Page 9 of Echo in the Wind

“What is your ship?” Joanna interjected. “Is it stationed nearby?” She awaited his answer with a sense of foreboding.

The commander turned his blue gaze upon her. “As of this past November, I command the HMS Orestes.” His pride obvious, he said, “She’s an eighteen-gun sloop of war stationed at Southampton. Our mission is to intercept and check smuggling on the south coast.”

“Oh.” Taken aback, Joanna had never expected to meet the captain of a revenue ship and was surprised at how benign he appeared. But then, he had no idea she was among those he hunted. “And have you encountered many?” she asked innocently.

He indulged her a smile as if addressing a small child. “Why, yes. Some are only small luggers, but other larger ships carry as many guns as we do. At those times, it is much like a battle at sea during war.” He gazed beyond her to a group of men surrounding the Prime Minister. “If you will excuse me, my lady, I must speak to Mr. Pitt.”

“Of course.”

As the captain strode off, Richard whispered into her ear, “He is in his early thirties and yet to wed, Sister.”

She whispered back, “No doubt he is married to the sea, Brother.”

“I do hope William will take on this smuggling menace,” offered Addington, having missed her exchange with her brother.

“By his own words, he intends to,” Richard replied.

Joanna worried for what it all meant. Between Pitt’s determination to deal with smuggling and the good commander’s pursuit of the free traders, she and her men were caught in a vise.

Joanna turned her attention to their guests and tried to act the calm hostess, checking the refreshment table where food was served and instructing the footmen as to what might be needed. Once that was taken care of, she went to speak with Aunt Hetty, who sat at one end of the room with two of her friends, ladies as old as herself.

When she inquired as to whether her aunt needed anything, Aunt Hetty replied, “Go see to your guests. I’m content to keep an eye on young Matilda from here.”

Joanna followed her aunt’s gaze to where Tillie was giggling with one of her friends, no doubt over some young man. “Ah.” She smiled at the three ladies. “Then I shall leave you. Have a good evening.”

Returning to Richard, she assured him all was well. He thanked her and resumed his conversation with Addington.

Joanna took solace in her wine as she surveyed the parlor’s occupants. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. She was pleased with her success as a hostess of the beau monde.

Suddenly, a man appeared at the doorway staring into the parlor with cold detachment. His dark eyes seemed to be searching for someone. His tanned olive skin was a stark contrast to the pasty white complexions of most of the men in the room. He wore his black hair unpowdered and tied back at his nape. His features were bold: a high forehead, black eyebrows, a straight nose and prominent cheekbones.

He cut a striking figure in a dark blue coat edged in cream silk flowers. At his throat and cuffs was a great mound of lace. Beneath the frock coat, an ivory silk waistcoat, embellished in the nattiest of fashion, shimmered.

She knew instantly he could not be English. Such ornate embroidery and so much lace would never be seen in Westminster where the current fashion for men favored a certain austerity. An Englishman attired like this one would be considered a popinjay. But to Joanna, his brooding dark elegance spoke of an uncommon masculine style.

He strode into the parlor, drawing curious glances from the gentlemen and nervous twitters from the ladies. Passing through the crowd, his searching gaze met Joanna’s for only a moment yet, in that moment, excitement coursed through her veins. His obsidian eyes flashed with an intensity she had not encountered before. When his gaze moved on, she felt a keen disappointment.

His dark brows lifted as he headed for someone he appeared to recognize.

“Who is he?” she asked her brother.

Richard turned from his conversation with Addington to follow the subject of her attention. “Oh. If I am not mistaken, Sister, that is the new comte de Saintonge.”

A French comte. Yes, he quite looked the part.

Addington huffed. “You invited a Heathen Frog to your reception for the Prime Minister?”

“Careful, old boy,” chided Richard. “Pitt speaks well of his travels in France and ’tis rumored the comte was once a pirate. You wouldn’t want him to get wind of your views or he might slit your throat some starless night.”

Addington sputtered.

Richard’s face took on a wistful look. “Besides, ’twas Lady Danvers who asked me if she could invite him. I can scarce deny the woman anything, no matter she is Lord Danvers’ wife.”

Joanna had long believed her older brother had a tendre for her friend, the baron’s American wife. Seeing the longing in Richard’s eyes as he looked toward Cornelia, she knew it to be truth.

“Well, Lord Hugh might have a different view. After all, he fought the Frenchies in the Channel.”

Joanna sighed. Addington could be such a bore. She could not imagine how his wife, Ursula, put up with his rigid views. No wonder the woman had stayed home with their children.