Page 64 of Echo in the Wind

Donet stood with one hand braced upon the mantel and the other holding a glass of what looked to be brandy as he stared into the flames. Once again, he appeared the nobleman in black velvet and ivory.

He was so deep in thought he did not notice her standing in the doorway.

“Bonsoir, Monsieur Donet.”

He turned, his eyes fixing her with an assessing gaze.

“Did I disrupt your thoughts?”

“Lady Joanna, I believe it is your destiny to disrupt my thoughts, though I cannot say I regret the inevitability. Would you care for a glass of sherry?”

She wondered at his meaning. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

Once he had poured the golden liquid, she accepted the small glass from his hand. His fingers slid against hers leaving a trail of shivers moving up her arm. Needing fortification for the evening ahead, she downed the sherry in three gulps.

“How are you feeling?” Genuine concern was etched on his olive skin, a dark gold in the light of the fire.

“Almost like new after my nap. I did not mean to sleep so long. Being on land once again I am a bit unstable on my feet and seem to tire more easily. At times, I feel like I am still on the ship.”

He gave her a sympathetic look. “It may take you a while to get used to firm ground. Even I have to cope with legs that still think they’re at sea when I am first off the ship. ’Tis the mal de débarquement.”

She raised her brows.

“Land sickness.”

“Ah, and I suppose I will recover only to board your ship again.”

“Yes,” he said, but his gaze flitted away as if he would say more and did not.

“I am boarding your ship again, aren’t I? You told Madame Provot as much.”

“Oh, yes, I did, and you are.”

Rose appeared in the doorway. “Supper is served, Capitaine. It’s your favorite chicken dish, a fricassée cooked in a broth of white wine and grapes and served with fried veal balls and fresh vegetables.”

“That sounds perfect.” He offered Joanna his arm. “Rose maintains a small garden on one side of the house that rewards her tender care with fine vegetables.”

The dining table could seat eight, but as there were only the two of them, he suggested they dine at one end.

This room did not face the harbor. Through the windows, she glimpsed trees, dark silhouettes against the indigo sky.

Once the claret wine was poured and the dishes served, Donet dismissed the housekeeper, leaving them alone. Candles flickered from silver stands set in a row in the center of the table. It struck her as a too intimate setting for an English spinster, even one who had gained that status by choice, yet she had no desire to leave him.

The aroma of the chicken wafted in the air, making her mouth water. She took a bite, tasting a rich blend of herbs and butter. “The chicken has an unusual flavor, ’tis the best I’ve ever tasted.”

He watched her closely. “’Tis the spices. Rose comes from Provence and her sister, who is still there, sends her herbs to use in her cooking.”

In the candlelight, his olive skin glowed, his black brows and hair striking. On his forehead was the beginning of a frown.

She sipped her wine. “Something worries you?”

He met her gaze. “You are most perceptive, my lady. I do worry, but not for my ship. The repairs are under way.” Cutting into his chicken, he said, “Some messages I received today tell me conditions in my country are worsening. I will not know how bad the situation is until I get to Paris.” He looked up. “I fear the revolution in America has laid the foundation for another in France.”

“But France is not a colony suffering under unfair laws and heavy taxes,” she observed.

“Non, but we have the Crown and the clergy, both of which benefit from the peasant class bearing the burden of taxes and tithes. It cannot go on, but convincing the king that change is needed may not be easy. Or even possible.”

Joanna finished her chicken and he poured her another glass of wine. She had just lifted her wine to her lips when he asked, “Would you take your wine with me in the parlor? The fire is better situated there to warm us both.”