Page 57 of Echo in the Wind

“Parfait.” He leaned out the window and shouted an address to the coachman.

The carriage lurched forward, picking up speed as it rumbled over the cobblestones. Joanna looked out the window, aware the comte’s eyes still rested upon her. She had been keenly aware of his penetrating gaze that first night in Bognor. And now, sitting across from him, her heart beat excitedly. She kept her eyes on the passing shops, unwilling for him to see how he affected her.

The shops they passed were of different sizes but close together and all neatly trimmed out. Many of the doors were painted in bright colors.

A few streets on, the carriage rolled to a stop in front of a shop with a bay window. Over the bright blue door was a sign that read “Mme Provot”.

Donet helped her down. “Noëlle Provot is the finest modiste in Lorient. She learned her trade in Paris and returned home to marry M’sieur Provot, one of my business partners.”

Joanna gave him a sidelong glance, resisting the urge to ask what business that might be. It seemed the pirate had friends at all levels of society, both in London and in France. Unconfined to one class, he could move in all, seamlessly blending in with whatever group he deigned to join. Perhaps he had done so as a spy.

Donet opened the door and gestured her inside.

Joanna stared in wonder. Shelves from counter to ceiling graced the walls of the antechamber, filled with bolts of fabric in a rainbow of colors. Some were shimmering satins and silks, others fine woolens. She had frequented many shops in London with Cornelia searching for silks, satins and velvets. This establishment competed well with those in the selection offered.

“Capitaine Donet!” exclaimed a petite woman, who rushed from behind the counter toward him. “You return!” The modiste had a natural grace that reminded Joanna of Donet’s daughter Claire. Perhaps it came with being French.

He placed a kiss on each of the woman’s cheeks. “Madame, not only have I returned, but I have brought you a new customer.”

The woman’s blue eyes regarded Joanna with interest, the cloak she wore, her boy’s shoes and her long auburn hair falling about her shoulders now that she’d doffed the hood. What a rag-tag she must appear to this elegant French modiste.

The woman, older than Joanna by a decade, had a pleasant demeanor. Her cinnamon silk gown was simply styled with the merest bit of white lace at her cuffs. She wore her dark brown hair swept off her narrow face and twisted into a knot at her nape with a wooden pencil piercing it through. A very functional embellishment.

Without taking her eyes from Joanna, Madame Provot asked Donet, “Can this be the daughter for whom I have sewed so many gowns?”

Joanna stifled a gasp and glanced at Donet.

He covered his mouth with his hand and cleared his throat. “Non, this is not Claire, Madame. Allow me to introduce Lady Joanna West.”

Joanna had yet to speak, which would have told the modiste she was English, not French, but now she did. “I am most grateful to meet you, Madame Provot. As you can see,” she held open the cloak, “I am in dire need of a lady’s clothing.”

“Oui, je vois bien cela!” the modiste exclaimed, her expression conveying her shock at what Joanna wore. “I will see to it immediately.” With a pointed glance at Donet, she chided, “Wherever have you taken the lady that she would need to wear such clothes? They do not even fit her.” When he began to speak, the modiste waved him off. “Non, non, do not tell me. I do not wish to know.”

“The lady will require more than gowns,” said Donet. “In truth, a wardrobe is required and all that goes with it. The lady has some fine bolts of silk, which will be delivered to you later today from my ship, but you and she are free to select whatever fabric appeals. The bill is mine to pay. And if you could manage to find a gown for her to wear now, it would be much appreciated.”

The modiste’s eyes perked up. Joanna was certain Donet’s “appreciation” translated into more coin. “Entendu. It shall be done as you wish, Capitaine.” She looked at Joanna as if measuring her. “There is a gown that is nearly finished. I think it might suit you well. My assistant can alter it quickly.”

“That would be fine.” For once, Joanna was glad to doff breeches for a lady’s gown.

From his expression, Donet seemed pleased with the speed at which the woman was moving. But then, she was probably used to the demanding captain.

The modiste showed Joanna into a large inner room decorated in cream walls, one of which was covered in mirrors. Facing the mirrors on the far side of the room were two Louis XIV chairs upholstered in blue silk brocade. On the floor was an Aubusson carpet that reminded Joanna of Cornelia with its wide peach border. In the center, there was a ring of blue, spread like an open fan and surrounded with flowers. The effect was graceful and feminine like the woman who reigned over the shop.

Madame Provot called for her assistant, a girl she called “Flavie”, at the same time she reached for a silk gown in Verona green hanging on one of several pegs artfully arranged on one wall. The gown’s styling was tasteful, the bodice adorned with minimal lace and only a few bows. She could wear it most anywhere.

A young woman wearing a pink gown decorated with a blue gauze fichu and a mobcap over her blonde hair entered through a partly open door to what must have been a workshop. “Flavie,” said Madame Provot, “this is Lady Joanna, a friend of Capitaine Donet.”

The girl curtsied and, taking note of Joanna’s clothing, blinked twice as if to clear the image from her mind.

“We will be making several gowns for her,” Madame Provot continued, “a pelisse, a cloak and a bed robe. Since there is no time for a new one, the pale green brocade robe we keep for special clients will do. I will be back shortly to measure but, in the meanwhile, find her some undergarments and help her try on this gown. I believe it will fit with minor tailoring. You must finish it promptly as she will wear it today. She will also need a chemise de nuit.”

Flavie dipped a small curtsy. “Oui, Madame.”

The modiste faced Joanna. “If you will excuse me, my lady, I shall return in a moment.”

“Thank you.” Her gaze followed Madame Provot as she hurried out of the room, leaving Joanna with the distinct impression “the capitaine” was about to be pelted with questions.

Chapter 15