Page 68 of Echo in the Wind

“’Tis true. I remember my life in Saintonge as a youth. The workers were in the vineyards early.”

“You were raised in Saintonge?”

“Oui. Except for excursions to Paris, I lived there until I was twenty. Which reminds me, we sail tomorrow, but not for England. I must first go to Saintonge.”

“What? But I thought—”

“Yes, I know, but Saintonge is closer, and I have not been there since I learned of the deaths of my father and brother. It is imperative I go now.”

The vixen brooded for a moment.

He smiled, trying to coax her to consenting. “Would you not like to see the vineyards that produce all that brandy you and your fellow smugglers sell in London? What matters it if you do not return till summer’s end? If by being with me, you are ruined, a delay of some weeks will not alter the fact.” He gave her a wry smile, hoping the rebel in her would rise to the occasion. “I will give you quill and paper to write a letter to your brother. You can tell him the pirate holds you captive but is treating you well.”

He was certain the smile that crossed her face just then was a reluctant one. “I suppose it would do no good to protest.”

“None at all, Mademoiselle.”

Rose entered with more coffee, which he gladly poured.

“My niece has arrived, Capitaine, if the lady would like to meet her.”

Jean glanced at his guest whose face bore a scowl. Better she should meet her prospective maid than argue with him over something she could not change.

He picked up his coffee and rose to leave. To his housekeeper, he said, “Bring her in.”

Conflicting emotions warred within Joanna. She was angry with Donet for having misled her into thinking she would be going home from Lorient. But she did not want to leave him just yet and, in truth, she did have a desire to see more of the land of his youth. Besides, if she were to travel as a lady, she would need a maid.

“You are Gabrielle?” Donet asked the dark-haired girl. Nearly a foot taller than Nora, Gabrielle had thick dark hair, confined to a knot at her nape, and expressive blue eyes.

“Oui, Monsieur,” she said curtsying before him.

“Lady Joanna, I will leave you two for a bit so you can get acquainted. If she meets your needs, she has indicated to her aunt she is willing to serve you and travel with us to Saintonge. There will be room in my cabin for the two of you.”

So, he had known from the beginning she would be sailing to Saintonge. Very well, she would go along with his arrangements. “You do think of everything, Monsieur.”

One side of his mouth hitched up in a bit of a grin. “I try.”

After he left, Joanna turned to the girl. “Please have a seat. Do you speak English, Gabrielle?”

The girl sat in the chair vacated by Donet. “Oui, Mademoiselle, some.”

“And I speak French, though not as well as Monsieur Donet. Between us, perhaps we will be able to communicate nicely. Tell me what you know of being a lady’s maid.”

With some particularity, the girl described her training and her talents. She was not an accomplished maid like Nora, but she could style hair and knew enough about a lady’s dress to satisfy. Importantly for Joanna, the girl was French which, given Joanna’s immediate future, would be a great help to her. And the pretty girl had a pleasant manner.

She poured Gabrielle a cup of chocolate. While they drank, they exchanged stories about their families. The maid was the youngest of three children with two older brothers. Joanna talked of her two surviving brothers and her younger sister. Of an age with Tillie, but more mature, Joanna thought Gabrielle would serve admirably.

“If you would like the position, Gabrielle, it is yours for as long as I am in France.”

“Oh yes, Mademoiselle. I would like it very much.” The girl was already making an effort to speak more English, which impressed Joanna. They would do well together.

The housekeeper returned. “The capitaine is asking for you, Mademoiselle. Madame Provot has arrived with her assistant and many boxes.”

“Come, Gabrielle,” said Joanna. “You can begin now helping with my new gowns.”

Many hours later, Joanna had a new wardrobe. The lovely French gowns were as elegant as those she had at The Harrows, perhaps more so. Madame Provot’s flair for lace, ribbon and bows reminded her why the English modeled their fashions after the French.

That night, after dining with Donet, Joanna wrote Freddie a letter to explain her injury and recovery. She told him her return would be delayed, but not to worry, that Monsieur Donet was being the perfect gentleman and had retained a maid for her.