Page 74 of Echo in the Wind

Had he yet received her letter telling him she was safe with the French comte? And what would he make of that? Since Freddie was master of The Harrows for the summer, he would have much to occupy his time. Perhaps he would not worry about her. She could only hope he and Zack did not pursue another smuggling run. With Commander Ellis angry for losing one smuggler’s ship, he would be eager to seize another. The smugglers on the beach would also be in danger.

She thought of Polly Ackerman and her children and worried for their situation. But at those times, she reminded herself Zack and Freddie could be trusted to watch over them.

“You look lovely, Mademoiselle,” said Gabrielle, “and so French.”

“All due to your talent. I do hope you are enjoying your position as my maid.”

“Oh yes, Mademoiselle, beaucoup.”

Pleased, Joanna smiled at the girl and picked up her straw hat, carrying it with her as she left her chamber. She reached the bottom of the stairs and saw the butler standing to one side of the entry.

“Mademoiselle,” Lefèvre said, inclining his head. With a sweep of his arm, he gestured her toward a large dining room. “Monsieur le comte is waiting for you.”

She nodded and entered a room as grand as the parlor. Its large crystal chandelier hung above a long and highly polished walnut table. A sideboard of the same wood held a silver tea set. On the table were several branched candlesticks, their flames flickering.

Donet rose from where he was sitting adjacent to his niece. “Lady Joanna, won’t you join us?”

“Thank you, I would love to.” She set her hat on one of the side chairs and took the seat he held out for her.

Zoé appeared in a good mood, her face brighter than when Joanna had last seen it. “I hope you are hungry, my lady.”

The quartermaster came into the room then, shared a meaningful glance with Donet, and took a seat next to the girl.

The meal of veal, turkey, artichokes and a salad was welcome after the long day of travel. Donet’s quartermaster, who ate much, kept them entertained with tales. Zoé seemed delighted and encouraged M’sieur Bequel to tell her more.

Joanna stole glances at Donet, who appeared preoccupied as he sliced his turkey. He ate little, brooding over his meal, and said even less.

“Did you really sail an English ship to Dover and hide in the fog?” asked Zoé, her gray eyes huge in her young face.

“Oui.” The quartermaster puffed out his large chest and waved his fork in the air. “And them Jack-tars were none the wiser till we slid over the side of their ship.”

Joanna cleared her throat.

The quartermaster, apparently remembering she was English, gave her a sheepish look. “Pardonnez-moi.”

She smiled, shaking her head. “I suppose I should be flattered you have forgotten I am not French, Monsieur.”

After dinner, Joanna savored one of the fresh plums served for dessert, a bit of the cheese and a fine Bordeaux wine Donet told her had come from vineyards south of Saintonge.

Once she had finished the plum, he leaned in. “Mademoiselle, forgive me. I have been a terrible host. Would you like to take your tea in the garden? We might as well take advantage of the long June day.”

Remembering the garden she had glimpsed from her room and hoping she might learn what troubled him, she gladly accepted. “I would.”

“And you, Zoé?” he asked his niece.

“I want to hear more of M’sieur Bequel’s stories. But I will come after that.” Then looking up at Donet, she added, “If it’s all right with you, Oncle Jean.”

Donet shook his head, smiling at his niece and his quartermaster. “You two are like old salts sharing tales, half of which bear no resemblance to the truth, but since you are enjoying yourself, bien sûr, you may stay, Zoé.” He then asked Sophie, who stood in one corner, to serve tea in the garden terrace.

“Oui, Monsieur.” She dipped her head and left the room. To Joanna, the girl appeared to be enamored of her master. Perhaps it was his likeness to the older brother. But surely the maid would notice a difference. The air of confidence he had gained in a score of years at sea would set him apart from most aristocrats, even one who looked very much like him.

Joanna took her straw hat from the side chair where she had left it and set it on her head. “I am ready.”

Donet held out his arm and she took it. It seemed so natural to be with him, to follow him to the gardens. There was so much she loved about this man, no matter he was a French Catholic and a former pirate. He exuded a strength that made her feel safe. He was charming and he could make her laugh.

They did not sit to take tea when it was served. At Donet’s suggestion, they picked up their cups and followed the line of rose bushes. Every now and then, they would pause to take a sip from their cups, admiring some flower.

Seeing a large pink rose, Joanna bent to smell the heady fragrance.