Page 36 of Echo in the Wind

“I will miss your company but I am glad we have this day. I did not get a chance to ask you at the concert or the soiree after, did you enjoy the christening?”

“I did. And the breakfast you gave was incredible, as are all your parties.”

“What did you think of Claire’s father, the comte de Saintonge? You have seen him a few times, yes?”

Joanna took a deep breath and let it out, turning to look into Cornelia’s dark brown eyes, twinkling with anticipation. “Actually, more times than that. Tillie and I encountered him in the silversmith’s when we were selecting a gift for your godson. I know you expect me to say that Donet is a most handsome man and elegant of manner. A bit dangerous, too, perhaps.”

“And? Is it not so?”

“I suppose.” Joanna looked down at her hands. “But Richard says it is only a rumor he was a pirate.”

“’Tis no rumor, Jo. He was a pirate, or at least a privateer without letter of marque, which is the same thing. But once he gained his letter of marque from Benjamin Franklin, the American statesman in Paris, with France’s blessing, Donet entered the war on America’s side. He became famous for eluding English frigates in the Channel and capturing many prizes. He was decorated by both America and France. Of course, that did not please my husband, but it did please me. I wanted America to be free.”

Joanna tried to match the description with the man. Yes, she could see the comte doing all that. His manners were elegant, yet his eyes spoke of daring and danger.

“That is how Claire met her husband, you know,” Cornelia went on. “Monsieur Donet captured Simon Powell’s schooner. To regain his ship, Simon abducted Claire from the convent near Paris where she was a student.”

“Mr. Powell told us the story after the christening.” Joanna did not find it surprising Donet had taken to the seas without sanction of any country or that he had seized Simon Powell’s ship. That he had become a decorated hero in the process did. “I find the comte to be rather mysterious. I am unable to decipher him as I am most men.” Recalling the incident in the silver shop when he rejected her advice and then at the soiree when he insisted she dance with him, she added, “And he is stubborn.”

Cornelia raised her brows. “O ho! ‘Said the pot to the kettle, you are black!’”

Joanna felt her cheeks heat and lowered her eyes. “You have caught me.”

“Do not fret, Jo. You know I love that you are not a weak sister. I am well aware of my own faults, for which my gracious husband forgives me, thank the Good Lord.”

“You and Danvers have an exceptional marriage, like my own parents. Not many women in the ton are so fortunate.”

Cornelia took Joanna’s hand. “I know you think never to wed because of the bad matches you have witnessed, but do not lose hope. The man you will love, Joanna—and I am certain there will be one—will not be like those men. He will love you for the strong woman of character you are. And he will be faithful.”

“Or I will kill him?”

Cornelia laughed. “Indeed.”

Joanna allowed herself a smile. “I am fortunate to have you for a friend, Cornelia.” She sat back on the tufted velvet seat, amused. “One who shares with me her many interests.”

Her friend’s eyes twinkled. “You are the only one who will follow me anywhere.”

“I enjoy your company.” She thought of the question she’d been meaning to ask. “Tell me, how did Monsieur Donet lose his wife? I assume he is not married or he would not have come alone to the christening.”

“He was widowed when Claire was quite young. The man was devoted to his wife, or so Claire tells me. He was born the son of a comte, but his father disowned him when he insisted on marrying the woman he loved. Since her death, Donet has taken no wife. Not even a mistress that I know of.”

“A man still in love with his dead wife?”

“Possibly. I have known such men.”

“Most interesting,” muttered Joanna, as she stared out the window. A man who would give up his noble birth for a woman was not a shallow man. In London Society where marriages were often arranged and women forced into loveless unions, Donet’s behavior appealed to her woman’s heart.

A half-hour later, the carriage stopped before the Old Bailey.

“Wait for us,” Cornelia told her driver.

Joanna looked up at the three-story edifice that included the main Justice Hall and an attached wing on either side. She shuddered. Made of stone blocks, it appeared formidable. To one accused by the Crown of a hanging offense it would be frightening. She had ridden by it many times but had never been inside.

“An imposing structure. I can almost hear the wheels of justice grinding.”

Cornelia nodded. “I agree ’tis a somber place. Come, let us go in. We will sit in the gallery above the court where we can see all.”

Joanna followed Cornelia through a narrow opening and up the stairs to the main floor where they were directed up more stairs to the spectators’ gallery. Others were already there, seated on long benches looking into the huge courtroom below.