’d known Isla her entire life, laughingly chastised her by offering a platter of tarts. “Here, Milady. Maybe one of these will sweeten that sharp tongue of yers.”
Trying hard to hold back her smile, Isla selected a white China dessert plate, retrieved a fork, and used it to slide one of the tarts into place. She sliced through the lemon filling into the crust, slid a small piece onto the fork’s tines, and slipped it into her mouth.
Jonto watched her close her eyes to savor the bite and nodded approvingly. “Well then, if that’s all that’s needed, I shall ensure we always have sweet tarts on hand whenever Lady Brighton comes for a visit.”
Sally and the other ladies giggled at the blush suffusing Isla’s cheeks.
Isla knew them well enough to know they weren’t being mean.
Several were regular visitors to her library, and one had even taken advantage of the tutor and had become quite adept at reading.
She was a cheerful, easygoing woman who volunteered one afternoon a week to teach others who cared to learn.
After swallowing and delicately wiping the edges of her mouth with a napkin, Isla replied, “If it’s tarts you’re after, My Lord, you’ll have to visit Brogdon Street.
I understand the ladies there are quite amenable to charms such as yours.
I, however, am not. If you’ll excuse me?
” Taking the tartlet with her, Isla returned to the ballroom.
Wanting to enjoy her pastry alone, she strode to a sidewall far away from the gossiping crowd where she could watch the dancing without hearing more gushing admiration being whispered about her new neighbor.
After a few minutes, she sensed someone standing next to her.
She turned to see Lord Jontoreaux holding the rim of a plate between his thumb and fingers.
It contained a second pastry that scented the air around them with a sweet and fruity aroma.
Without looking at her, Jonto cocked a brow and offered her the second delectable dessert.
Isla opted not to look at him, choosing instead to note which of her friends were dancing with which lords. “That is not funny, Lord Jontoreaux.”
“I was hoping that if perhaps this sweetened your disposition, you might be willing to join me for the next dance.” He moved the pie an inch closer to her elbow. “It’s a cherry crumble. Your lovely baker said it’s one of your favorites.”
Isla, known for her weakness for anything sweet, slid the last bit of her lemon tart into her mouth and set her empty plate on a passing servant’s tray.
Still facing forward and feigning nonchalance, she surreptitiously glanced down at the cherry crumble, peeking at it from the corner of her eye.
Recognizing the stripes of pastry covering the tiny pie as Miss Stillman’s signature geometric pattern, Isla regally held out her hand, palm up.