10. Jonto
Jonto
Jonto walked around the dance floor, tacitly ignoring several young women batting hopeful eyelashes her way.
Visiting with Isla’s friends hadn’t dampened the exhilaration still coursing through her veins.
Memories of the delicate scent wafting off her dance partner as they stepped and twirled released a swarm of fluttering butterflies in her belly.
She grinned, recalling Isla’s childish giggle after she’d stepped on Jonto’s toe during a particularly difficult step.
It was such a waste that Isla had never truly been in love or, as far as she could tell, hadn’t ever been in a relationship with anyone, man or woman.
It was unconscionable that such a vibrant, spirited woman should spend her life alone.
If she were hers—something that could never happen—she’d worship her the way she deserved to be worshipped and appreciate her for more than simply her physical beauty.
At least, for now, they’d managed to forge a fragile truce, and that would have to suffice as far as any kind of relationship between her and her prickly neighbor, the Mistress of Windsong Hall.
When Jonto stepped up behind Celie, the women she was chatting with cleared their throats, raised their brows and indicated her with either dipped chins or meaningful glances over Celie’s shoulder.
When Isla’s friend turned, Jonto couldn’t help but smile at her surprised yet pleased expression.
Jonto bowed and offered her hand. “May I have this dance, Miss Smythson?”
Celie’s grin broadened as she handed her drink to one of the ladies and placed her fingers lightly in his outstretched palm. “Of course, My Lord.”
The next song was neither fast nor slow, giving them time to chat while Jonto skillfully led her through the three-quarter time signature.
“You’re looking quite beautiful today, Miss Smythson.
That dress nicely complements your coloring.
” Thinking of all those women she’d passed, Jonto playfully glanced at the ceiling and shook her head, believing the woman wouldn’t take offense at her next words.
“And along those lines, I’m more than a bit relieved to see you haven’t hidden your unusual gray eyes beneath the latest fashion in eyewear. ”
Celie returned her grin and wrinkled her nose. “No, I’m not one to glue animal hair to my face, My Lord.”
Jonto chuckled a bit self-consciously, since that’s precisely what she did whenever she wore her glued-on beard.
“As I made my way over to you, several women batted their eyes coquettishly. I couldn’t help but wonder why some didn’t rise into the air with the way their long lashes waved dangerously up and down like an albatross trying with dogged determination to rise above the sea. ”
Celie tried her best to keep the sound of her laughter quiet enough that only she and her dance partner would hear, but the comical way Jonto had delivered his vexation had her missing some steps as she laughed down at their feet.
They’d been in the middle of a spin, and several people stepped out of their way as the two regained their positions and began again.
“Don’t do that to me during a dance, My Lord.
Now, every time I see a young woman parading around with horsehair glued to their lashes, my only thoughts will be of an albatross valiantly trying to rise. ”
Next to Isla, dancing with Celie was the most fun Jonto had experienced the entire evening.
Every time they twirled past a long-lashed woman, they ducked their heads and tried not to laugh.
After a slightly complicated move, Jonto looked into Celie’s eyes.
“You’re an excellent dancer, yet I’ve only seen you dancing with Judge Riordan. Why is that?”
Celie smiled. “We live in an insular society, My Lord. Noble families rarely invite me to attend their dances, let alone ask me to dance if I do receive an invitation. I’m sure that by dancing with me, you’ve scandalized many of those within the upper echelons of society.”
Seeing the uncharacteristic blush on the older woman’s cheeks, Jonto quietly said, “That’s their loss, then.” She thought a moment. “While it’s true my first mate is Portuguese, and I’ll understand if that, in and of itself, is a problem. However, that being said, he wasn’t born into the nobility.”
With a wicked grin, Celie glanced to the side of the room where Nico patiently waited for his captain. “No, he wasn’t, was he?”
“Are you willing to further scandalize society by dancing with a common-born foreigner?”
“It would be my greatest pleasure, Lord Jontoreaux.”
Jonto smiled. “I knew I liked you.”
“But, if he wasn’t born into the nobility, how can he know the steps to ballroom dances?”
Looking at her friend, whom she knew was bored silly, Jonto shrugged, “His father was a scholar who tutored the children of some of the wealthiest families in Portugal. Nico’s a big man and was the size of an adult by the time he was twelve or so, making him a perfect dance partner for the young ladies in the households who were learning to dance. ”
The music ended, and Jonto led her back to her friends. “Thank you for a delightful dance, Miss Smythson.” She nodded at Celie’s friends and then made a beeline for Nico, whose brows rose when she related the conversation she’d had with Celie.
Nico quickly found a table for his plate of desserts, tugged down his frock coat, and smoothed his hair. “Well?”
“I think you’re about to have fun with an amiable, well-educated woman.
” With a pat on his back, Jonto sent him on his way.
She watched as he bowed to Celie, who, with a broad smile, placed her fingers in his outstretched hand.
With that taken care of, Jonto looked around to see whether Lady Brighton was available for the next dance.
To her disappointment, the lady was dancing with one of the middle-aged bucks she’d noticed glaring at them as she led Isla around the dance floor.
Understanding the fickle ways of the nobility, she needed to use this time to her advantage.
It was imperative she make a good first impression on members of the highest tiers of society.
She studied the room, looking for her next partner, and spotted a group of older women seated at the back of the room watching the dancers.
More than likely, they were gossiping about who was dancing with whom and commenting on whether it was a good pairing.
They almost certainly noted whom she’d partnered with and for how long.
Steeling herself for rejection, Jonto tugged down the front of her tailcoat, “Steady on, old girl.” She took a deep breath and made her way toward the herd of blue stockings.
She approached a woman in her early to mid-sixties, intending to introduce herself.
Before she opened her mouth, the woman turned her head away, telling Jonto in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t interested in meeting a pirate, let alone dancing with one.
She received the same response from each woman in turn until she came to what appeared to be the group’s matriarch.
The gray-haired woman was so old and wrinkled that Jonto’s gaze nearly passed over her as she scanned the other women’s faces.
The intelligence that peered out from beneath eyes heavily hooded with age had her gaze skittering back to look directly into those penetrating brown eyes.
Walking around the group to stand directly in front of the Grande Dame, she placed one hand behind her back and bowed.
She rose from the bow and, since the woman hadn’t averted her gaze, held out her hand.
The lady placed hers on top of Jonto’s, and without hesitation, Jonto bent and kissed the veined offering.
“May I introduce myself, My Lady? I’m Admiral Lord Jontoreaux.
” When the woman didn’t immediately respond, she added, “You have me at a disadvantage.”
The elegant, silver-haired woman’s voice held the deep timbre common to older women.
That being said, it by no means had the fragile, enfeebled quality typical of those in their twilight years.
“Archduchess Wilhelmina Pierpont.” Even in her eighties or possibly nineties—it was impossible to tell—her robust bearing and innate grandeur set her apart from everyone else in the room.
And well, it should, thought Jonto. This dowager Archduchess had been a sister, aunt, and now a great-aunt to Kings.
She’d heard that King Jaydon’s great-aunt called Fachan her home and had wondered whether she’d ever get the chance to meet the Matriarch of the Kingdom, as she was known.
“I’m more than honored to make your acquaintance, Your Grace, and it is indeed an honor that you’d attend a soiree welcoming me to your fair city.
” Jonto hesitated, not wanting to give offense by asking the Archduchess to dance.
“I knew your father, Lord Jontoreaux. He was an honorable man that my brother, the King at the time, and I held in high esteem.”
That rocked Jonto back on her heels. She’d known her father was well-traveled, but he’d never mentioned being a friend of kings. “Yes, he was, My Lady. Thank you.”
“What would your father think of you hoisting the Jolly Roger and sailing the seas as a pirate?”
She’d wondered that same question many times, and because of the many hours she’d spent silently having a two-way conversation in her head with her dead brother on the subject, she had what she considered a well-thought-out response.
“After my twin sister drowned from being swept overboard from our caravel in a hurricane, I couldn’t remain in the home where we’d spent so many warm and loving years together.
I took to the sea as an honest but naive merchant carrying other men’s cargo between kingdoms. While I found a few honest businessmen, I was mostly beset by corrupt captains, dishonest port officials, and malicious, immoral men sailing under the flags of equally malicious, greedy, and immoral kings. ”