Commander Cantrell in the West Indies(254)
Eddie almost chortled at the sudden mental image of tall, fine-featured, almost severe Sophie Rantzau hip-checking wizened little Brand&aTilde;o out of the way to get dibs on her favorite patient. “And is Hugh—er, Lord O’Donnell—showing appropriate appreciation for her nursing skills and dedication?”
“I cannot tell.” Anne Cathrine smiled. “But he has apparently started crafting some verses that he will allow no one else to see.”
“Because he’s a lousy poet, or because they are about her?”
Anne Cathrine’s positively feline leer was back. “His men tell me he is actually a fairly gifted writer of odes.”
“Huh. A man of many talents, I guess. And where’s Leonora?”
“With Rik Bjelke.”
“Really?” He scanned the dance floor but did not see them. “Where are they?”
“Oh, they’re gone.”
“Gone? Why?”
Anne Cathrine shrugged. “Well, you know Leonora. She got bored with the dancing. So she went outside to show Rik the constellations that we can see here, but not in Denmark.”
“You’re kidding. She took him out to star-gaze?”
“Yes. And he seemed genuinely interested.”
“In the stars or in her?”
Anne Cathrine actually giggled. “Both, I think.” She scanned the nearby crowd. Her laughter became a genuine, but very public, smile as two men emerged from the festive throng. “Admiral, Governor. How wonderful to see you this evening. And our thanks for this lovely celebration.”
The two Dutchmen had emerged from behind a cluster of officers signing their names on a tired but cheery young lady’s dance card. They approached and bowed to Anne Cathrine—a little more deeply now, Eddie thought. Van Walbeeck straightened up with a smile almost immediately. “I saw you two dancing earlier. I must say, you are a handsome couple! Well, you would be if Eddie wasn’t half of it.”
Eddie almost gargled his rum punch. Anne Cathrine smiled. “Oh,” she said, slipping a shapely arm through her husband’s, “on that point, Governor, I must disagree.”
“Ah, well and loyally spoken, my lady. You are having a good time, it seems.”
“Wonderful,” Anne Cathrine replied. “And you and your men seem quite jovial, Admiral.”
Eddie didn’t think Tromp looked jovial. Hell, Tromp never looked “jovial.” But the Dutchman certainly looked pleased and relaxed. “We are glad to be on land, together, and alive to greet the New Year. And to be in the presence of such beauty as you bring to this party, Lady Anne Cathrine.”
Van Walbeeck poked Maarten Tromp in the arm. “Here, now, you sly sea-dog! I’m the shameless flatterer. Do not presume to usurp my role!”
Anne Cathrine smiled beatifically. “You gentlemen are both so gallant. You are also so thoroughly under the influence of rum that your eyes have grown kind and easily pleased. Now forgive me as I ask my husband if he is ready to dance again?”
Eddie listened to the opening chords or the next dance: a gigue. And a pretty lively one. He shook his head sadly. “Honey, if I dance to that, I won’t be dancing again for a week. How about the governor, here? Mijn heer van Walbeeck looks like he could bust a few moves.”
“Bust a few what?”
“Like he’d be an excellent dancer. Now, go have fun!”
Tromp stared at Eddie, at the new dance partners who were making their way out on to the floor, and shook his head with a smile. He raised a small snifter of schnapps toward the up-timer. “Proost, Eddie. And a very Happy New Year.”
“You, too, Admiral.”
“I am Maarten, please. I am not so formal as all that. Particularly not with my colleagues.”
Eddie thought he’d choke on his punch again or laugh. Or maybe shout with a mix of triumph and pride. Maarten Tromp, an admiral out of the legends of history, had labeled him a colleague and suggested they proceed on a first-name basis. How cool was that?
“Well, Happy New Year to you, too, Maarten. I’m just sorry we can’t be celebrating it in Santo Domingo.”
Tromp stared down at his schnapps. “Not me. That would have been a very bloody business. Even if your guns had reduced the city as quickly as you projected, I suspect we would still be there, up to our knees in refugees, and bodies, and debris, and the misery of the people whose city we had destroyed. No, I think it is better to have New Year’s here.”
“Well, I certainly agree with that, Maarten. But I can only hope they have the same tender consideration for us when they come after Oranjestad.”
Maarten stirred his rum punch. “And they will come, of course.”