Page 6 of Echo in the Wind

Freddie fought a smile. “I’m sure it helped.”

Aunt Hetty had joined their household after their mother’s death and brought Aloysius with her. To Joanna’s thinking, the white cat seemed an odd-looking creature. One large black splotch covered most of its left side and a black ring circled the base of one ear. Its eyes were a stark gray.

Unlike the cats that frequented the stables, this one made its home inside The Harrows proper where he caused Joanna to sneeze and her eyes to water. “That cat!” She drew a handkerchief from the fold of her gown and dabbed at her eyes. “Before I turn into a puddle of tears and my eyes start burning, I’d best go find Richard and Tillie.”

Freddie resumed his flute playing as she sniffed and headed for the door.

“Do not tarry overlong!” she slung over her shoulder. “The guests will soon be here. And bring Aunt Hetty!”

She loved her brothers and her sister, and held them especially close since their parents and eldest brother, William, had died. Both her father and Wills had been soldiers, her brother having served in the Coldstream Guards. Thankfully, neither Richard nor Freddie showed any interest in a military career, their only swords those that formed a part of a gentleman’s attire.

As she entered the parlor, a small group of musicians in one corner had begun playing a piece by Mozart. Relieved to see no guests in sight, she scanned the room to make sure all was ready.

The ivory silk brocade chairs and settees had been neatly arranged around the edges of the room, per her instructions, to allow the guests to circulate freely and reveal more of the elegant floral design of the Axminster carpet.

On the walls hung the familiar portraits of her father, mother and grandmother. The room was ablaze with light from the candles set in sconces and the brass chandelier hanging from a medallion in the center of the scrolled ceiling.

On the sideboard, a tray of glasses filled with champagne, brandy and wine awaited the first guests.

The servants had followed her instructions; all was ready.

Checking her appearance in the golden-framed mirror hanging above the sideboard, Joanna touched the narrow band of lace around her bodice and pulled on the lace at her cuffs. She smiled as she recalled her modiste telling her the delicate lace had come from a French smuggler’s warehouse on Guernsey.

“’Tis one of ‘the French islands’.” the woman told her. “Though I cannot imagine why they call them that when they are under the Crown.” Joanna was certain the modiste’s revelation of the source of the lace had been designed to shock her, but Joanna had not been shocked. Instead, her first thought had been to ask Zack to add lace to their next order.

It had taken her maid much time to fashion Joanna’s thick head of hair into something approaching acceptable but, with a parting glance in the mirror, she was pleased to see the denizens of the ton would find no fault with her mound of curls. She might spend her nights in breeches, meeting ships carrying brandy and tea, but no one would suspect a darling of English Society—the image she encouraged—had a secret life as a smuggler.

The frippery might be her best disguise.

“There you are!” Richard exclaimed as he strode into the parlor. Tillie was at his side, some of her long red curls dangling to her shoulders. “The guests will be arriving any moment. Where are Frederick and Aunt Hetty?”

“On their way, I expect.” She gave her brother a studying perusal. Beneath his fine attire, Richard announced his restlessness by fidgeting with a gold button on his waistcoat. She brushed a speck of lint from the sleeve of his black coat. Trimmed in gold, it complemented well his powdered and queued hair.

Tillie’s brown eyes glistened, her smile wide. “Oh, Jo, won’t it be glorious to meet the leaders of the new government? I can hardly stand still! Freddie told me Prime Minister Pitt and his friends, Mr. Eliot and Mr. Wilberforce, are all young and unmarried!” Tillie’s pink silk gown, heavily adorned with lace and ruffles, rustled with her petticoats. The gilding suited her perfectly and might attract one of those men. Though at nineteen, she could look forward to more than one Season before Richard accepted some swain’s proposal.

“Don’t let them see your enthusiasm for the leg-shackled state,” Richard chided their younger sister, “or you will have them running for the door. Right now, Pitt and his friends care only about politics. If you find you cannot follow their conversation, just look pretty and smile sweetly and you will attract your share of suitors, I’ve no doubt.”

Tillie pouted at Richard and flounced out of the room. Joanna knew her sister would not pout long. Her enthusiasm for her first Season was too great.

Richard frowned at Tillie’s departure and then turned to Joanna.

“Do not fret, Brother. All will be well. Tillie is in her element and will, no doubt, charm your guests.”

“Joanna,” his tone turned serious, “it is not Matilda I would see betrothed this year, but you. I think you should come with me to London now that the Season’s on. Aunt Hetty will be acting as chaperone for Matilda, so you can be free to attend the events you desire. Make tonight’s reception a beginning. Many men of your rank will soon be arriving. Some will be looking for wives. Do manage to encourage one of them, won’t you? At five and twenty, I cannot command you to find a husband as you are of age, but ’tis nevertheless time you wed.”

She shook her head, trying to discourage him, but he continued.

“I have it on good authority the family of Lord Hugh Seymour is looking for a bride for him.” She listened with one ear. “Now that peace is here, Seymour has taken up with Prince George and the two are capering about London together. I understand Seymour’s family would rather he were settled.”

“Capering about with Prince George,” she repeated, “no doubt drinking and debauching, for which the prince is famous. Excellent qualifications for a suitor, I’m sure.” The last bit she had spoken with intentional sarcasm.

“Well, Lord Hugh will be here tonight and he has much to commend him: he is young, considered handsome of face, well mannered and, as you would prefer, a man of good height. Too, he acquitted himself well as a naval captain in the American War as a part of the Channel Fleet.”

“You forgot to mention he is a rake.”

A storm was brewing on Richard’s face. “He may be that now but, with marriage, he might well reform.” At her doubtful look, he added, “If Seymour doesn’t appeal, there is Henry, Lord Hood, who is a mere half-dozen years your senior.”

“Stop!” She held up a hand. “I will hear no more of your matchmaking.”