A/N: I give you the next chapter. By the bye, Roland's commentary on Alinnya's name is about 70 correct, and I'd be more than happy to give you access to my sources. The 30 I'm not sure about has to do with the fate of English girls with non-english names. Also- I will give a prize to whomever comes up with a good last name for our dear heroine! Thank you for staying with me... toodles!
Jack found himself rubbing his temples on the bottom of the grand stairway, pacing the room as Roland smirked, wiping his eyepiece occasionally.
But then, Roland had every reason to smirk.
He had taken his ship rat of a nephew and made him look like Bacchus, like Marc Antony reincarnate, in a few short hours. Jack's hair had been combed out, and tied behind his back, his outfit far more close-cut and subdued than was considered fashionable... but then, even without following the palace trends, Jack had the ability to have every woman on her knees, right there in the ballroom. He would see what this girl meant to Jack tonight.
This girl... what a puzzlement. Alinnya, Jack had introduced her. It was an old Hindu name, one of seven demons raised from hell to battle Sheba... he didn't remember the specifics of the tale, but if he did remember correctly, her namesake had been the ruler of both the oceans and jealousy.
How befitting.
He was rather shocked she still used the name, however. Her parents may have been ignorant of its orgins- as most colonists were of the local culture- but no church would have baptized a child with a non-English name, effectively excommunicating her family. So there were two options- it had either been a household nickname, or she had never been baptized. He would have to discuss this with her at a later date.
Perhaps, while they were in this discussion, he could ask her how she had come to know all the court mannerisms of London, when her facial structure played her off as being more Irish in her ancestry.
And maybe, if she warmed up to him enough, he could inquire as to the reason the word 'mine' was scrawled in shallow scars ringing around her neck and torso. Not highly noticable, and the maids had assured him no one would, but nevertheless.
What a puzzlement. And this one tiny, slender and seemingly frail girl had Jack pacing the room in a way that Roland had never seen. But Roland knew his maids far better than Jack did. He was certain they were having a grand time, dressing up the new mistress, and would, hopefully, send her down as promised. He knew enough to know a late entrance was beneficial to his cause. But Jack was a captain, and that made him incessantly impatient.
Roland lit a small cheroot, drinking in the wonderful flavor, while his nephew continued his rounds.
"Gov'ner," one of the maids appeared at the top of the stairs. "We're sending her down presently."
"'Bout bloody time," Jack growled.
"Your mother raised you better, that I know," Roland raised an eyebrow at the younger man. "You have something to learn in the next year, my boy," he grinned at the vision that filled the top of his stairwell. "Women may take their time whenever they please, but they never disappoint. Good evening, my lady," he reached the bottom of the stairwell, waiting patiently for her to descend.
"My lord," she replied, doing her best to hide her desperate attempts at breathing. What idiot had come up with this idea for womens' fashion?
She couldn't complain, the dress was stunning- sapphire blue silk, with a full skirt and a square neckline, which amply exposed her elevated breasts and what was left of her tightly contained waist. She wasn't sure, but she had a feeling that the maids had been giggling behind her back about the less curvaceous points of her figure.
Standing on that top stair, in these ungodly tight shoes, with these miles of fabric weighing her down and cinching her together, her scalp red and aching from the effort put into getting her hair just right, an insanely difficult job that required the loss of her beloved dreadlocks, being powdered, clucked, rouged, and feeling generally overdone and completely unloveable, she wanted nothing more than to run back into her room and let Jack handle the evening. Socially, it was perfectly acceptable.
That changed the minute she saw his eyes land on her.
Maybe it was the light, flickering from the chandelier, that caused her to think his mouth opened a little and his eyes were wider. Maybe that was what caused him to appear to sway.
She felt her heartstring wrench at the thought of what might of been- of what she might of been.
She placed a gloved hand delicately on the railing, and guided herself down, one step at a time, until she was finally at a point where she could reach his hand for the last few steps.
"My love," he bowed, kissing her wrist, winking at her as he did so, and she bit back the urge to laugh at his so-there response, "I don't believe that I have ever seen you look so beautiful. The queen herself will be besot with envy."
"My lord," she permitted herself a small smile, "we should hope not. For if such is the case, then how am I to keep the other young maidens from taking you from my side?"
Roland smiled quietly at this exchange, if a little sadly. "Come," he said. "Our night has not yet begun."