Page 70 of Echo in the Wind

“Very perceptive, Mademoiselle. I did not.” He returned his gaze to the vines.

Even if the world stood still, Donet never would. Forced to give up one dream, he had pursued another. She admired that about him. And she trusted him, even with her life. The life he saved, she reminded herself.

What would it be like to be married to such a man? She thought of his past, his privateering for America and his daring escapades. It would be like marrying adventure itself. He would never be dull like so many men in the ton. And while he was very attractive to women, he was no Jack among the maids. He had been faithful to his wife. Perhaps he was even now.

Joanna no longer believed he found her unattractive. What she had seen in his eyes, what she had felt in his kiss told her otherwise. He wanted her, that much was clear, but as what? He, more than she, held himself away. Why? Did he worry for her virtue? Or was it the love he still harbored for his dead wife?

The carriage slowed and she peered out the window to see a grand château set back from the road. As they neared, it seemed to grow larger, rising before them, a stone palace with a slate mansard roof pierced by eight dormer windows.

More than twenty large windows graced the front of the edifice. On either side of the main building stood a wing with a high pavilion. “Why, ’tis enormous,” she said, her voice reflecting the awe she felt.

“As a child, I imagined it went on forever,” said Donet. “On rainy days, my brother and I played games in the great hall.”

Gabrielle woke and looked out the window, her eyes growing wide.

The carriage stopped and Donet’s quartermaster, who’d been riding on top with the coachman, opened the door. “Ye failed to mention a few details about yer ancestral home, Capitaine.”

The comte stepped down and helped her and Gabrielle to alight. “Should I have said it is quite large?” He paused to examine the château as if seeing it for the first time. “Even so, it is larger than when I last saw it. Why my father felt a need to add to the monstrosity, I do not know. Come, let us see who is here.”

Before the four of them reached the front door, it flew open and a young girl in a white gown with a wide blue sash ran out, her dark hair flying behind her. “Papa, Papa!” she cried, hurling herself at the comte and hugging his waist. “Oh, Papa,” she cried, shutting her eyes.

Joanna shifted her gaze to Donet. As far as she knew he had only one daughter, and that one was grown and living in London.

Donet gently placed his hand on the girl’s head. “You must be Zoé.”

The girl pulled back, her brow furrowed. “You are not Papa, are you?” Her young face conveyed her terrible disappointment. For a moment, she stared up at Donet. “I hoped he had returned.”

A woman hurried out of the same door the child had come through. “Zoé!” she shouted, a look of despair on her face. The girl turned to look at the woman but held on to Donet as if afraid he might disappear. The short woman wore a ruffled mobcap on top of gray curls. Her careworn face bore an anxious look. Wiping her hands on her apron, she frowned at the girl. “Mademoiselle Zoé,” she said in a kindly tone. “Ce n’est pas votre papa.”

The girl had thought Donet was her father? But why?

As if to answer Joanna’s question, the girl raised her eyes to Donet. “But he looks so like Papa, I wanted it to be true.”

The woman in the mobcap lifted her gaze to Donet and gasped.

“Marguerite,” said the comte. “It is you, is it not?” To Joanna, Donet muttered, “My older brother Henri and I always looked much alike. Marguerite knew me as a younger man.”

“Master?” The woman’s wrinkled face stared up at the comte in wonder. “You have come!”

Donet leaned forward and kissed her on both cheeks. “I have and I must beg your forgiveness for my delay in doing so. I had intended to be here earlier, but my presence was required in London.” Crouching down in front of the girl, he said, “Zoé, I am ton oncle Jean.”

The girl touched his face as if to assure herself he was real. “Mon oncle? You have come to stay?”

He stood and patted the girl’s head. “We will see.” To Joanna, he said, “Allow me to introduce you to our housekeeper Madame Travere and to my niece, Mademoiselle Zoé Donet.”

The woman curtsied and Joanna returned her a smile.

His niece greeted Joanna. “Bonjour.”

To the woman he had called Marguerite, he explained, “My guest is Lady Joanna West. She brings her maid, Gabrielle, who is also the niece of my housekeeper in Lorient.”

Gabrielle dipped a small curtsy to the older woman.

“And lastly, here is my quartermaster and good friend Émile Bequel.”

M’sieur Bequel bowed before the housekeeper. “At yer service, Madame.”

The housekeeper smiled at the gruff man, not put off in the least by his harsh countenance and rough appearance. “Come inside,” she said to them. “You must be tired from your journey, and we have much to discuss.”