Page 24 of Echo in the Wind

Realizing she could have been seated next to some man in the ton who thought himself a coveted match, Joanna delighted in the two seafaring men. They laughed easily and seemed unaffected by the elegance around them.

The meal, served on fine Sèvres porcelain, a floral pattern edged in gold, began with a green pea soup. She had just sampled it when Donet broke free of his conversation with the women beside him to greet Mr. Landor.

“Are you still sailing on the Fairwinds?”

The curly-haired first mate nodded. “For now, aye, but Captain Powell has asked me to take his new ship.”

Donet dipped his head to Landor. “Powell has paid you a great compliment. May I congratulate you?”

Landor smiled broadly. “Aye, you may. I’m rather pleased myself.”

Donet turned to the man on her right. “And you, Captain Wingate, are you well?”

Wingate returned Monsieur Donet a small laugh and held one hand to his shoulder. “The wound pains me not. I am entirely healed, thanks to your good surgeon, Monsieur Bouchet.”

“I am glad to hear it,” said the comte.

The meal continued in lavish style with hot foods served à la française—all the dishes on the table at once—presumably in deference to Jean Nicholas’ godfather. There would typically be a first course of fish, but with two ship owners and Powell’s men in attendance, perhaps Cornelia thought another dish might be more welcome.

They did not lack for choices. Among the dishes on the table were a haunch of venison, roast pork and capons. These were accompanied by plovers’ eggs, asparagus, French beans and potatoes served with butter.

Joanna sampled the dishes nearest to her, as was the custom with such meals. What she did eat was well cooked and delicious.

Monsieur Donet had brought Cornelia a gift of brioche, large loaves she shared with her guests. Joanna rather liked the light sweet bread, a welcome change from the plainer English rolls and white wheaten bread they typically ate.

Turning to Captain Wingate, Joanna inquired, “Might I ask how it came to be that you should need Monsieur Donet’s surgeon?”

“Have you heard that Donet once seized Captain Powell’s ship?”

“Why, yes. Mr. Powell spoke of it earlier today.”

“Well, I was wounded in the fracas off Dover and spent some time with my crew as Donet’s prisoner in Lorient, tended to by Monsieur Bouchet. He’s a fine surgeon, excellent at his profession.”

“Were you and your crew treated well?” She imagined them rotting away in some French dungeon presided over by the dark comte.

“Oh, aye. Donet was a fine host. He never intended to keep us, you see, only trade us for American sailors. From what I hear, we fared better in France than the Americans did in England.”

Joanna gazed across the table at the comte. His manners were impeccable and he appeared to be listening patiently to the prattling of the two women. Occasionally, he interjected a comment that made the two women laugh. She could not imagine such a nobleman seizing another man’s ship, but then, she knew little of his life except for a few salient facts: He had a grown daughter and he owned ships. And somewhere he’d lost a wife.

“Was Monsieur Donet commanding his ship when you were captured?” she asked Landor.

“Nay. ’Twas not la Reine Noire, but another ship he’d captured as a prize, a three-masted sloop flying the red ensign of a merchantman. One of his crew acted the captain. We had no idea ’twas Donet’s crew until they had slipped over the side in the fog off Dover, speaking in French to each other. My men overheard them saying Donet had given orders not to harm us.”

Jordan Landor set down his fork and leaned in. “’Twas war, you must remember, my lady. In truth, it took Captain Powell’s marriage to Donet’s daughter to bring all to rights.”

“I see.” She met Donet’s intense gaze across the table. His ebony eyes seemed to bore into her, speaking loudly what he did not say in words. Perhaps he had heard some of their conversation for the smile he gave her just then was more of a smirk. She supposed such a man should frighten her but, instead, she was fascinated.

As the dishes were cleared from the table, the footmen delivered desserts: sweetmeats, sugared fruits, jams, jellies and creams.

In front of Claire Powell, who sat adjacent to Cornelia at one end of the table, a footman placed an elaborate white sugar sculpture. A foot high, the plump cherub had a face that resembled her babe, Jean Nicholas.

“Oh my!” Claire exclaimed.

Conversation came to a halt as everyone paused to admire the work of art. Another sugar sculpture, just like it, was set before Simon Powell, sitting adjacent to Lord Danvers at the other end of the table.

“Amazing, that,” said Captain Wingate. “I’ve never seen the like.”

Joanna had viewed sugar sculptures before, but they were smaller, lords and ladies circling the top of a grand cake.