Page 11 of Echo in the Wind

Accepting the glass, Jean inwardly cringed at the title “sir”. When had he crossed the line from youth to an age where a man in his twenties must pay him the respect due one’s elders?

Powell left them, heading toward a footman on the other side of the room.

Watching him walk away, Jean sipped his champagne and thought to ask his daughter, “How many ships does Powell have now?”

“He still has the two you are aware of, and he is acquiring another. He wants to have a shipping company one day.”

“A laudable ambition,” said Jean.

Lady Danvers scanned the room, her gaze pausing on a tall man surrounded by others. “Wait here while I retrieve the Prime Minister. I know he will want to meet you, Monsieur.”

Claire had only begun to tell Jean of her life since her marriage when Lady Danvers returned with the tall man on her arm and Lord Danvers at her side.

Since he recognized the baron, Jean acknowledged him. “Lord Danvers.”

Lady Danvers introduced Jean to the English Prime Minister, giving Jean’s title as the comte de Saintonge.

Jean added his congratulations to the others being expressed to Pitt. “A great victory, Prime Minister.”

“Thank you,” returned Pitt. “We are most pleased. I was in your country only a few months ago and my companions and I thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. I must ask, do you find France much changed now that the war has ended?”

“Changed?” Jean considered carefully what he might say. He would not speak of the unrest. “Only that France now struggles under a mountain of debt.” It was true and all knew it. The decision to aid America had been the right one, but the war had left his country in grave financial trouble.

“France is not alone in that, Monsieur Donet,” admitted Pitt.

Lord Danvers nodded his agreement.

“It will be my first task once my cabinet is convened to see what I can do about England’s debt.”

“I wish you well in that effort,” said Jean. “’Twill not be easy. I doubt the common people in either country can bear more taxation.”

Pitt gave him a knowing smile. “Then I shall not tax the common people.”

Jean raised a brow. “You would tax the aristocracy?”

Pitt’s eyes gleamed with purpose. “And the wealthy merchants.”

Jean liked the young English Prime Minister and his enthusiasm for what would be a difficult task. “We should do the same in France, but I fear the effort would not be welcomed. Our nobles and clergy remain blithely ignorant of the mounting danger from a people taxed to support their luxurious lifestyle while having no political liberty.”

“Monsieur le comte,” said Pitt, “I grant that you may have fewer political liberties in France. But as to civil liberty, from what I observed, the French have more of it than you may suppose. Voltaire was a great defender of such liberty, as I recall.”

“You may be correct,” offered Jean, “though at the moment, the civil liberty we possess does the French people little good.” Jean enjoyed the conversation, but he would say no more. His last trip to Paris suggested a storm was coming. What good was civil liberty when the people had nothing to eat? Jean had been raised the son of a nobleman yet had made his own way the last score of years in a world that favored only the bold. The wealth he had amassed did not come from the noble birth so long denied him.

As the Prime Minister made to leave, he offered his hand to Jean. “Until we meet again, Monsieur. Perhaps in London?”

Jean shook Pitt’s hand. “It would be my great pleasure.”

Claire’s husband returned, a glass of champagne in hand.

Lady Danvers addressed Jean and the Powells. “You must meet our host and his sister.”

Lord Danvers agreed. The three of them finished their champagne and followed him and his wife across the room. Judging by the smiles she garnered from those they passed, the American woman had made many friends in the years she had been in England. Jean was unsurprised. She had an unassuming charm the staid English often lacked.

Moments later, Lady Danvers stopped before three auburn-haired young aristocrats.

Joanna watched the French nobleman approach with the black-haired girl and handsome blond gentleman, who, like the comte, had the tanned skin of one who spent much time in the sun. With them were Joanna’s friend, Cornelia, and her husband.

“Joanna, my dear friend,” said Cornelia, “and Lord Torrington and Mr. Frederick West, may I introduce Jean Donet, comte de Saintonge, his lovely daughter Claire Powell and her husband Captain Simon Powell?”