Mystic Mountains

shoulders.
    "That 's better," Tiger commented, his eyes twinkling.
    "What?" Isabella tipped her head. They 'd travelled in silence for most of the journey.
    "I was beginning to think you 'd be glowering all evening. You should smile more often, Bella."
    "I suppose you 're going to tell me it makes me look more beautiful," she retorted.
    "As a matter of fact it does," he told her agreeably.
    Isabella made a soft deprecating sound in her throat.
    " Why do you always do that? One day I'll convince you of your own worth."
    She kept quiet. His compliments confused her.
    "The house looks wonderful, doesn't it?" she asked instead, and he cocked an eyebrow, completely aware of her change of subject.
    Tiger maneuvered the rig between the rows of carriages, buggies, gigs and phaetons and passed the reins to a waiting boy. Tossing the lad a coin, he jumped down then turned to assist Isabella. She was trembling as he lowered her to the ground.
    "Nervous?" he asked softly.
    "Yes," she whispered, touching the tendrils of hair at her temple.
    Tiger covered her hand with his. "Leave it. It looks fine." He smiled down at her. "Do you know that 's the first time since we met you've been truly honest with me." He leant close and whispered in her ear, "Well, I have a confession to make. I'm nervous too."
    "You? Don't tell tales. You've never been nervous in your life."
    "That 's what you think. I may put on a good show of it now. Enough to convince people I'm brash and confident, but that's what it is: a good show."
    "You convince people you 're brash and confident because you are. I reckon you were self-satisfied in your cot."
    "No, Bella my girl. I have my insecurities same as everyone else." He put her gloved hand in the crook of his arm and led her along the path to the front entrance where they joined the queue of guests.
    Lights spilled from the long ground floor windows, illuminating the courtyard. Footmen in matching uniforms of blue with gold trimmings, and fancy powdered wigs, stood waiting stiffly by the door, full of their own importance. One took the invitation card Tiger drew out of his inside jacket pocket. He stared at it, nodded once, then gave both of them a thorough perusal before telling them to go in.
    Tiger concealed his amusement as Isabella 's eyes wandered over the great hall. She was obviously fascinated, her eyes brilliant. Something else besides laughter leapt to life inside him at her innocent enjoyment. How long had it been since he'd experienced such naïve pleasure? Perhaps he never had; his experiences had made him too cynical. It was a wonder hers hadn't tainted her in the same way, but she still preserved an almost childlike quality that only revealed itself at times like this.
    Giant pots held sprigs of banksia and wattle, some hung with fancy baubles. Everywhere were wall hangings of the finest fabrics and tapestries depicting winter scenes to remind everyone of Christmases in a colder land; a land where snow covered the ground during the festive season, and holly, pine, and mistletoe decorated the halls, instead of these native plants. Wooden bells and stars and painted carved animals dangled from the ceiling beams.
    Tiger had seen it all before but it was new to Isabella. She let out a soft, "Oh," then turned her attention to the other guests. The women wore splendid gowns of silk, velvet and lace, the men were decked out in their finery.
    "It's all so. . ." Words apparently, for once, failed her. Tiger touched the small hand on his arm. She gripped him as if frightened he'd disappear if she let go. Her eyes rapt, she feasted on every detail.
    "A bit daunting, eh?" Tiger led her forward until they were in the line waiting to meet the Governor. She was shaking again, and when he looked down saw a tremor in her bottom lip. But she lifted her chin, and pride filled him.
    "That's my Bella," he bent to whisper as they inched forward. She sent him a tremulous smile and he pressed her hand against his side, watching the expression in her eyes change to wariness at this show of possessiveness.
    "Mister Carstairs and Mistress Isabella O 'Shea," the footman bellowed as they reached the front of the queue.
    Governor Macquarie smiled benignly as he shook Tiger 's hand. "Good to see you again, Carstairs," he said.
    "Sir." Tig er bowed. "I trust you're keeping well, Governor."
    "Fit as can be, my good man." The Governor turned to Isabella. "Welcome to Government House, Mistress O 'Shea. I trust you will enjoy