Page 93 of Echo in the Wind

“I would like to see them,” said Zoé excitedly, her eyes full of wonder.

One of Donet’s crew stepped forward and thrust a paper into his hand. “Capitaine, this was waiting for you. ’Tis from our contact in London.”

Joanna hoped it might be a letter from Freddie, but he would have sent his letter to Lorient. Sadly, no reply from him waited for her when they had arrived there. At the moment, Freddie would have no idea where she was.

Donet read the message and looked up at her, a smile forming on his face. “What?” she asked. He took her elbow and led her a short distance away, leaving M’sieur Bequel with Zoé and the cat.

On the quay, a fishmonger cried of his fresh catch as gulls circled above him.

“It appears your Prime Minister Pitt has taken action to end smuggling as he said he would. He has slashed the duty on tea and spirits.”

So they had done it. “The night of the concert in the Pantheon,” she told Donet, “I heard my brother and Lord Danvers speak of a bill Pitt had just proposed. But there are other goods. The smuggling will continue.”

“Not for you, Joanna. I won’t let you risk yourself again like that. Besides, ’tis unseemly for an earl’s sister.”

Laughter erupted from her throat. “This from the smuggler himself?”

He frowned. “That is different. You are a woman.”

She gave him an exasperated look.

“What’s more,” he said, rather sternly she thought, “you are not just any woman.” His voice had been low, only a whisper. “I will not have it.”

Joanna was tempted to stomp off in a fit of pique but the look on his face spoke of concern, not a disdain of women.

“Very well,” she said. “I will find some other way to help the poor in Chichester. But if I am to give up free trade, then you, too, must cease smuggling.”

The look on his face was one of incredulity. This time, she did turn and stride off, pleased with herself at the condition she would exact for her compliance.

Paris

As the carriage drove through the arched porte-cochère of his townhouse in Paris, Jean looked up to admire the fawn-colored stone, tall paned glass windows and scrolling wrought iron balconies.

He had acquired the three-story home two years before when he’d thought he would be coming to Paris more often to see his daughter. Her marriage to the English captain made that unnecessary but, now that he had acquired the Saintonge title, Jean supposed it would be convenient to keep a pied-à-terre in the city.

Built in a rectangle with an inner stone courtyard decorated with potted topiary, it was the most elegant of his three homes, though the château in Saintonge was much larger.

Once the carriage passed through the arched entrance, it stopped in the courtyard in front of the glass doors. Jean climbed down and greeted his butler. After serving for years as a crewmember on la Reine Noire, when Jean bought the townhouse, Flèche had asked to move to Paris to help his widowed sister and her children. The majordome excelled at managing the household and his skill with a blade added to the security about the place.

“Welcome back, Capitaine,” said Flèche. Taking Jean’s hat and sword, he passed them to a waiting footman. Determined to look the part of a proper butler, Flèche had insisted on wearing a wig and elaborately embroidered waistcoats, this one of bronze brocade. With the new clothes came a greatly improved speech. Few would recognize the former gunner who once wore gritty seaman’s clothes and spoke with rough speech.

Jean assisted Joanna, her maid and his niece down from the carriage. For the sake of Émile’s pride, Jean allowed his quartermaster to exit the vehicle on his own. They’d arrived in the early afternoon, but he could see the carriage ride had left them weary.

“Glad I am that ride’s over,” muttered Émile, as his feet touched the stone. He handed his hat and sword to the footman. “Bonjour, Flèche,” he said, shaking the butler’s hand.

Jean introduced Flèche to Joanna, Zoé and Gabrielle, and they walked into the townhouse. Flèche asked, “How long might you be in Paris, Capitaine?”

“That is unclear,” Jean replied. “I am here to see the king. You are aware I now have the title?”

“Oui. Bequel sent word from England of the title and your preference not to use it. Allow me to congratulate you, Capitaine, on your new grandson.”

“Thank you. ’Tis yet another reminder I grow older.” Glancing at Joanna, who was speaking in a low voice to his niece, he wondered again if she shouldn’t be with a younger man. He had left her alone that last night in Le Havre, thinking perhaps he should give her a choice.

“I think tea might be in order, Flèche. In the salon, if you will. And see that chambers for my guests are made ready.”

“Of course, Capitaine.” Flèche snapped his fingers and the footman hurried toward the kitchens. “I will personally see the maid about the rooms.”

“Will you also help Lady Joanna’s maid get settled?