13. Isla
Isla
Isla gave Jonto a bit of time to ride away before she, too, left the cave.
Her Uncle James had sent an invitation to join him and Celie for afternoon tea, and if she didn’t leave soon, she would be the “fashionably late” she so detested.
Peering out the opening that faced the rocky clifftop, she could see that Jonto and Nico had decided to follow the line of the cliffs on their way into the city.
With grudging admiration, Isla had to admit that both men were handsome astride the geldings.
Not everyone rode as though they were born on the back of a horse.
Some riders slumped like someone had removed every vertebra in their body, forcing their backs into what looked like an uncomfortable half-moon.
Others sat leaning back so far that any quick movement unsettled them enough that they jerked on the reins to balance themselves on the poor horse’s mouth.
Some kept their feet too far out of their stirrups and compromised their stability, and still, others had no idea they were supposed to communicate with their horse through appropriate body cues and movement.
But as she watched the two men settle into a trot, she admired their straight, balanced, yet easy postures.
The wind coming in off the sea had turned chilly.
Isla pulled her light shawl tighter about her neck and shoulders and thought she’d probably regret not bringing the heavier cape.
Ah well, nothing would keep her from borrowing one of Celie’s if the weather turned cold enough to require something more.
The wind blew wisps of hair across her face, and she brushed them off, irritated at having to pluck a stubborn strand from the side of her mouth.
The roar of waves along the rocky shoreline hundreds of feet below suggested they might be in for a storm later that evening.
She made a mental note not to stay too long at James’s home so that she could be tucked in safe and warm at Windsong Hall before the storm arrived.
Her destination lay on the near side of the city from her estates, and once she set foot on the road, it didn’t take long before she was standing next to the bronze plaque James had mounted to the left of his door.
In bold, engraved lettering, the plaque instructed the guest to “Kindly knock thrice for admittance,” which Isla did.
A manservant in a starched, high-collared shirt, black tailcoat, and neatly pressed trousers opened the door and bowed slightly. “Lady Brighton. Judge Riordan is expecting you.” He stepped back to allow Isla entrance and held out his arm, nodding gravely as she lay her shawl across it.
“Thank you, Michael. Is he in the study?” She asked the question as she was turning away, but after she’d taken a few steps without a response, she turned back with a questioning look. “Michael?”
The man’s brows hovered low over troubled eyes.
They’d known one another long enough for her to recognize the meaning behind his jaw as it slid first to the left, then the right, finally landing squarely set in its proper position.
Something out of the ordinary was worrying him, which had alarm bells ringing that she dared not ignore.
She stepped back and lowered her voice. “What is it?”
He’d been in service to James for many years and was as circumspect and honest as any man could be.
He stared straight ahead a moment and then nodded when he’d made up his mind.
“They’re in the parlor, My Lady. Miss Smythson mentioned that perhaps you’d like to know there is an important guest here tonight. ”
Isla nodded slowly. “But James asked you not to mention the person’s name, correct?”
His only response was a slight lifting of his chin.
“Thank you, Michael. Forewarned is forearmed, as they say. I won’t let on that I’m expecting to see anyone other than James, Celie, and….” she cocked her head slightly, “Fornette?” When he shook his head, she lowered her voice even more and hissed, “It’s not Montfort, is it?”
“No, My Lady.”
Curious now, Isla straightened her shoulders, leveled her chin so it was parallel to the floor, and walked to the parlor, determined not to react to the presence of the stranger in the room.
Michael hurried past, needing to arrive in time to open the door and announce her.
With greater aplomb than usually occasioned her visits, he opened the door and stepped inside to announce, “Lady Brighton, Your Grace.” Even though it was James’s home, Michael addressed him second since he ranked much lower than his other visitor. “My Lord.”
Isla’s breath caught in her throat. She silently blessed Michael for at least giving her that much of a warning about precisely who the mysterious visitor was.
There was only one woman who merited the title of ‘Your Grace’ in Fachan’s Bay.
Isla didn’t think she could have controlled her reaction if she’d blindly walked in to find that august personage seated at James’s side.
Pulling herself together, she once again straightened her posture and strode confidently into the room.
James stood to the side near the built-in bar. When Isla entered, he pulled a kerchief from his pocket and wiped his sweaty brow.
Across the room, Celie busied herself moving knives and forks in minute amounts around the vibrantly colored Famille Rose porcelain china James had specially ordered from Jingdezhen ten years earlier.
Chinese artisans had decorated each plate, bowl, saucer, and cup with elaborate landscapes filled with every type of bird imaginable.
Celie caught Isla’s eye and motioned to a high-back wing chair facing away from them.
Without acknowledging the warning, Isla smiled broadly and went to James with outstretched arms. “Uncle James. Thank you so much for the invitation to dine with you tonight. I’m looking forward to seeing what Miss Ledsworth has prepared.
It’s always a treat when she makes one of her special dishes.
” She’d approached him first because it was more appropriate for James to introduce her than for her to approach the Archduchess of her own accord.
When James stood rooted to the spot, apparently incapable of speech, Isla placed her hands on his upper arms and kissed both cheeks.
That snapped him out of his stupor. Apparently, to make up for his lapse, he greeted her with more enthusiasm than was appropriate for the occasion.
“Welcome. Welcome. I believe Cook has outdone herself tonight because a special guest has joined us for the evening.” He led Isla around to the front of the wingback chair where Archduchess Pierpont sat with both hands resting on the head of her cane.
Isla bowed her head, pulled her skirts out to the side, and dropped into a deep, graceful curtsy. “Your Grace. Had I known you were coming, I would have taken the time to dress more formally.”
The Archduchess glanced pointedly at a spot of dirt on Isla’s light blue skirt. “And you would have foregone a visit to your cave before coming, I’m sure.”
With heat rising into her cheeks, Isla groaned at the dark spot where she’d brushed up against the rock when she’d almost fallen into Jonto. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I?—”
Lady Pierpont held up a hand. “Think nothing of it, my dear. You might not believe me when I tell you that I used to visit the cave with your grandmother when I was younger and came home with all manner of spots in the most unlikely places. And so you know, I asked Judge Riordan not to mention I was coming precisely because I didn’t want you thinking you had to appear in your courtly finest.”
The blush intensified when Isla wondered what dirt might remain from where she’d been seated on the rock.
Her mind raced, no, galloped with all the thoughts associated with meeting the King’s great aunt covered in dirt.
Well, perhaps not covered, but still. She’d been to visit with James and Celie innumerable times and was more than comfortable with them seeing a bit of dirt on her clothing.
Goddess only knew that with her riding, gardening, and cave visitations, it was a frequent and inevitable occurrence.
But to have Archduchess Pierpont see her in anything other than pristine, fashionable clothing was an acute and unnecessary embarrassment she would rather have avoided.
Suddenly, the lady’s words registered above the roaring in her ears.
“You met my grandmother? In the cave? I don’t recall ever knowing that. ”
That the Archduchess and Isla’s grandmother, Viscountess Alula Brighton, had met was a given since they were both high in the social hierarchy of the kingdom. But for the Archduchess to say she’d visited the cave was a fact that wasn’t quite registering in Isla’s overstimulated brain.
Those sunken, knowing eyes lit with amusement. “That’s because we kept it our little secret. We were quite close as children, you know, and we stayed close right up until her untimely death.”
Isla blinked stupidly at the woman before her brain caught up with her racing thoughts.
Isla’s mother had often intimated that her grandmother had a special friend, but she’d never mentioned that the friend was one of the highest-ranking women in the kingdom.
And they’d met in the cave? Secretly? Isla blinked some more.
Now she wondered how close “quite close” was and whether it meant what she thought it might mean.
“Close your mouth, my dear. I see I’ve overtaxed your imagination.”
Now, the formidable Grande Dame’s eyes were dancing with merriment, further driving Isla’s thoughts into a dizzying whirlwind.
Isla finally pulled in a breath and gathered her scattered wits.
“No. No, not at all, Your Grace. I’m pleased you and Grandmama enjoyed the wind tunnel as much as I do. The view over the bay is stunning.”
A slight smile lifted one side of the old woman’s mouth. “Yes. We quite enjoyed the view.”