“You look grand,” he said, taking her hand. “I see you’ve met Mira.”
“Yes, and I’m taking her around. You don’t need to,” Mirandine scolded.
“Not this time, cousin,” Jone said. “Come, Tesara. Let me give you the grand tour. I don’t think you’ve ever been to my house.”
Cousin? Now that was interesting – the Depressis were but shopkeepers only a generation before. Though as a Mederos, she well knew how easy it was for a House to fall, so it was no less surprising at how quickly a House could rise.
“Only if Mirandine comes too,” Tesara said. She linked her arm with the other girl. “Now we’re off.”
It was wonderful to be gay, she thought. Jone and Mirandine were great fun. Their presence gave hers respectability, and astonishment gave way to good manners. People would look at the three of them laughing together, there would be a momentary widening of the eyes or an intake of breath, and then a recalculation of the social niceties. When Jone mimicked the swift transubstantiation of outrage to simperage on the face of one powdered dowager, Tesara and Mirandine had to turn away to hide their laughter.
She sipped her crystal glass of red punch and watched the dancing in the main gallery. She had learned to dance at Madam Callier’s, where the girls took turns playing the gentleman, but here it was less formal and more modern. The music was faster than the three-beat dirge-like waltz the music teacher banged out on an untuned spinet, and it got into her blood a little bit. Or possibly, that was the punch, she thought, and tossed back the rest. Her lips were both tingling and a little numb.
“Another, miss?” said a waiter and he handed her another flute. She took it, flashing a bright smile. I should eat, she thought vaguely, and then Jone came and got her hand again.
“Do you dance, Miss Mederos?” he said, and gave her a courtly bow. She curtseyed with only the least bit of wobbling.
“Indeed I do, Mr Saint Frey,” she said. She set down her glass on the waiter’s tray as Jone pulled her into the crush of dancers. He held her close around the waist and guided her into the swirl of movement. She was always quick to learn, and once she caught the rhythm she melted into it, her footsteps following his quickly. They whirled with the rest, and her silk dress flowed around her like water and waves. The dance was like a wave too, and her fingers began tingling, even inside her gloves. Tesara was drunk and so she didn’t notice it at first. Jone smiled at her, and she wondered how she ever thought he was ugly. He was perfectly beautiful, and his strong arms held her perfectly, and for goodness sakes, Tesara, you need to eat something!
At the same moment, she recognized the sensation that had captured her fingers.
“Ouch!” Jone said as she stumbled against him.
“Oh, dear, did I step on you?” She had trod on him rather harder than she meant to. She felt bad, but she had no other choice. She had to stop the dance. If her fingers let loose here. …
They broke from the dance, Jone limping a little. The sensation in her fingers subsided, and she felt relieved. For goodness sake, the last thing she needed was anything to happen now. But I think I know how to get it back again, she thought, remembering the sensation of waves and water. It was a puzzle, one she was on the verge of solving.
“It’s all right,” he said, the stalwart grin returning. “You’ve got quite a kick.”
She blushed. “I think I might need to eat something,” she said. “The punch was lovely, but I believe it’s gone to my head.”
“And what a scoundrel I am, to get you drunk on your first night out from home,” he said, an interesting note in his voice. He didn’t sound as if he were apologizing. She looked at him askance, but he led her out and around the dancers to the dining tables. They were set up in another large gallery off the main hall. The “light repast” of the usual Port Saint Frey social evening was laid out before her stunned and slightly tipsy gaze on at least a dozen tables.
They came upon Mirandine and her coterie of gentlemen officers, all eating and drinking. “There you are!” cried Mirandine. “You are a brave girl to dance with my cloddish cousin.”
“I’m afraid I was the clod,” Tesara admitted.
“Nonsense,” Mirandine said. “He bruised my toes abominably when we were made to dance during a silly family party or other.”
“Oh, you mean the inauguration of the governorship of Ravenne?” Jone said dryly. “Yes, that was a silly party. Here, Tesara, what would you like? As always, my mother must feed the entire city when she throws one of these gigs.”
Tesara wanted everything, but she settled for devilled quail eggs, a simple mixed salad of greens and herbs, some chopped ham, a cup of a broth of fruits of the sea, two lofty biscuits of the kind that could have come from the kitchen of Mrs Francini, chocolate in sea salt, an orange drizzled with honey, and figs.
Jone helped carry everything over to an empty table and Mirandine joined them.
“Good God, they wouldn’t leave me alone,” she said, nodding toward her elderly attendants who were gesticulating in animated conversation. “Luckily, they started arguing about the action at the Battle of Sesternia. I don’t think they’ve noticed I’m gone.” She helped herself to a fig. “I’ve eaten so much already my stays are about to burst, but I can’t resist these. Your mother outdoes herself.”
He shrugged. “It keeps her busy, so we approve.” They exchanged a look, and Tesara felt left out again.
A group of gentlemen came in from the smoking room, smelling of cigars and brandy, and the conversation in the dining hall sank under the weight of their powerful presence as even the
