Page 31 of Echo in the Wind

Joanna’s ears perked up when Danvers mentioned a piece of legislation Pitt had introduced in the House of Commons. “’Tis called the Commutation Act,” he said to Richard. “If it passes, ’twill bring an end to the smuggling of tea.”

Joanna would hate to lose the money their free trade in tea brought to the village, but she quickly thought of other goods that could make up for. Brandy, lace, silk and even tobacco were much in demand. The Prime Minister would have to cut the duty on all to destroy smuggling altogether.

When the men’s conversation turned to Pitt’s India Act and Tillie began telling Cornelia of her plans for the Season, Joanna watched the floor below.

The orchestra area, enlarged for the concert, teemed with musicians tuning their instruments to the oboes. The vocalists and the choir were filing into the raised areas allotted them in front of the orchestra. The two floors of galleries on each side of the theater contained benches like the ones in the Danvers’ box. From every entrance, people streamed in to take their seats.

Joanna looked across to the galleries on the other side of the rotunda and recognized a few of Richard’s fellow peers.

A gallery erected over the main entrance to her left housed an opulent royal box on a level with the box assigned to the Danvers. The seating area for the royal family faced the orchestra and choir. It was lined with crimson satin and mirrors and draped in crimson damask, distinguishing it from all the other boxes.

“The entire Pantheon has been made into a grand theater royal,” Cornelia remarked, joining Joanna to watch the activity below them. Cornelia looked toward the place where the royal family would sit. “King George will have a truly splendid view.”

“I rather like our view,” said Joanna. Halfway between the royal box and the soloists’ platform, it gave those in the Danvers’ box a broad perspective. “We may have to turn our heads to see the soloists, but we will be closer to them than the king.”

“I wonder who from the royal family will attend,” mused Tillie.

“Well, at the Abbey performance,” Cornelia replied, “’twas their Majesties, King George and Queen Charlotte, and Prince Edward, Charlotte, the Princess Royal, and Princesses Augusta, Sophia and Elizabeth. Regrettably, the Prince of Wales did not attend.”

Noting the look of disapproval on Cornelia’s face, Joanna wondered if the prince had been too busy cavorting with Lord Hugh Seymour to join the king and queen for what might have been the concert of the century. But wanting to encourage her friend, she said, “Perhaps the prince will attend this one.”

Lord Danvers leaned forward. “My dear wife has been most pleased that every ticket has been sold.”

Cornelia looked over her shoulder and smiled at her husband sitting behind her. “The charities for the musicians will be greatly benefited, my lord, and that does please me.”

“You are expecting more guests, are you not?” Joanna asked.

“Oh yes!” exclaimed Cornelia. “Claire and her husband, Captain Powell, are coming, as well as Monsieur Donet, Claire’s father. I cannot think what has happened to them.”

On the other side of Cornelia, Tillie grinned.

“Simon Powell is a resourceful type,” said Lord Danvers. “He would make it through the crowd even if no one else did. And from what I know of Monsieur Donet, he is cut from similar cloth.”

Joanna was a bundle of conflicting emotions. Donet would be sitting directly behind her and Tillie. And then there would be the soiree to follow. There was simply no getting away from the French rogue. Yet even as she thought it, the prospect of his being so close made her heart race in anticipation.

Jean kept Claire between him and her husband as they worked their way through the crowd, afraid she might be crushed in the throng of people clamoring to get inside the Pantheon.

Used to vast blue skies and empty horizons of the sea, he hated events where bodies were crammed together. But he was determined to spend his last evening in London with his daughter, else he would have stayed on his ship.

He thought Claire’s sapphire silk gown a good choice, for it matched her eyes. And he was pleased to see his son-in-law had a protective arm about his young wife.

Making their way up the many steps to the second level galleries, they finally managed to locate the Danvers’ box.

Lord Danvers stood as they entered. “Ah, our remaining guests have arrived. Welcome to the event of the Season!”

“It was good of you to invite us,” said Claire.

Jean bowed to the other ladies and complimented them on their gowns: Cornelia in her usual peach color, young Matilda in yellow, and Lady Joanna in a delectable striped affair.

The smuggler had turned into a genteel woman of retiring delicacy, her gown a French confection made to satisfy a man’s sweet tooth. The mounds of her breasts were, for the first time, revealed in diverting fashion. As a lady of English Society, she was alluring, but as the rebel who lurked beneath the silk and satin, she intrigued him.

He had to work hard not to chuckle when he met her cool gaze. She fooled many, but she had not fooled him. For all her finery, she remained a vixen.

After the exchange of greetings, he and Powell settled on the second bench, Danvers and Torrington between them. Jean purposely chose the seat behind Lady Joanna.

From the floor of what was possibly the most elegant structure in England came the sounds of the orchestra warming up. The audience’s collective hush had him turning his head toward the royal box. The king and queen had arrived.

“Oh, look!” whispered Lady Danvers. “The prince is here.”