by Regan Walker
“My sister’s not interested in gaining a husband,” said Tillie.
Cornelia opened her fan and fluttered it before her face. “Neither was I until I met Lord Danvers on my first trip to London. Much to the regret of my family in Baltimore, he convinced me to stay.”
Danvers, who’d been conversing with Richard, stepped to his wife and kissed her cheek. “And wasn’t I glad she was made to see reason?”
Joanna shook her head. “I see I cannot argue with you two and expect to prevail.” She took her seat on Cornelia’s left. Tilting her head back, she looked up to the great dome above the rotunda, shining with many oil lamps. The splendor of the Pantheon was unequaled tonight.
Tillie took her place on Cornelia’s right while Lord Danvers and Richard claimed the rear bench where they proceeded to catch up on matters before the House of Lords.
Joanna’s ears perked up when Danvers mentioned a piece of legislation Pitt had introduced in the House of Commons. “’Tis called the Commutation Act,” he said to Richard. “If it passes, ’twill bring an end to the smuggling of tea.”
Joanna would hate to lose the money their free trade in tea brought to the village, but she quickly thought of other goods that could make up for. Brandy, lace, silk and even tobacco were much in demand. The Prime Minister would have to cut the duty on all to destroy smuggling altogether.
When the men’s conversation turned to Pitt’s India Act and Tillie began telling Cornelia of her plans for the Season, Joanna watched the floor below.
The orchestra area, enlarged for the concert, teemed with musicians tuning their instruments to the oboes. The vocalists and the choir were filing into the raised areas allotted them in front of the orchestra. The two floors of galleries on each side of the theater contained benches like the ones in the Danvers’ box. From every entrance, people streamed in to take their seats.
Joanna looked across to the galleries on the other side of the rotunda and recognized a few of Richard’s fellow peers.
A gallery erected over the main entrance to her left housed an opulent royal box on a level with the box assigned to the Danvers. The seating area for the royal family faced the orchestra and choir. It was lined with crimson satin and mirrors and draped in crimson damask, distinguishing it from all the other boxes.
“The entire Pantheon has been made into a grand theater royal,” Cornelia remarked, joining Joanna to watch the activity below them. Cornelia looked toward the place where the royal family would sit. “King George will have a truly splendid view.”
“I rather like our view,” said Joanna. Halfway between the royal box and the soloists’ platform, it gave those in the Danvers’ box a broad perspective. “We may have to turn our heads to see the soloists, but we will be closer to them than the king.”
“I wonder who from the royal family will attend,” mused Tillie.
“Well, at the Abbey performance,” Cornelia replied, “’twas their Majesties, King George and Queen Charlotte, and Prince Edward, Charlotte, the Princess Royal, and Princesses Augusta, Sophia and Elizabeth. Regrettably, the Prince of Wales did not attend.”
Noting the look of disapproval on Cornelia’s face, Joanna wondered if the prince had been too busy cavorting with Lord Hugh Seymour to join the king and queen for what might have been the concert of the century. But wanting to encourage her friend, she said, “Perhaps the prince will attend this one.”
Lord Danvers leaned forward. “My dear wife has been most pleased that every ticket has been sold.”
Cornelia looked over her shoulder and smiled at her husband sitting behind her. “The charities for the musicians will be greatly benefited, my lord, and that does please me.”
“You are expecting more guests, are you not?” Joanna asked.
“Oh yes!” exclaimed Cornelia. “Claire and her husband, Captain Powell, are coming, as well as Monsieur Donet, Claire’s father. I cannot think what has happened to them.”
On the other side of Cornelia, Tillie grinned.
“Simon Powell is a resourceful type,” said Lord Danvers. “He would make it through the crowd even if no one else did. And from what I know of Monsieur Donet, he is cut from similar cloth.”
Joanna was a bundle of conflicting emotions. Donet would be sitting directly behind her and Tillie. And then there would be the soiree to follow. There was simply no getting away from the French rogue. Yet even as she thought it, the prospect of his being so close made her heart race in anticipation.
Jean kept Claire between him and her husband as they worked their way through the crowd, afraid she might be crushed in the throng of people clamoring to get inside the Pantheon.
Used to vast blue skies and empty horizons of the sea, he hated events where bodies were crammed together. But he was determined to spend his last evening in London with his daughter, else he would have stayed on his ship.
He thought Claire’s sapphire silk gown a good choice, for it matched her eyes. And he was pleased to see his son-in-law had a protective arm about his young wife.
Making their way up the many steps to the second level galleries, they finally managed to locate the Danvers’ box.
Lord Danvers stood as they entered. “Ah, our remaining guests have arrived. Welcome to the event of the Season!”
“It was good of you to invite us,” said Claire.
Jean bowed to the other ladies and complimented them on their gowns: Cornelia in her usual peach color, young Matilda in yellow, and Lady Joanna in a delectable striped affair.
The smuggler had turned into a genteel woman of retiring delicacy, her gown a French confection made to satisfy a man’s sweet tooth. The mounds of her breasts were, for the first time, revealed in diverting fashion. As a lady of English Society, she was alluring, but as the rebel who lurked beneath the silk and satin, she intrigued him.
He had to work hard not to chuckle when he met her cool gaze. She fooled many, but she had not fooled him. For all her finery, she remained a vixen.
After the exchange of greetings, he and Powell settled on the second bench, Danvers and Torrington between them. Jean purposely chose the seat behind Lady Joanna.
From the floor of what was possibly the most elegant structure in England came the sounds of the orchestra warming up. The audience’s collective hush had him turning his head toward the royal box. The king and queen had arrived.
“Oh, look!” whispered Lady Danvers. “The prince is here.”
“I don’t see him with the royal family,” remarked Lady Joanna. “I see only the king and queen, Prince Edward and the princesses.”
Lady Danvers shifted her gaze to the gallery across from them. “He’s not with the family. See? The prince sits with his friend, Lord Hugh, attending as a private gentleman.” Facing Lady Joanna, the baroness said, “Seymour has been invited to the soiree.”
Jean cared little whether the prince attended the concert or Lord Hugh would come to the soiree to follow. At the moment, his eyes were fixed on Lady Joanna’s slender neck, recalling her appearance on the deck of his ship in the dim light that evening off the coast of Bognor. Why would she risk so lovely a neck when she obviously had no need of coin?
From what Jean had learned, Torrington did well with his lands in Chichester and their home bespoke of family wealth. Was she just another bored aristocrat?
The sound of the orchestra striking up brought his musing to an end. Jean glanced at the program he held as the orchestra set a sublime mood for the concert.
The Pantheon had a daunting resemblance to a great church, which was only enhanced by Handel’s music brilliantly played. He crossed his legs and prepared his mind for the music as the stirring sounds reverberated around the large chamber.
After the opening piece, the choir sang the chorus from Ye Sons of Israel, their two hundred voices rising to the dome. Jean watched the hundred violins playing in perfect accord. Never had he heard such a sound. Quelle musique sublime!
He closed his eyes, hearing only the sound of
the strings. The music of the German composer who had lived most of his life in England had been a favorite of Jean’s from his youth, and the violins brought back memories from happier days.
By the time the performers began the second part, the Fifth Grand Concerto, the theater had grown stiflingly hot. Jean fanned himself with his program, regretting having worn the velvet coat and the waistcoat, heavy with embroidery.
Lady Danvers opened her fan and fluttered it before her face.
In front of him, Lady Joanna maintained her calm appearance, but tiny beads of moisture formed on her fair skin, like drops of seawater on an oyster’s pearl. In the moist heat, a few strands of auburn hair curled against the back of her neck. He had the unexplainable urge to press his lips to the very spot, to taste her skin, to send shivers down her back, knowing he was the cause.
Not since Ariane had he experienced such desire for a woman.
Surprised by his reaction to the English vixen, he forced his ears once again to the music of the violins that summoned the passions of his soul and not his flesh.
The loud applause that immediately followed the Grand Concerto abruptly pulled Joanna from the magical state into which her mind had drifted. Rising from the bench, she joined the rest of the audience in acclaiming the performance.
Cornelia leaned toward her, speaking over the appreciative clapping. “Wasn’t Pacchierotti’s voice fine in the “Alma del gran Pompeo” from Julius Caesar?”
“Yes, he was magnificent, but nothing could exceed the grandeur of the chorus from Israel in Egypt. The crash of instruments, the response of the great choir and the immense torrent of sound were almost too much for my senses.” Her heart sped as she remembered the exhilaration she had experienced.
“In other words, my lady,” said Donet from behind her, “you loved it.”
She turned to meet his disquieting gaze. “Why, yes, I did.”
When the applause died, Cornelia asked Monsieur Donet, “What was your favorite part?”
He did not hesitate. “The violins.”
Joanna puzzled over his answer, seeing something in his face she had not seen before. A brightening of his countenance, perhaps even a look of bliss.
“Too, I liked the choir’s rendition of ‘hail-stones for rain and fire, mingled with the hail’,” he added, smiling at Cornelia. “The orchestra’s great volume of sound accompanying so many voices raised in song reminded me of a storm at sea. Tout était magnifique, Lady Danvers.”
Cornelia seemed pleased. “I am delighted you enjoyed it, Monsieur.”
“The crowd is flowing out the doors,” observed Lord Danvers to his wife. “We can make our escape. As it is, some of our guests may arrive at our home before we do!”
Tillie rushed up to Donet, effusive in her telling him of her joy of the concert. The comte smiled delightedly and, agreeing with her remarks, offered his arm to escort her from the box. She smiled up at him as she placed her hand on his arm and the two filed out with the others, leaving Joanna with Richard.
“The comte has made a conquest in our sister.”
“I have noticed, Brother. But do not fear, I will be watching to make sure he does not take advantage.”
“I cannot imagine he would, Sister. Donet is a gentleman. A Frenchman, yes, but also a man of noble birth.”
“Whom you once described as a pirate,” she reminded him.
Richard chortled. “I only said that for Addington’s benefit. He is biased against the French and the Catholics. I like goading him. I remind you ’tis only a rumor Donet acted the pirate.”
She took Richard’s arm and they descended the steps behind the rest of their party.
At the Danvers’ mansion in Mayfair, the party was well underway when Joanna and her siblings arrived. In the elegant parlor, a cacophony of voices rose in boisterous conversation. Beyond them in the large hall, where Cornelia had told her there would be dancing, Joanna heard music.
Footmen circulated among the guests with trays of champagne and small hors d’oeuvres.
Hungry after so many hours, Joanna happily accepted both a glass of the sparkling wine and a small bit of food. She had just taken her first swallow when Richard approached with Lord Hugh Seymour, each holding a glass of whiskey.
“Look who I found mingling about!” said Richard.
Seymour inclined his head. “Lady Joanna, how lovely you look. Torrington tells me you were at the concert. I am sorry to have missed you, but the crowd was daunting.”
“It was,” she said, sure this meeting had been arranged by her brother. “A splendid display of Handel’s music, though.”
Muttering an excuse, Richard left them, winking at her behind Seymour’s back. Silently, she vowed to have her revenge upon him later.
Seymour’s hazel eyes glistened. He was, as Richard had described him, handsome of face, well mannered and of good height. In her mind, she saw him in his captain’s uniform with martial bearing.
“Will you be in London for a while?” he asked with avid interest. “I would love to call upon you.”
“Only for two more days. Then I must return to Sussex.”
“Might I talk you into a ride in Hyde Park tomorrow?”
She laughed, drawing her hand to her throat. “You overwhelm me, good sir. But it cannot be tomorrow. I have promised to go with Lady Danvers on some adventure.”
“Very well, but you must grant me a ride before you go. The day after then? If the weather holds, it should be quite pleasant.”
He was trying hard. “You persuade me, good sir. The day after tomorrow it is. But might it be morning? I will need to pack in the afternoon and spend the evening with Torrington and my sister.”
“Of course. I shall call upon you at ten of the morning. You do have a horse here in London?”
“Oh yes. Torrington keeps a good stable even here.”
Lord Hugh bid her a good evening and, taking his leave, was soon lost in the crowd.
Joanna cast her gaze about the room, wondering to whom she should speak next. Tillie was talking to Claire Powell and her husband, and Cornelia appeared engrossed in conversation with several gentlemen. In truth, the concert had run long, till midnight, and Joanna was beginning to feel the fatigue of the long day. Perhaps she might retire—
Monsieur Donet stepped in front of her, interrupting her thoughts. “I see you are in want of champagne.”
Joanna looked down at the empty glass in her hand.
“Should I call for another, my lady?” the comte asked.
“No, thank you. One was enough.”
“That being the case, will you grant me the honor of a dance? In the room beyond, the couples gather for a contredanse.”
“I would rather watch, I think.”
She expected him to hie off and seek another partner but, leaning closer than was proper, he whispered in her ear in his sensual French-accented voice, “Dance with me, Lady Joanna, or I will seek out your sister. You and I both know she will not turn me away.”
He stepped back, his face bearing an enigmatic smile.
“You rogue!”
“I do not deny it. In my experience, some of the best times are to be found in the company of scoundrels, rogues and, dare I add, smugglers.” His mouth twitched up in a grin.
She blanched at his words. “You say that to shock me.”
“I do not think much would shock you, my lady.”
Joanna narrowed her eyes. “And why, Monsieur, would you say that?”
“Why, based solely upon my intuition.” Before she could answer, he offered his arm. “Come, let us dance.”
Seeing no alternative but to leave Tillie vulnerable to the too attractive comte, Joanna stifled the retort welling up inside her and placed her hand upon his arm.
He led her to the next room where a line of ladies faced a line of gentlemen in preparation for the next dance.
Angry that he had forced her into dancing with him and mystified as to why he should want to seek her out when i
t was Tillie he had been flirting with, Joanna thought to provoke him. “Is it true what they say about you, Monsieur?”
He adroitly stepped through the motions of the dance and, when next they came together, asked, “And what is it they say, my lady?” His midnight eyes twinkled with mirth as his warm hand took hers, sending a strange and not unpleasant sensation rippling though her.
“That you have been both a pirate and a privateer,” she flung the words at him in a voice low enough only he would hear.
“Ah, now that would be telling and I won’t do that. Instead, I shall leave you to wonder if there be any truth to such tales.”
“You would have fun at my expense, good sir?”
“Peut-être I would. You are quite beautiful when cross.”
“And for that compliment, I will say, you may be a pirate, but you dance like a nobleman.”
“A return compliment from the austere Lady Joanna? I shall savor it!”
Of a certain, he was having fun at her expense. With every move of the dance, he touched her and smiled. His masculine presence was not to be dismissed. His coat sleeve slid across her arm, making her heart speed. The room suddenly grew overwarm.
The image came to her of a panther clothed in velvet with the smile of a predator, leaving her to wonder if she hadn’t ventured into waters far beyond her depth.
At his insistence, she danced a second time with him. At the end of it, he bowed before her. “My lady, it has been a pleasure.”
“Monsieur Donet, before you go, tell me one thing.”
He stood proudly before her. “Oui?”
“Where exactly is Saintonge in France?’
“So curious, you are,” he said with a look of wonderment. “It is in the far west, south of Bretagne. That would be Brittany to you.”
“It must be beautiful there—and warm.” She meant it sincerely. With rare exception, London had been cold this spring.
“I assure you, it is most pleasant.”
“When do you return?”
“I leave tomorrow with the tide, but I am certain we will meet again.”
She did not think so, unless he came to England, but she would wish him well all the same. “Godspeed, Monsieur.”
