Page 10 of Echo in the Wind

Richard and Addington continued their conversation, but Joanna had stopped listening. Instead, she watched the French nobleman as he arrived in front of a young woman with hair as black as his own and kissed her on each cheek.

Joanna wondered if so elegant a man could, in truth, be a pirate. Still, she could not deny the air of mystery about him or the intense fire in his dark eyes.

’Twas as if Lucifer himself had paid them a visit.

Chapter 3

Jean found his way through the crowded parlor to arrive in front of the two women for whom he’d been searching. He bowed to Lady Danvers and then kissed his daughter’s glowing cheeks. Claire appeared to be happy, as happy as he’d ever seen her.

“Please forgive my being late. I was detained.”

“Oh, Papa! I am so glad you are here!” Claire took his hands. “I have missed you so.”

He looked into his daughter’s dark blue eyes, her mother’s eyes that had captured him more than two decades ago. “C’est bien. The English captain treats you well?”

“Oh, yes.” Before Jean could comment, she looked up at him anxiously. “You will come to London, oui?”

“How else is your father to attend the christening?” asked Lady Danvers in her American accent. The baroness, in her mid-twenties, was a half dozen years older than his daughter, but her wisdom was beyond her years.

Always smartly gowned, typically in some pinkish color, her dark chestnut hair neatly swept up in a simple style, Jean had noticed her loveliness the first time he’d met her in London when he’d come for his daughter’s wedding.

Claire laughed. “You are right, of course, Cornelia.” Then turning to him, “But do you sail to London, Papa, or ride in our carriage with us?”

“If you still wish it, I will travel with you. My ship and my quartermaster M’sieur Bequel will meet me in London.”

“Yes, of course we still wish it. I will look forward to seeing M’sieur Bequel again. I hope you invited him to the christening.”

“I did. You know he will not have it otherwise.”

“Wait till you see Jean Nicholas, Papa! He has your black hair and his eyes are changing color now. We think he might ultimately have Simon’s golden eyes.”

“Jean Nicholas.” Jean rolled the name over his tongue. “I like the sound of it.”

“A most remarkable babe,” offered Lady Danvers. “And before you leave London, Monsieur Donet, I thought to have a soiree to celebrate the end of the war and our new friendship with France. In your honor, as it were. Not that the war stopped me from pursuing French fashion, you understand.” She touched the ruffle on her bodice. “By the bye, have you met the Prime Minister? He only recently returned from Paris where he visited your king and my countryman Dr. Franklin.”

Jean fought a smile. “I have not met the Prime Minister, but I have met our king and, of course, the American statesman Dr. Franklin.” He need not say more. His daughter and Lady Danvers were aware that, with France’s agreement, he had become a privateer for America, his letter of marque issued by Franklin himself. But neither knew of his work for Charles Gravier, the comte de Vergennes, France’s Foreign Minister.

“Where has that husband of yours gotten to, Claire?” asked Lady Danvers.

“Right here,” said a deep voice behind Jean.

Jean turned to see Captain Simon Powell carrying three glasses of champagne. As fair in coloring as Jean was dark, the Englishman and Jean’s daughter made a handsome couple.

“I did not wait for the footman to circulate,” Powell explained, as if in apology for leaving his wife, “but saw to the ladies’ thirst myself.”

Claire and Lady Danvers accepted the glasses of bubbling wine.

“I would never leave Claire for long,” Powell assured Jean.

“Simon is a most jealous husband!” Claire exclaimed in what Jean took to be feigned annoyance.

Powell kissed her on the cheek and she returned him a smile. Jean was pleased at the affection he saw between them.

“’Tis not jealousy when a man guards what is his,” he told Claire. He had once guarded her mother, a woman he had loved more than his own life, only to discover that, while he could protect her from other men, he could not save her from the sickness that had taken her life.

Lady Danvers gave him an assessing look. “An astute observation, Monsieur.”

He acknowledged the compliment with an inclination of his head as Powell offered him the third glass of champagne. “Take mine, sir. I will get another.”