Echo in the Wind

by Regan Walker

  “Your talk of Royal Marines firing on your ship would not convince him to leave France?”

  He chuckled. “You are probably correct. He knows well the hazards of the sea, particularly on a privateer’s ship. Even as a merchantman, my decks are not always free of danger. I take it you did not tell him?”

  “I said nothing of how I came by the wound.”

  “Well, Bouchet has seen enough to recognize yours for what it is. Given his optimistic words of your recovery, if you are willing, I would take you next to the modiste.”

  “I cannot follow you about Lorient dressed like this.” She opened the cloak to reveal her male attire. “Yes, by all means, the modiste’s.”

  “Parfait.” He leaned out the window and shouted an address to the coachman.

  The carriage lurched forward, picking up speed as it rumbled over the cobblestones. Joanna looked out the window, aware the comte’s eyes still rested upon her. She had been keenly aware of his penetrating gaze that first night in Bognor. And now, sitting across from him, her heart beat excitedly. She kept her eyes on the passing shops, unwilling for him to see how he affected her.

  The shops they passed were of different sizes but close together and all neatly trimmed out. Many of the doors were painted in bright colors.

  A few streets on, the carriage rolled to a stop in front of a shop with a bay window. Over the bright blue door was a sign that read “Mme Provot”.

  Donet helped her down. “Noëlle Provot is the finest modiste in Lorient. She learned her trade in Paris and returned home to marry M’sieur Provot, one of my business partners.”

  Joanna gave him a sidelong glance, resisting the urge to ask what business that might be. It seemed the pirate had friends at all levels of society, both in London and in France. Unconfined to one class, he could move in all, seamlessly blending in with whatever group he deigned to join. Perhaps he had done so as a spy.

  Donet opened the door and gestured her inside.

  Joanna stared in wonder. Shelves from counter to ceiling graced the walls of the antechamber, filled with bolts of fabric in a rainbow of colors. Some were shimmering satins and silks, others fine woolens. She had frequented many shops in London with Cornelia searching for silks, satins and velvets. This establishment competed well with those in the selection offered.

  “Capitaine Donet!” exclaimed a petite woman, who rushed from behind the counter toward him. “You return!” The modiste had a natural grace that reminded Joanna of Donet’s daughter Claire. Perhaps it came with being French.

  He placed a kiss on each of the woman’s cheeks. “Madame, not only have I returned, but I have brought you a new customer.”

  The woman’s blue eyes regarded Joanna with interest, the cloak she wore, her boy’s shoes and her long auburn hair falling about her shoulders now that she’d doffed the hood. What a rag-tag she must appear to this elegant French modiste.

  The woman, older than Joanna by a decade, had a pleasant demeanor. Her cinnamon silk gown was simply styled with the merest bit of white lace at her cuffs. She wore her dark brown hair swept off her narrow face and twisted into a knot at her nape with a wooden pencil piercing it through. A very functional embellishment.

  Without taking her eyes from Joanna, Madame Provot asked Donet, “Can this be the daughter for whom I have sewed so many gowns?”

  Joanna stifled a gasp and glanced at Donet.

  He covered his mouth with his hand and cleared his throat. “Non, this is not Claire, Madame. Allow me to introduce Lady Joanna West.”

  Joanna had yet to speak, which would have told the modiste she was English, not French, but now she did. “I am most grateful to meet you, Madame Provot. As you can see,” she held open the cloak, “I am in dire need of a lady’s clothing.”

  “Oui, je vois bien cela!” the modiste exclaimed, her expression conveying her shock at what Joanna wore. “I will see to it immediately.” With a pointed glance at Donet, she chided, “Wherever have you taken the lady that she would need to wear such clothes? They do not even fit her.” When he began to speak, the modiste waved him off. “Non, non, do not tell me. I do not wish to know.”

  “The lady will require more than gowns,” said Donet. “In truth, a wardrobe is required and all that goes with it. The lady has some fine bolts of silk, which will be delivered to you later today from my ship, but you and she are free to select whatever fabric appeals. The bill is mine to pay. And if you could manage to find a gown for her to wear now, it would be much appreciated.”

  The modiste’s eyes perked up. Joanna was certain Donet’s “appreciation” translated into more coin. “Entendu. It shall be done as you wish, Capitaine.” She looked at Joanna as if measuring her. “There is a gown that is nearly finished. I think it might suit you well. My assistant can alter it quickly.”

  “That would be fine.” For once, Joanna was glad to doff breeches for a lady’s gown.

  From his expression, Donet seemed pleased with the speed at which the woman was moving. But then, she was probably used to the demanding captain.

  The modiste showed Joanna into a large inner room decorated in cream walls, one of which was covered in mirrors. Facing the mirrors on the far side of the room were two Louis XIV chairs upholstered in blue silk brocade. On the floor was an Aubusson carpet that reminded Joanna of Cornelia with its wide peach border. In the center, there was a ring of blue, spread like an open fan and surrounded with flowers. The effect was graceful and feminine like the woman who reigned over the shop.

  Madame Provot called for her assistant, a girl she called “Flavie”, at the same time she reached for a silk gown in Verona green hanging on one of several pegs artfully arranged on one wall. The gown’s styling was tasteful, the bodice adorned with minimal lace and only a few bows. She could wear it most anywhere.

  A young woman wearing a pink gown decorated with a blue gauze fichu and a mobcap over her blonde hair entered through a partly open door to what must have been a workshop. “Flavie,” said Madame Provot, “this is Lady Joanna, a friend of Capitaine Donet.”

  The girl curtsied and, taking note of Joanna’s clothing, blinked twice as if to clear the image from her mind.

  “We will be making several gowns for her,” Madame Provot continued, “a pelisse, a cloak and a bed robe. Since there is no time for a new one, the pale green brocade robe we keep for special clients will do. I will be back shortly to measure but, in the meanwhile, find her some undergarments and help her try on this gown. I believe it will fit with minor tailoring. You must finish it promptly as she will wear it today. She will also need a chemise de nuit.”

  Flavie dipped a small curtsy. “Oui, Madame.”

  The modiste faced Joanna. “If you will excuse me, my lady, I shall return in a moment.”

  “Thank you.” Her gaze followed Madame Provot as she hurried out of the room, leaving Joanna with the distinct impression “the capitaine” was about to be pelted with questions.

  Chapter 15

  Jean watched Noëlle close the door to the inner room and walk toward him in determined fashion. He waited for the questions he knew would come.

  “And what have we here, Capitaine? Plunder from one of your raids?”

  He smiled. “You know me better than that, Noëlle. Have I ever brought home a woman from any of my trips?”

  She pursed her lips and brought one hand to her chin. “Non, but I see the way you look at this one. Am I designing clothes for a new mistress peut-être?” With a smile, she moved her hand to her hip. “One who likes to wear the trousers, eh?”

  “Non. Despite her appearance, Lady Joanna is the sister of a prominent English earl.”

  Taken aback, she asked, “How did such a woman end up with you unchaperoned in Lorient?”

  He let out an exasperated breath, supposing he would have to tell the tale more than once before it was done. “You recall that your husband and I sometimes invest in merchandise intended for English appetites?”

  “Oui, but what
has this lady to do with that?”

  “Let’s just say one of those trips to deliver the merchandise led to an altercation with the revenue authorities while the mademoiselle was on my ship—in disguise, of course. Unfortunately, a musket ball found its way to her flesh.”

  Noëlle’s expression became one of alarm. He attempted to assure her. “She has been wounded, oui, but she is healing. Which reminds me, when you fit her for the gowns, do not constrict her overmuch so that it pains her.”

  “Am I to know where she is wounded?”

  “I suppose you must. She may tell you herself, but the musket ball cut across her belly.”

  “Mon Dieu.” She shook her head. “I will not ask how you know that, M’sieur. But do not worry for her. I will take the greatest of care. Skirts are typically full and we will not use a stomacher nor lace her gown overmuch.” She held her hands in front of her. “Now, tell me. Am I designing gowns for Lorient or somewhere else you have yet to go? Paris, as you are aware, requires more formal gowns than here.”

  “For now, it will be Lorient and then on to Saintonge, but the lady does not know of the latter destination, so please do not mention it.”

  “Ah yes, I had heard our favorite capitaine now has a title. Your father’s, oui?”

  He nodded.

  “I am sorry for your loss.”

  If Jean mourned at all it was for his brother. Their youth spent together had brought them close. “It has been many years since I have seen either of them, Noëlle. The title matters little to me. And to you, I am still ‘Capitaine’.”

  “Très bien, Capitaine. I will have the one gown for her before you leave today along with some nightclothes. The rest will follow in two days’ time.”

  “That is all the time we have, I’m afraid. If you can have them sewn faster, I will pay for the additional seamstresses.”

  “Très bien. It shall be done. The gowns shall be delivered to you the day after tomorrow. Should they require adjustments, there will be time before you depart.”

  She turned toward the fitting room and then paused, looking back at him. “Am I wrong in assuming you wish to watch as I fit the lady?”

  “Non, you are quite correct.”

  Since the girl had to supply Joanna with stays and a petticoat, it took a few minutes before she had donned those over a thin shift. Flavie was just slipping the green gown over Joanna’s head when the door opened and Madame Provot briskly strode inside, her skirts swishing noisily as she cried for pins and a tape to measure with.

  Flavie quickly tied Joanna’s laces and then scampered off to find the requested items.

  Behind the modiste, Donet walked in and took one of the chairs, crossing his arms and legs as if he meant to stay and watch.

  Surely not! Joanna met his intense gaze in the mirror with one of her own. “Monsieur Donet, do you intend to remain while I am fitted?”

  He grinned like the pirate he had once been. “I do.”

  Joanna did not like his impertinence one bit, but since she was fully clothed, she merely let out a “humph”. In the mirror she could see his dark eyes devouring her.

  Even from that distance his presence had a powerful effect. She imagined his hands coming around her to stroke her breasts, his lips kissing her neck. Beneath the gown, her nipples hardened. She flushed scarlet.

  Catching another glimpse of him in the mirror, she wondered if it had been his intention to turn her into a mass of quivering flesh.

  Be he pirate or nobleman, Donet was a virile man, confident in his appeal. She was no simpering debutante, but she was unschooled and untried in the ways of a man with a woman. And this was no ordinary man she could banter with and then ignore.

  Like the mighty sea he sailed, Donet was a force to be reckoned with, and she was inexorably drawn to him.

  Madame Provot began pinning in the waist. Flavie, having returned, knelt at Joanna’s feet to pin up the hem.

  The bodice fit perfectly, revealing only the edge of her rounded breasts. Joanna held still, not wishing to be stuck with an errant pin.

  “There.” The modiste stood back, hands on her hips, assessing the temporary adjustments she had made. “What do you think, Capitaine? Is she not lovely in this gown?”

  Joanna looked in the mirror seeing the slow smile spread across the comte’s face. “Lady Joanna is lovely in any gown. Even in breeches, she draws a man’s eye.”

  “Just as I thought,” said the modiste, shooting Donet a look that only made his smile broaden.

  Joanna felt heat rise in her cheeks. She thought back over their encounters since she had first met him at the reception, those times when he had been most polite. Had he looked at her then the way he did now? She had been so worried for her sister’s virtue, had she failed to see her own was at risk?

  Madame Provot began unlacing the gown. “Now for the measurements.”

  Joanna held the gown to her. “Monsieur Donet, you cannot stay for this!”

  He shrugged and got to his feet. “I could and Noëlle would not object if I did. But since you do, I will wait outside.” As he turned to go, she breathed a sigh of relief. He may have seen her naked when treating her wound, but she had not been conscious then.

  “Thank you.”

  He gave her a parting look before slipping through the door.

  The modiste let the gown fall and Joanna stepped out of it, leaving her in stays, a single petticoat and shift. Madame Provot then began measuring her. “The Capitaine is a most attractive man, n’est-ce pas?”

  How could Joanna fail to admit to another woman what none could deny? “He is.”

  “Many women in Lorient desire him but, until now, he has held himself apart from all. You are très unique.”

  “He didn’t really have a choice except to bring me. I was unconscious and bleeding on his deck.”

  “Ah, oui, the wound. He mentioned it. He was most concerned I not impair your healing. You must tell me if any of the garments I give you are too tight.” The modiste slipped the tape around her waist. “You are slender and your waist is small enough without having to cinch you in. The only place you possess true fullness is in the one place men desire to see more flesh.”

  “If that was a compliment, Madame, I thank you, though truly I had nothing to do with it. My mother was the same.”

  “Your mother no longer lives?”

  “She died two years ago and my father five years before that.” Joanna did not mention her older brother who died last year. The four siblings did not often speak of Wills. They all missed him terribly.

  “Then you and the capitaine have that in common, Mademoiselle. Both of his parents are dead.”

  “Is that how he came into the title?”

  “Non.” The modiste took the last measurement and looked up at her. “He had an older brother, Henri. Both he and the capitaine’s father were killed not long ago in a terrible carriage accident.”

  “How awful to lose them like that.”

  “They were not close, but the capitaine will have to tell you the story.”

  The modiste walked to the back room door, opened it and called for another assistant. A woman in a mobcap poked her head in the opening. “I need some silk fabric,” said Madame Provot. “Some of that sapphire and a length of the gold. The emerald brocade and lemon yellow silk with embroidered edges will do nicely as well. Capitaine Donet will be having more silk delivered this afternoon.”

  The girl left for the antechamber. Once Flavie returned with the green gown, she and the modiste helped Joanna to dress.

  Standing back to view her creation, Madame Provot exclaimed, “C’est parfait!

  A man of action, Jean hated to linger anywhere without good cause, but knowing the woman he waited for only increased his anticipation. He wanted to see her dressed as a lady again and looked forward to showing her his home in Lorient.

  After what seemed like an hour, which he attributed to the ladies’ chatter as well as the selection of fabric and measurin
g, Lady Joanna emerged from the fitting room in the lovely green silk gown, now tailored to her enticing curves. It was not unlike the one she had worn the night he’d first met her at the reception in Chichester. However, this was more of a day gown and the color more subdued than the emerald green she had worn that night.

  “Do you like the hat?” Lady Joanna asked, tipping the brim of the straw hat to an angle that drew his attention to her eyes. “Madame Provot insisted I wear it.”

  Her auburn curls had been drawn away from her face and simply tied with a ribbon. She looked very young and very pretty with it styled that way, reminding him how much older he was than she. Had she lived, his wife, Ariane, would have been a decade older than Lady Joanna.

  The English vixen was a bold adventuress. Ariane had been shy, sweet and retiring. His wife had been horrified at the risks his smuggling brought. Had she lived to see his privateering, she would have known great fear. The two women were both ladies but so very different.

  “Noëlle has excellent taste,” he said. “The hat becomes you.” To Noëlle, who had followed Lady Joanna into the shop’s antechamber, he said, “You have done well.”

  The modiste’s assistant hurried to place a package in her mistress’ arms. Noëlle passed it to him. “She will need this before she has the rest of the gowns.”

  “I owe you my thanks, Madame.” With that, he tipped his tricorne to the modiste and offered his arm to Lady Joanna. As they left, he had the oddest feeling his world was about to change. ’Twas the same feeling he got whenever a squall threatened his ship.

  The carriage wound its way into the hills above the harbor. Joanna gripped the strap to avoid falling into the comte as the vehicle careened around the curves. The carriage seat was narrow, bringing his body close to hers. When his thigh touched her gown, she forced herself to look out the window and not at him.

  Many ships were anchored in the harbor’s cerulean blue waters. Several appeared to be merchantmen, but there were also men-of-war and smaller boats.