Page 41 of Echo in the Wind

“At times I do, my lady, though plying the waters of the Channel can become boring. It is not exactly a battle on the sea of great import. When the Channel is all you see for days, any excuse to sail into port is a good one. I am happy for the change, particularly as I am aware war is never far away.” At her raised brow, he went on. “The climate in France bodes ill. ’Tis a rising tide of discontent. We who are attuned to such matters watch it closely.”

“Is it so bad?” she asked, concerned.

“It is. The French queen is not popular with the people and now that America has her independence, the peasants clamor for their own freedom. There have been eruptions of violence in the countryside, and in Paris, riots for the lack of bread.”

“Oh, I didn’t know, but what you say makes sense. Even the common man in England is none too happy with the increase in taxes to pay for an unpopular war. Our countrymen’s situation deteriorates along with the French.”

“Just so. ’Tis why I keep my uniform at the ready should I be called upon to serve once again. My life, as it is now, may be only a brief respite, an interlude between wars, if you will. So I am determined to enjoy it.”

She smiled, realizing there was more to this man than his rakish habits. “Then I shall not begrudge you your pleasure while you may take it, but perhaps I can help bring you awake this morning. Let us take the Row in a race!” She flicked her mare with her riding crop and plunged ahead, galloping away.

Seymour followed, his horse’s hooves pounding the dirt path as he shouted encouragement. “On! I say onward, my lady!”

At the end of the Row, a mile long, Joanna pulled up, out of breath and heart pounding. She loved the thrill of such a mad race, the exhilaration and the wind on her face.

Lord Hugh drew even with her. “Why, Lady Joanna, you are a fierce horsewoman! And you have a mind to go with that beautiful face. I only wish you might come to London more often.”

“What? And force you to rise before noon? Nay, not while you are partnered with Prince George. You need your sleep!”

He laughed heartily. “Of a certainty, I will miss you, Lady Joanna.”

She smiled up at him. “That is most kind of you to say.” He looked long into her eyes, seeing what, she had no idea. “Is something amiss, Lord Hugh?”

“No… No, it just occurred to me you would, indeed, make an ideal wife.”

Narrowing her eyes, she studied him, suspicious at this sudden thought. “Did Torrington put you up to this?”

“Your brother? Why no… Well, he may have suggested… But no.”

“I see. Truly, Lord Hugh, I am not the woman you seek.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “I can be persistent, you know.”

“I fear it would be a wasted effort,” she said, then softened her words with a smile.

He seemed to accept her answer. “All right,” he said, disappointed.

They walked their horses back down the Row and then to Mayfair, speaking of the London Season, of the Handel concert and Seymour’s escapades with the prince.

She enjoyed Lord Hugh’s company and their easy banter, but she could never imagine him as more than a friend. Their conversation lacked the edge she had come to appreciate when she was in the company of the mysterious comte de Saintonge. The Frenchman was unpredictable, amusing and his masculine presence excited her in a way this man never could.

As she waved goodbye to Lord Hugh, she pondered what Donet might be doing now. Was he on his way to France where an unhappy populace fomented discontent?

North of Guernsey Island, in the English Channel off the coast of Normandy

Midmorning, Jean stood at the rail, wind whipping his hair free from its queue. It was a blustery day in the Channel as they headed south.

Off the larboard, twenty-six miles to the east, the hills of Normandy’s Cotentin peninsula boldly emerged from the white-capped waters. Off the starboard, he could see the three lighthouses standing sentinel on the Casquets, the huge cluster of rocks off Alderney Island. The familiar landmark told him they were not far from Guernsey.

With a northeasterly wind and full sail above him, they would soon arrive in the harbor of St. Peter Port.

“The weather has been kind to us, Capitaine,” said Émile, suddenly appearing at his side. Jean turned to see the rough outline of his quartermaster’s face, shadowed with his back to the sun.

“We should reach St. Peter Port in time for supper,” raising his voice to be heard over the wind.

Émile smiled. “As I remember, Lidstone’s on the quay serves a tolerable veal.”

“Supper at Lidstone’s appeals.” Seeing his quartermaster’s weary look, he added, “We might enjoy an evening to ourselves.”