4. Isla #4
Celie reached across the table and covered Isla’s hand with her own.
“It was your Uncle James who finally convinced her she was hurting you more by trying to be someone she wasn’t.
He saw how bewildered you were, and we convinced her that it was more important for you to experience the joys she brought into our lives, into your life.
We believed that the lesson you needed to learn wasn’t that you had to conform to how others thought you should be but rather that for you to survive, no, to thrive, you had to learn to ignore what other people said about her, and about you.
That was a revelation for Isla. Her entire life, she’d thought that her mother had no idea what people were saying, that she didn’t know that all of the other girls in her school made fun of what they termed her mother’s ‘peculiar behavior.’ “Sometimes I feel like I have a foot in both worlds and don’t belong in either one.
I love breeding my thoroughbreds and managing my own business affairs, playing cards at the Enigma Club, and smoking cigars.
But while I know the men tolerate me for Mamá’s sake, I’ll never be fully accepted into their number. ”
Isla’s brows descended as a resigned sigh escaped.
“On the other hand, I go to tea parties and soirees and act the perfect little society lady, but I’m unmarried and pitied, and of course, I hear what they say about me behind my back.
It’s so frustrating.” She remembered Celie’s earlier comment.
“Now. What did you mean when you said, ‘Along those lines?’”
When a mischievous look stole into Celie’s eyes, Isla sat back and crossed her arms. “I hate it when you get that look.”
Celie smiled over the rim of her glass as she daintily sipped her brandy.
“Celie. You know I don’t like playing games. Why do you look like the cat who ate the cream?”
“Do you remember that dinner party I mentioned?”
Isla narrowed her eyes but didn’t give Celie the satisfaction of responding. When her friend didn’t elaborate, she took a slice of bread and used a small knife to spread the butter on one side. “I already told you. I’m not going, so it doesn’t matter, anyway.”
“There’s the little matter that all the invitations have already gone out, inviting people to join you in your ballroom this coming Saturday.”
Isla’s knife clattered onto the butter plate, and she was halfway out of her chair before she realized what she was doing. When all conversation and laughter stopped for a third time, she froze, not knowing whether to stand or retake her seat.
Celie glanced toward the Admiral’s table, smiled, and then covered her mouth and laughed into her hand. “Don’t look now, but he’s looking over here and quietly laughing.”
Isla quickly sat and hissed, “He is not.”
“Can you blame him? You’ve been jumping up and down like you’re on a child’s pogo stick the whole time you’ve been here. Oh.”
“Oh? What does ‘oh’ mean?”
“It means he just settled his bill and is headed this way.”
“You’re lying.” As Isla stared at her friend, someone in a tailored, black morning coat with large, silver buttons and dark gray slacks stepped to their table.
“Lady Brighton?”
Isla thought about ignoring the man, but her good manners won out.
She glanced up into a pair of amused, friendly eyes set into a tanned, boyish face, something she’d never expect in a bloodthirsty pirate.
His neatly trimmed beard and aquiline nose paired with aristocratic, high cheekbones and—could one call a pirate’s lips delicate—all combined to put the truth to Celie’s earlier words.
Admiral Jonto was, indeed, a very handsome man.
Feeling heat rising between her breasts, she forced down her attraction—attraction? She wasn’t attracted to men, for goddess’s sake. She assumed the frostiest expression available to her in her limited repertoire of hauteur and answered in a cool, disinterested tone. “Yes?”
His blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he placed one hand on the small of his back, bowed and remained bent over as he offered her his upturned hand.
Pursing her lips in annoyance, she glared at the calloused offering before giving in to her upper-class breeding and reluctantly placing her hand in his.
He gently kissed her fingers and straightened. “May I introduce myself? I’m Admiral Lord Jontoreaux. Your new neighbor, I understand.”
Isla’s manners momentarily deserted her. “Lord Jontoreaux? Please don’t tell me the King sweetened his bribe with a title of nobility in addition to ceding you the land?” Her incredulity had her brows rising into her hairline.
The side of Jonto’s mouth twitched as his eyes sparkled with renewed amusement at the lady’s expense. He turned to Celie and bowed. “I’m afraid you have me at a loss, My Lady.”
The pleased, almost delighted expression Isla saw on her friend’s face irritated her no end.
Not only was this man a pirate, but he was also the one who’d thwarted her plans to increase her pasture lands.
The increase would have allowed her to graze more sheep to sell on the open market.
Not that her flocks weren’t already grazing in those upper pastures.
Count Deverell hadn’t cared or, more probably, hadn’t known, but that was beside the point.
That land should have been offered to her, and the fact that it hadn’t been vexed her no end.
As was proper for a woman of her station, Celie rose and dipped into a curtsey. “Celine Smythson, My Lord. Lady Brighton’s lifelong friend and companion to her mother before her.”
Jonto gallantly held out his palm, and when Celie placed her hand on it with a grin of genuine delight, he bent and kissed it before stepping behind her chair and holding it for her.
“Please, be seated.” Once he’d gently pushed Celie’s chair in, he returned to his place beside the table and turned to his companion.
“And may I introduce my first mate, Nicolaou Angeletti?”
Nico bowed to both women. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintances.”
To Isla’s dismay, blurting out rude questions seemed to be her mind’s default when confronted with two pirates. “No title? You mean to say our King didn’t toss a lordship your way, as well?” Celie kicked her under the table, but thankfully, Isla’s petticoats prevented any real damage to her shins.