Page 63 of Echo in the Wind

“Oui. The rest have no problem with a woman sailing with us. And they are happy to have a few days at home. Has yer time spent with the English lady been agreeable?”

“It has and thanks to Madame Provot, the earl’s sister has returned to a lady’s attire. Lady Joanna is resting or I would ask her to join us.” Jean reached for the decanter of brandy sitting on a small table. “Would you share a brandy?”

“I will and gladly.”

Jean poured them each a glass and handed one to his quartermaster, inviting him to sit in one of the chairs flanking the fireplace. His study at the rear of the house, on the other side of the parlor, was his favorite room of the house. Like the breakfast room, it had a view of the harbor.

“Have ye told her yet of yer plans to sail to Saintonge?”

“Non, I will leave that news till tomorrow. I suspect she will not be pleased, but I am already late to see to my obligations there. I fear my niece will think she’s been abandoned.”

“The ship will be ready to sail with the tide, Capitaine. I have brought ye the charts ye wanted and some messages that awaited yer return from England. The men are loading fresh water and provisions as we speak.”

“Excellent.” He handed his quartermaster an envelope. “See that M’sieur Ricard gets this to the crew on the sloop in Lorient. ’Tis instructions for some alterations.” Émile nodded and stuffed the envelope into his coat pocket. “Will you stay for the evening meal?” Jean asked.

“Non, merci. I have a lady to see and a meal to eat at my favorite restaurant. But I will be on la Reine Noire when ye arrive with the English lady.” With a gleam in his eye, Émile asked, “Are we to be sharing a cabin again?”

“Much as I regret to say, I will be enduring your snoring for the foreseeable future.” What he had told Émile was true, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be thinking of the vixen who slept in his bed.

With his cat.

Chapter 16

Joanna woke to a knock on the door. Roused from a deep sleep, she opened her eyes, disoriented. It took her a moment to realize she was in Donet’s home in Lorient.

She sat up and slid her legs over the side of the bed. “Come in,” she said, rubbing her eyes.

Donet’s housekeeper peered around the door. “The capitaine sent me. He expressed concern and asked me to see how you were doing.”

He worried for her? The wound had healed but the scabs that had formed itched. She was thankful for Bouchet’s salve. “I must have needed that nap, but I am fine.”

“Supper will soon be ready. Have you an appetite?”

“Oh, yes.” She ran her fingers through her long hair, trying to sort out the tangles. “I look forward to tasting your cooking that Monsieur Donet praises so.”

Rose smiled and beckoned Joanna to the dressing table. “Come sit here. I am not a lady’s maid but, if you like, I will see what I can do with your hair.”

“I am sure you are too busy to tend my hair, Rose. I will leave it simply styled, but you can help me with the gown.” She slipped off the robe. “The laces are easier to undo than to tighten.”

The housekeeper picked up the gown and slid it over Joanna’s head, tying the laces.

“That reminds me,” said Rose, “the capitaine has asked me to suggest a lady’s maid for you. Tomorrow, my niece Gabrielle will come and you can see how you like her.”

“How thoughtful of him.” He had promised her a maid and it cheered her he had not forgotten.

“There is no better man than the capitaine, my lady.”

“Did you know his wife?” Joanna had an abiding curiosity about the woman he had given up all to wed.

“For the last years of her life, oui. A gentle soul, that one. He loved her deeply.”

Since the housekeeper did not seem inclined to say more, Joanna did not ask. Once she was dressed, she dismissed Rose to her more important duties and went to sit at the dressing table. The image that met her in the mirror presented a woman who’d left the frippery of London far behind.

A brush had been laid on the linen cloth covering the surface. She wondered to whom it had belonged as it looked to be new. She brushed out her curls, her imagination spinning tales, each more fanciful than the next, of Donet’s having entertained ladies of the night in his home, providing each a new brush.

Tonight, she would dine with him, perhaps alone. The prospect was exciting, yet along with the excitement she felt a twinge of fear. She was more vulnerable to this man than any before him. And one did not cajole a pirate.

Descending the stairs, she looked first in the dining room. The table was set with fine china and crystal but seeing no one there, she turned away and went to the parlor.