“They are my pride and joy,” the princess says. The regal woman looks to me and my sisters. “Yes, let your children be raised like siblings, but make sure the babies know who they are and whose they are. No more secret business.”
Our laughter rises with the music. As Scarlett and Georgina talk about teas and cravings, I watch the dancers. They twirl and laugh under the grand chandelier, which casts shadows and magical light upon them. The wrought iron limbs hold glittering icicle-shaped crystals that could be wishes and hopes.
As the set ends and they walk away, I hear the violinists, flutists, and musicians on the oboe play one of Beethoven’sContredansesbut not Jasha’s and my No. 12. Georgina would know which one, but she’s too happy sneaking biscuits to be interrupted.
A clack sounds, but I see no crutch or hammer. Busick and Patience Strathmore, the Duke and Duchess of Repington, have arrived. The war hero rarely makes appearances, but the amputee from the Great War with Napoleon has come to our ball.
Scarlett tries not to point, but she whispers, “That noise. It’s Pots’s artificial leg. I’ve seen studies.”
I reach my hand to her. “No science tonight. Let the man have peace. He’s come for the party.”
She nods like she understands.
“This is fantastic,” I hear His Grace, the Duke of Repington, say as they come closer. “After their use of the scorched earth policy to break Napoleon, I applaud the Cossacks.”
“Busick, no war strategy tonight,” his duchess says. She’s elegantlyattired in jade with a matching tiara pinned to her braided chignon. “You promised.”
“Handsome couple,” Scarlett says. “You should go greet them.”
Repington, the blond war hero, is followed closely by the newly returned war commander William St. Landon. Jahleel’s barrister has come too.
“Is that Lord Ashbrook and his wife?” Georgina says. “I heard she recovers from amnesia.”
The fair-skinned woman with brownish-red hair is Lady Ashbrook, but I decide to stay seated. I don’t want Jahleel rushing to give the man the completed divorce paperwork, but he might have to. The Palmerses just arrived.
Lord Mark leads the small orchestra through a composition of his own. Its fast tempo hits all the right notes. Someone in the crowd says this is the John Canoe. My Jamaican mother would call this Junkanoo. She has played this tune on our pianoforte at Ground Street.
It’s a sweet touch that guests from Cheapside seem to appreciate. Many take to the floor; the lighter gowns of pink, sky blue, and pale green give way to vibrant orange, bright yellow, and gold.
“This is lovely.” Georgina taps her hand to the rhythm. “Look at Scarlett.”
She and Stephen form one of the four couples in the center. With flair, they move about each other. Hips swaying, heels tapping, they dance as the music provides flourishes, calls, and responses.
Joy sweeps the floor as more ladies in lighter-colored dresses find partners and join. The fan-waving from the matriarchs and the frowning from the ones still wearing powdered wigs increase. Yet they stay. They gossip and guzzle Jahleel’s champagne.
“This quadrille is more muscular,” says the princess. “But I like the influence of the Caribbean. It’s spectacular. We are from so many places.”
There are lessons of history in her countenance. And though we have our own share of troubles, we are lucky, very lucky to be here.
“You’re smiling, Katherine,” Georgina whispers and eats another of her smuggled biscuits. “I guess you’re happy.”
“I was thinking of our parents and how much fun they had going to a celebration in Cheapside when abolition passed. They enjoyed every moment.” That was before gossip of Mama’s sickness reduced those invitations.
As if she reads my mind, she says, “Katherine, stop frowning. Don’t remember the bad.”
“Georgie, if Jahleel had lost his battle, the gossips would win. I’m glad Jahleel is brave, braver than me.”
Scarlett whirls past us. Who knew the scientist loved to dance? A waltz has begun. White gloves merge as couples twirl. More come to the floor. Few cede their spots. Everyone shimmers in embroidered muslins, satins, and lush brocades. The Caribbean populace have wraps and turbans of emerald and ruby covering their tresses. Jewels glitter at throats and dangle at ears. There’s a sea of sapphires, diamonds, and red, red corals. Everyone is so festive and bright.
The polished floor beneath Scarlett’s feet gleams like ice. Pillars draped in light blue velvet frame the drawing room. Jahleel should’ve put up a dais for the princess to sit.
Georgina fans. Her nose wrinkles. The air feels hot and thick. Rose water, starch, sandalwood, and tobacco filter past us.
My own nose twists. I feel a little snubbed as I witness Jahleel, Lydia, and Baroness Derand chatting away near the entry.
Lord Mark comes. The stocky man drops into the chair beside his wife. He’s frowning. He’s reddening all over, not just his cheeks. The man seemed upset a couple of days ago. I forgot. Everyone was more worried about Thom’s surgery.
“What’s wrong, dearest?” Georgina asks and takes his hand. “The music has been wonderful.”
