Page 17 of Echo in the Wind

“Very good.” The silversmith dipped his head and carried the clock back to the counter.

It was then Jean noticed the two women in the far corner of the shop staring at him. Like a pair of bon bons, one was dressed all in pink and the other in blue, perfectly attired for a spring day.

He recognized the beautiful redhead at once. Lady Joanna West’s light blue gown of fine silk adorned with ruffles complemented well her red curls swept off her neck. Atop them she wore a straw hat at a jaunty angle. Next to her stood a younger version of her in pink satin and lace.

Doffing his hat, he inclined his head. “Ladies.”

“Monsieur Donet,” Lady Joanna returned, coming forward. “Might you be here on the same errand that brings my sister and me out today?”

Jean had not met the younger redhead but the resemblance was clear. It seemed Torrington and his siblings all bore the same stamp: red hair of one shade or another, brown eyes, pale skin and finely carved features. “That may be, for I seek a gift for the christening of my godson, Jean Nicholas.”

“As do we,” said Lady Joanna. She stood before him, her sister beside her holding some silver object. “I was so pleased when my friend Cornelia asked if we might attend. How delighted you must be.”

“I am, particularly since the child is also my first grandchild.”

Her eyes, he realized, were not merely brown like her sister’s. They were the color of aged cognac, deep amber pools alight with intelligence, the kind of eyes a man could look at for the rest of his life. Her manner might be direct, but her full lips were enticing and her subtle smile beguiling.

She glanced at the girl in pink and back to him. “I don’t recall if you were introduced to my sister at the reception.”

He cast a glance at the younger woman and shook his head. “Je regrette, I did not have the pleasure.” His mouth hitched up in a grin he knew would delight the young miss who was looking at him with an expression of keen interest.

“Well, then,” Lady Joanna began, “may I present my sister, Lady Matilda West?”

The girl giggled. Perhaps only a year or two younger than his daughter, Lady Matilda’s manner made her seem even younger. But then, Claire had been through much and was now married and the mother of a child—the key to fulfillment for any woman.

He inclined his head. “Enchanté.”

His greeting drew another giggle from the girl and a chiding “Tillie!” from Lady Joanna.

“I saw you select the clock, Monsieur. I, too, admired the workmanship, but can you not see that giving such a fine clock to a babe in arms is unwise? Would not a silver cup be more appropriate?”

“Now there you’d be wrong, Mademoiselle. Everyone gives a cup. My aim is to fascinate the boy with thoughts of the night sky he will one day see from his ship. ’Tis the perfect gift for a future ship’s captain.”

Lady Joanna’s brows rose in surprise. “But isn’t he a bit young for such thoughts?”

“Nay, I think not. A child is like a ship. One can never be too young to be steered to the right course.”

Her forehead creased in a frown. “Have you considered, Monsieur, that you might have chosen this gift, not because it will please your grandson, but because it will please you?”

Jean scowled at her suggestion. What did she know of him that she would impute such a selfish motive to his action? Of course, the clock pleased him. More importantly, it would also please Jean Nicholas.

She looked at him expectantly, beautiful in her defiance, awaiting his answer. Perplexed at his strong reaction to the redhead, he gave her none.

The tension between them hung thick in the air as they stood glaring at each other.

The sister spoke up, sparing an awkward moment. “Ah… we thought to give the baby a silver rattle.” She held up a silver toy about five inches long with a whistle at one end and a coral teether at the other and shook it in front of his face. “See?”

Decorated with silver bells, Jean had to admit it made a pleasant jingle. “Quite practical. I am certain my daughter and young Jean Nicholas will be delighted.”

“And why not?” Lady Joanna asserted. “Babies need diversion.”

From behind him, the shopkeeper spoke. “Your clock is ready, Monsieur.”

Jean tipped his hat to the ladies and turned toward the silversmith’s counter, glad for the interruption. As he strode to the counter, he could feel the disapproving gaze of Lady Joanna boring into his back. He set his jaw. Jean Nicholas would have the clock whether the lady approved or not.

At the counter, he found his package, tied up with string.

Jean waited until the women had purchased the silver rattle and Lady Joanna bid him a terse, “Good day, Monsieur.”