by Regan Walker
In the distance, fishing boats were returning with the afternoon tide.
On one side of the harbor was a huge round tower that looked to be a hundred feet high. Made of white stone, it had a railed gallery at the top.
“Can that tower be a lighthouse?” she asked Donet.
“Non, though it does look a bit like a very tall one. In recent years, lightning has damaged it, so pieces are missing. ’Tis the signal tower, built as a watchtower to monitor the approach of the ships belonging to the Company of the Indies. And to discourage smuggling.”
“Oh.”
“Do not worry, my lady. The king’s grandfather, Louis XV, bought the buildings and properties for the Royal Navy when the Company went bankrupt some years ago. Smuggling ships destined for England now operate quite unimpeded to the benefit of France.”
“Is that why you live here?” she asked, turning to face him.
“In part. When Claire was born, Lorient became our refuge. Neither my father nor Ariane’s approved of our marriage. We were cast out without a sou. It was here a friend put me in touch with the smugglers. And it was here I first went to sea as a smuggler myself to feed my family. It took years, but eventually I gained my own ship.”
Ariane. His wife’s name. Joanna had so many conflicting emotions running through her just then. She felt sad for the plight of the young family and a nobleman’s son forced to turn to smuggling to buy bread, but his hard life had made him the man he had become. Not the soft French nobleman he might have been, but a man of the sea, a man of great inner strength whose crew snapped to follow his commands. Perhaps, there was little difference between what he had done and what the villagers of Chichester did to keep from starving.
“It must have been a hard time.”
His look turned wistful. “In many ways, it was the very best of times.”
She attributed the look in his eyes to his love for his wife. Perhaps he still loved her. Joanna sighed. One could vie with another woman for a man’s affection, but how did one compete with a ghost given the status of a saint?
Looking out the window again, she searched for another subject, a happier one. “Can you see your ship from here?”
He reached across her to point to a black-hulled ship. “Just there.” His body pressed into hers and she leaned into his heat, melting like wax put to a flame. She recalled another time his touch had affected her so. The night they had danced in London.
“Lorient trades with both India and China,” he said, sitting back on the seat. “’Tis a profitable business. Privateers, too, sailed from here, especially during the American War.”
“How many ships do you have?” she asked, curious.
“Three now, but I often held more during the war. They were English ships I seized for M’sieur Franklin, their crews exchanged for American sailors imprisoned in England. One of the three ships I own now is currently in the West Indies. Only my sloop and la Reine Noire are here in Lorient.”
Climbing a small rise, the carriage stopped in front of a well-kept white stone house of two stories nestled among the trees. Behind the house in the distance, she glimpsed the harbor. A profusion of pink and lavender flowers grew in neat rows against the front of the house.
Sunlight filtered through the branches to fall upon the front door. Painted black, like the shutters, it had a large doorknocker of polished brass. A glistening shell sat on top of the rounded knocker and wave-like embellishments curved all around.
She counted eight windows across the front of the house, four on each story. Delicate lace curtains hung in the windows. It was not the home she would have pictured for a widowed sea captain much less a pirate.
“Voilà, we have arrived.” He stepped down from the carriage and turned to assist her with one hand while he held the package the modiste had given him in the other.
The front door opened, and a man and woman stepped out. The plump woman waited by the door, but the slender man came to Donet’s side.
“Bienvenue, Monsieur. Your crew sent word from Guernsey that you would be along, but we were unsure when to expect you.”
“I wasn’t certain myself, Vernier.” Donet turned to Joanna. “Allow me to introduce my valet, Vernier.
To Joanna, the man appeared a dour but efficient sort, the kind she’d encountered in many homes of the English aristocracy. Her brother’s valet had the same air about him. “Bonjour, Vernier.”
“This is Lady Joanna West, Vernier. She will be my guest while I am in Lorient.”
The valet bowed. “At your service, Mademoiselle.”
Donet leaned in to share with her a salient fact. “Like Bouchet, Vernier chooses not to go to sea and Gabe is happy to take his place.”
“’Tis the mal de mer,” the valet muttered in explanation.
Donet handed the package he carried to the valet. “For Mademoiselle’s bedchamber.” Then he pressed his hand into the small of her back and urged her forward. “The harbor views are best seen from the rear of the house.” His warm hand touching her back had its effect, making her sensitive to his touch as he guided her toward the door.
The woman who waited smiled at the approach of her master.
He took the woman’s large upper arms in his hands and gave her a resounding kiss on each cheek.
The woman blushed and covered her mouth. “Oh, Monsieur.” Then shyly she looked up at him. “’Tis good to have you back.”
“Rose, meet my guest, Lady Joanna West.”
The woman curtsied, holding her skirts. “Mademoiselle.”
“Rose is my housekeeper in Lorient,” said Donet. “Her cooking is something to anticipate.”
Again, the woman blushed, clearly enthralled with her master.
Joanna returned the housekeeper a smile and, guided by Donet, passed through the open door. The servants followed.
Once inside, Donet unbelted his sword and doffed his tricorne, handing both to his valet.
“Would you and the lady be wanting some refreshment?” Rose asked.
Donet glanced at Joanna. “Some tea, peut-être?”
She nodded. On one side of the entry, she glimpsed a large parlor and on the other side a dining table. Directly ahead, a staircase led to the second story.
“I’ll see you are served in the parlor,” said the housekeeper, before ducking behind the stairway. Joanna assumed it must be a passage to the kitchen.
Donet offered her his arm. “Allow me to show you to your chamber.”
She lifted her skirts and placed her hand on his arm. They climbed the stairs.
“The house is not large, but it meets my needs when I am here, and there are rooms for guests.”
When they reached the top of the stairs, he directed her to the left. Midway down the corridor, they stopped at a door on the right. He turned the handle and gestured her inside.
Immediately before her was a row of windows looking out on the harbor in the distance. “What a lovely view!” she exclaimed going to them.
He spoke from behind her. “The view is what convinced me to purchase this house.”
She turned to see his eyes on her. Her heart fluttered in her chest like a skittish colt. Donet was simply too handsome, too virile to trust herself alone with him, particularly in a bedchamber. Tearing her gaze from his, she glanced about the room.
On her right, she saw a dressing table, mirror and side table. To her left stood a magnificent four-poster, its cover, headboard and curtains all done up in azure blue velvet. Next to it was a fireplace with a white marble mantel.
She walked to the bed and ran her fingers over the soft blue velvet.
“The bed linens you see are the same color as the waters off Guernsey. I like the colors of the sky and the sea in my home.”
“I can see why. Guernsey must be a beautiful place.”
“I said you would like it. I do not think I am wrong.”
She turned to face him. “I doubt you are ever wrong, are you?”
“Not often. Not abo
ut you.”
That he should have such confidence in knowing her rankled, but then he had been the only one to see through her disguise. She had to give him that. Turning toward the door, she said, “Perhaps it is time for tea?”
He chuckled as if he had read her mind and gestured her out of the room.
While they waited for tea, Joanna looked around the parlor. Like her bedchamber, it was decorated in shades of blue. The curtains framing the lace-covered windows were a deep shade of Prussian blue. The two sofas that faced each other in front of the fireplace were a blue toile with white figures of a girl and a boy.
The housekeeper brought tea on an oval tray and set it on the small table between the sofas. Joanna poured, feeling Donet’s eyes on her as she did.
She sat on one sofa and he on the other. Behind him, she spotted a large ball hanging from the ceiling in one corner of the room. “Is that a globe?”
“It is.”
She set down her teacup and walked to the globe, turning it slowly. “I have never seen one hanging from the ceiling.”
“I thought it unique when I first saw it, like the planetarium clock I bought in London.”
She turned from the globe to see his wry smile. “I will grant you that both are truly unusual.” She was certain neither of them wanted to do battle again over a clock.
After they finished their tea, Joanna begged leave to rest. Though her wound no longer pained her, all the twisting and changing at Madame Provot’s left her in need of a rest before supper.
“I must see to some matters of business and my quartermaster will be by this afternoon, so I would not be good company in any event. By all means, do have a rest.”
Joanna returned to her bedchamber. A fire had been laid. Perhaps the housekeeper had a lad to help with such tasks. The air in the room was cool. She imagined the night might present a chill. A fire would be welcome.
On the bed was the package Madame Provot had given Donet. She took off her hat and managed to unlace her gown and slide it from her shoulders. She laid it across the chair sitting next to the fireplace. Until she had others, she would need to treat this gown with care.
She didn’t bother to remove her stays and petticoat. Inside the package, she found a shift-like garment decorated with delicate lace and pale green ribbon. She recalled the modiste had spoken of a chemise de nuit. Folded underneath was a lovely robe in green brocade silk. She set aside the chemise and donned the loose robe. Pulling back the velvet cover, she slipped between the soft sheets.
A moment later, she drifted to sleep with visions of a dark pirate standing on the deck of his ship gazing toward a dark shore.
“Rose, I need a maid for Lady Joanna, one who is free to travel with us to Saintonge. Do you know of a girl in Lorient who might be qualified for such a position?”
“Oui, Capitaine. My niece is training to be a lady’s maid and would leap at the opportunity. She is good with hair and even speaks a bit of English.”
“Excellent. Have her come around tomorrow morning so Lady Joanna can meet her to see if they suit.”
“Oui, Monsieur.” The housekeeper bowed and left as Vernier entered the study.
“Monsieur Bequel is here,” his valet announced.
“Show him in.” Jean set aside the ledgers he had been working on and greeted his quartermaster. “All goes well on the ship?”
Émile grinned. “Tout va bien, Capitaine.”
“Did you replace the one sailor?”
“Oui. The rest have no problem with a woman sailing with us. And they are happy to have a few days at home. Has yer time spent with the English lady been agreeable?”
“It has and thanks to Madame Provot, the earl’s sister has returned to a lady’s attire. Lady Joanna is resting or I would ask her to join us.” Jean reached for the decanter of brandy sitting on a small table. “Would you share a brandy?”
“I will and gladly.”
Jean poured them each a glass and handed one to his quartermaster, inviting him to sit in one of the chairs flanking the fireplace. His study at the rear of the house, on the other side of the parlor, was his favorite room of the house. Like the breakfast room, it had a view of the harbor.
“Have ye told her yet of yer plans to sail to Saintonge?”
“Non, I will leave that news till tomorrow. I suspect she will not be pleased, but I am already late to see to my obligations there. I fear my niece will think she’s been abandoned.”
“The ship will be ready to sail with the tide, Capitaine. I have brought ye the charts ye wanted and some messages that awaited yer return from England. The men are loading fresh water and provisions as we speak.”
“Excellent.” He handed his quartermaster an envelope. “See that M’sieur Ricard gets this to the crew on the sloop in Lorient. ’Tis instructions for some alterations.” Émile nodded and stuffed the envelope into his coat pocket. “Will you stay for the evening meal?” Jean asked.
“Non, merci. I have a lady to see and a meal to eat at my favorite restaurant. But I will be on la Reine Noire when ye arrive with the English lady.” With a gleam in his eye, Émile asked, “Are we to be sharing a cabin again?”
“Much as I regret to say, I will be enduring your snoring for the foreseeable future.” What he had told Émile was true, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be thinking of the vixen who slept in his bed.
With his cat.
Chapter 16
Joanna woke to a knock on the door. Roused from a deep sleep, she opened her eyes, disoriented. It took her a moment to realize she was in Donet’s home in Lorient.
She sat up and slid her legs over the side of the bed. “Come in,” she said, rubbing her eyes.
Donet’s housekeeper peered around the door. “The capitaine sent me. He expressed concern and asked me to see how you were doing.”
He worried for her? The wound had healed but the scabs that had formed itched. She was thankful for Bouchet’s salve. “I must have needed that nap, but I am fine.”
“Supper will soon be ready. Have you an appetite?”
“Oh, yes.” She ran her fingers through her long hair, trying to sort out the tangles. “I look forward to tasting your cooking that Monsieur Donet praises so.”
Rose smiled and beckoned Joanna to the dressing table. “Come sit here. I am not a lady’s maid but, if you like, I will see what I can do with your hair.”
“I am sure you are too busy to tend my hair, Rose. I will leave it simply styled, but you can help me with the gown.” She slipped off the robe. “The laces are easier to undo than to tighten.”
The housekeeper picked up the gown and slid it over Joanna’s head, tying the laces.
“That reminds me,” said Rose, “the capitaine has asked me to suggest a lady’s maid for you. Tomorrow, my niece Gabrielle will come and you can see how you like her.”
“How thoughtful of him.” He had promised her a maid and it cheered her he had not forgotten.
“There is no better man than the capitaine, my lady.”
“Did you know his wife?” Joanna had an abiding curiosity about the woman he had given up all to wed.
“For the last years of her life, oui. A gentle soul, that one. He loved her deeply.”
Since the housekeeper did not seem inclined to say more, Joanna did not ask. Once she was dressed, she dismissed Rose to her more important duties and went to sit at the dressing table. The image that met her in the mirror presented a woman who’d left the frippery of London far behind.
A brush had been laid on the linen cloth covering the surface. She wondered to whom it had belonged as it looked to be new. She brushed out her curls, her imagination spinning tales, each more fanciful than the next, of Donet’s having entertained ladies of the night in his home, providing each a new brush.
Tonight, she would dine with him, perhaps alone. The prospect was exciting, yet along with the excitement she felt a twinge of fear. She was more vulnerable to this man than any before him. And one did not ca
jole a pirate.
Descending the stairs, she looked first in the dining room. The table was set with fine china and crystal but seeing no one there, she turned away and went to the parlor.
Donet stood with one hand braced upon the mantel and the other holding a glass of what looked to be brandy as he stared into the flames. Once again, he appeared the nobleman in black velvet and ivory.
He was so deep in thought he did not notice her standing in the doorway.
“Bonsoir, Monsieur Donet.”
He turned, his eyes fixing her with an assessing gaze.
“Did I disrupt your thoughts?”
“Lady Joanna, I believe it is your destiny to disrupt my thoughts, though I cannot say I regret the inevitability. Would you care for a glass of sherry?”
She wondered at his meaning. “Yes, that would be lovely.”
Once he had poured the golden liquid, she accepted the small glass from his hand. His fingers slid against hers leaving a trail of shivers moving up her arm. Needing fortification for the evening ahead, she downed the sherry in three gulps.
“How are you feeling?” Genuine concern was etched on his olive skin, a dark gold in the light of the fire.
“Almost like new after my nap. I did not mean to sleep so long. Being on land once again I am a bit unstable on my feet and seem to tire more easily. At times, I feel like I am still on the ship.”
He gave her a sympathetic look. “It may take you a while to get used to firm ground. Even I have to cope with legs that still think they’re at sea when I am first off the ship. ’Tis the mal de débarquement.”
She raised her brows.
“Land sickness.”
“Ah, and I suppose I will recover only to board your ship again.”
“Yes,” he said, but his gaze flitted away as if he would say more and did not.
“I am boarding your ship again, aren’t I? You told Madame Provot as much.”
“Oh, yes, I did, and you are.”
Rose appeared in the doorway. “Supper is served, Capitaine. It’s your favorite chicken dish, a fricassée cooked in a broth of white wine and grapes and served with fried veal balls and fresh vegetables.”
