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Powell’s carriage was much like the one Jean kept in Paris, a fine, black town coach with good springs and well-padded seats covered in tufted velvet. According to his son-in-law, the roads had improved in the last decade but, even so, the ruts rendered the ride a bumpy one. To his mind, the roads in France were better but not so much they afforded a continuously smooth ride. He was thankful it had not rained, else they would have been mired in mud.

At day’s end, after many stops to change horses, they arrived at the Angel Posting House in Guildford in Surrey. The coachman pulled rein and, a moment later, the footmen opened the door.

Jean considered the three-story inn, painted white with black trim, a typical English coach house. He followed Claire and her husband inside to find the Danvers waiting for them amidst a large crowd clustered around the bar, overflowing into the common room. Jean had never been happier to be handed a glass of brandy and thanked Lord Danvers profusely.

“As you see,” remarked Cornelia, “spring brings many to London; hence the inn is quite crowded.”

“To afford us privacy,” said Lord Danvers, “I have reserved a private room in which we might sup once you have seen your rooms.”

Soon after, they gathered in the small private room for a meal of English beefsteak, fried potatoes and cheddar cheese, accompanied by a pretty good French Bordeaux. Though a heavier meal than he was used to, it did suffice to sate his appetite after the long day on the road.

“’Tis not French fare, I grant you,” said Lord Danvers, “but the brandy and wine are French and perhaps that serves to make up for it.”

Jean didn’t want the gracious man to think him ungrateful. “The wine is quite good. On my ship, we dine on simple fare. Fish and poultry form the mainstay, of course. But we often pick up supplies from Guernsey. In Lorient and Paris, the meals might be more elaborate, as they would be in London.”

Powell spoke up. “Claire taught the Irish cook aboard my schooner the Fairwinds a few things about spices and soups, so the crew now asks for the French dishes.” He grinned. “I was already enamored by the food.”

“Is the Fairwinds in London?” asked Lord Danvers.

Powell glanced at his wife before answering. “Aye, but after the christening, I will be taking her out for a short while.”

“And your ship, Monsieur Donet, is on its way to London?” asked Cornelia.

“Oui, under the command of my quartermaster, M’sieur Bequel. You will meet him at the christening. He is quite fond of my daughter.”

“M’sieur Bequel has known me since I was a girl,” offered Claire.

Cornelia smiled. “There will be much to do in London now that the Season’s on. The christening, of course, but also plays, concerts and a soiree or two.”

“Cornelia loves to entertain,” put in Danvers.

After supper, they were all of a mind to seek their beds, as a full day of travel awaited them on the morrow.

Jean mused over the possibility of seeing again the intriguing Lady Joanna.

Chapter 5

London

Jean had agreed to stay with his daughter and her husband until his ship arrived, so the morning after their arrival in London he shared brioche and coffee with them in the room where they took their déjeuner.

Bathed in light from the many windows looking out on the shimmering waters of the Thames, the yellow-painted room welcomed the morning sun like the mythical Aurora greeting the dawn.

“Did my daughter introduce you to brioche?” he asked his son-in law. Like Jean, Powell had made his own way in the world. Both had spied for their governments during the American War and had battled each other on the Channel. But those days were past. When Powell had promised to care for Claire, the enmity between them had died.

Powell set down his coffee and reached for Claire’s hand, meeting her gaze across the table with endearing affection. “Our fondness for brioche was something we shared even before we decided we liked each other.”

Claire laughed. “He served it to me for breakfast the first morning I spent on his ship. My mood was most foul. That was the morning I wrecked his cabin.”

Powell laughed. “I remember it well. Her temper landed my books and instruments in a pile on the deck of my cabin.”

When their meal was finished, Claire asked a footman to have Jean Nicholas’ nurse bring him to the table to meet his grandfather.

A moment later, with an air of self-importance, an older woman carried the babe into the room. On her head, she wore a mobcap and around her ample middle was a crisp white apron. At Claire’s direction, the nurse placed the babe into Jean’s arms.

His sweet face reminded Jean of Claire at that age. Already Jean Nicholas had a head of dark hair.

Memories of a tiny cottage by the sea flooded his mind. Despite the fact he and Ariane had been poor, those had been good years, filled with love.