Page 12 of Echo in the Wind

Richard inclined his head. “Monsieur de Saintonge and Captain and Mrs. Powell, welcome to The Harrows.”

Freddie chimed in, “Yes, welcome.”

Joanna was glad Addington had taken his leave, for his views on Catholics might make for an uncomfortable encounter, particularly when the Catholic in question was a French nobleman. Freddie, on the other hand, had no such biases.

She extended her hand to the comte. “Indeed, we welcome you to our home and to England.”

With an unmistakable air of distinction, the comte bowed over her hand and returned her greeting. “Bonsoir, Lady Joanna. I am at your service.”

His hair, clubbed back in a queue and tied with a fancy velvet ribbon, was not solid black as she had once thought, but was threaded with silver, rendering him a very distinguished man in his ivory-filigreed coat. He spoke in a melodious French-accented voice and his lips, she noticed, were seductively curved.

Joanna wondered if the comte had a wife. If he did, she did not attend.

Turning to the couple just introduced, she echoed her eldest brother, “Captain and Mrs. Powell, it is so nice to meet you.”

“We’ll have none of that,” interrupted Cornelia. “Claire is my good friend as are you, Joanna. Amongst us women, I’m afraid it must be Cornelia, Claire and Joanna.”

Lord Danvers laughed. To the men, he said, “You see how it is. My darling wife remains the American and will have it her way, formalities be damned.”

“We are delighted to be here,” Captain Powell graciously put in, “no matter how we are addressed. I was most interested to meet the Prime Minister.”

Powell was a tall golden man, so different from his French wife, though he obviously adored her, his amber eyes ever looking her way.

“Pitt is impressive,” observed the comte. “Clever, too, I think. I envy you his enthusiasm for change.”

Richard nodded his agreement. “England is lucky to have him.”

Freddie listened intently, obviously happy to be included.

Captain Powell looked to Richard. “Your home is magnificent. ’Tis not often we get to West Sussex since my ships home port in London.”

The comte smiled before he said, “And mine are most often in Lorient.”

Ah, he has ships. But then a pirate would. Joanna met his intense gaze. “Are your ships engaged as merchantmen?”

“Often,” he said, amusement dancing in his jet eyes.

His cryptic response left Joanna wondering what other business he might be engaged in. Most definitely he was a noble son of France, but she detected a flash of defiance in the depths of his dark eyes, making her wonder if his elegant attire and noble manners were merely a ruse. Beneath them might lurk a beast, tamed for the night, who could well be the pirate Richard had spoken of.

Despite her reservations, she found herself thoroughly fascinated. “Was I correct in addressing you as Monsieur le comte? Or, is it more proper to say Monsieur de Saintonge, Monsieur Donet, or my lord?”

“M’sieur Donet, s’il vous plaît,” he responded. “The title is new and unexpected. I am… unused to it. And in France, we do not speak of lords and ladies as you do here. My surname will do.”

“Very well.” Monsieur le pirate probably would not be well received. Besides, Richard had said it was only a rumor.

“My papa is here for our son’s christening,” ventured Claire Powell, her eyes lit with excitement. The young woman strongly resembled the comte, save for her blue eyes and feminine features.

He must not have a wife, Joanna thought, for a wife would not miss such an auspicious occasion as a grandchild’s christening.

Freddie, only a few years younger than Claire, could not seem to take his eyes off Powell’s beautiful young wife.

“The Powells’ young son is named after Monsieur Donet,” said Lord Danvers. “And he along with my wife and I are to stand as godparents.”

“You must see him, Joanna,” urged Cornelia. “He’s a beautiful baby. We are so proud to be asked to be godparents with Monsieur Donet.”

The comte’s piercing gaze fixed on her. “Will you be coming to London, Lady Joanna?”

An hour ago, Joanna would have defied her brother’s insistence she go with him to London, but meeting the comte’s dark eyes the only response that came to her lips was, “Why, yes.”