To Tame the Wind (Agents of the Crown Book 0) (25 page)

Her papa set his cocked hat on his head and stared into the
distance where the schooner glided away from the frigate and its flapping
sails. “It would appear you are right, my dear.”

“See, Papa. I told you Simon Powell would not betray us. His
honor would not allow it.” Pride welled in her chest as tears filled her eyes.
He was daring, her golden one.

“In war, Claire, one man’s honor is another man’s shame. He
may pay for that maneuver with his superiors in London. But I must concede the
English captain has done me a favor this day.”

Claire’s heart had been in her throat when the frigate
nearly collided with the schooner. But when the
Fairwinds
sailed away,
silhouetted against the muted colors of the fading sky, the sun having set
below the horizon, she brought her fisted hand to her mouth and let the tears
fall.

Farewell, my love
.

Paris

Claire was home, yet Paris didn’t feel quite like home
anymore. After hearing only English for so long, her native tongue sounded odd
to her ears now that she was surrounded by people speaking only French. Despite
the profusion of flowers and color she had always loved, she found herself
missing the ship, and more, the face of its captain.

After the tumultuous events in Calais, she and her papa had
spent that night at an inn, sharing a meal and the joy of being reunited. The
next day, rain had followed them as they traveled south to Amiens. Inside the
carriage, a cold, damp chill wrapped itself around her, matching her mood.
After another long day on the road, the sky cleared as they neared Paris,
leaving a few white clouds floating listlessly in a blue expanse.

Across the carriage, her papa smiled. “Since I saw you last,
I have purchased a townhouse in Paris knowing you will most likely be here from
now on. I want to be close enough to see you from time to time.”

Claire felt her future rushing toward her, a future she
didn’t want. “Papa, there is no need for haste, is there? Surely we can have
some time together before I must marry?” Claire would put it off forever if she
could, but she knew her papa would not. He had already selected the man who
would be her husband.

“It will be a few weeks before the wedding can be arranged,
but I want you to meet your betrothed. He’ll want that time to court you, I am
certain. And you must be fitted for your wedding gown and trousseau. I would
like you to have the wedding that was denied your mother.”

Claire could muster no enthusiasm for a grand affair,
particularly if Simon Powell was not her intended. But she knew it would make
her papa happy, so she did not question his plans.

She glanced out the window as the carriage drove through the
porte cochère
of an elegant, stone townhouse to a landscaped, inner
courtyard. Balconies on the second and third stories were railed with scrolling
wrought iron. It was so different from her childhood home on the hillside in
Lorient she had difficulty picturing her papa here. Of course, he had been raised
among aristocrats so, at one time, he must have been used to such opulence.

A footman opened the carriage door and her papa stepped out,
then helped her down. “I know the journey has been long, Claire, so I’d suggest
you rest this evening. I’ve hired a maid who will see to your needs. Tomorrow
you have an appointment with the modiste and in the evening, we will dine with
certain men of influence and some of my friends. And your betrothed, of
course.”

A footman held open the door to the townhouse and they
entered, her papa still speaking. “I’ve invited the American commissioner,
M’sieur Franklin, our Foreign Minister, the comte de Vergennes and the provost
of Paris, Antoine-Louis de Caumartin. Your betrothed, François de Dordogne, is
anxious to meet you.”

She had heard of the American Benjamin Franklin. All of
Paris seemed to adore him. But she had not met Vergennes, Caumartin or her
betrothed. It was the first time she had heard the name of the man she was to
wed and it made her pause. He was now a real person, someone to contend with,
not just a vague concept. The prospect of the unwanted marriage settled in her
stomach like a bad meal.

“I’d like to visit the convent—to say goodbye, Papa.”

“
Oui
, the Mother Superior would like that. She was
understandably upset by what happened to you. Seeing that you are well will
give her great comfort.”

After introductions were made to the butler and to her new
maid, Claire retired to her bedchamber, barely noticing the elaborate
furnishings. Instead, her thoughts strayed to the
Fairwinds
. Was
McGinnes telling stories of Irish fairies in the galley with Nate listening
enraptured? Was the ship in Rye, London or somewhere else? Was Simon striding
the deck with his golden hair streaming out behind him?

Did he think of her?

London

“The skipper’s turned into a curmudgeon!” McGinnes huffed,
dropping the wooden spoon into the kettle, splashing the dark brown broth from
the stew onto his work table.

“Nay, he’s a man in love,” said Elijah sitting on a stool
nursing a mug of coffee, his pipe lying across his thigh. “Worse than a wounded
bear. Everyone’s celebratin’ the return of the
Abundance
’s crew ’cept
the cap’n who made it happen. He sulks.”

As if he hadn’t heard Elijah’s remark, the Irish cook droned
on. “’Tis the second time today he’s sent back his stew. Sure an’ it might be a
good thing he stays with his fancy English friends now that we’ve anchored in
London.”

“As I recollect, he intends to do jus’ that,” said Elijah.

“Sure an’ he even barked at Nate. Poor lad came to see me
this mornin’, his face so long ’twere nearly draggin’ on the deck.”

“Aye, well that may be due to the lad’s fondness for the
demoiselle. He misses his mistress.”

Ignoring Elijah, the cook persisted in his rant. “… mopin’
around like the lad lost his best friend.”

“The cap’n’s like a dog deprived of his favorite bone,
McGinnes. Snarlin’ at everyone. Ye and Nate are bein’ treated no different than
the rest of us. Ye could show a bit more understandin’.”

“Well, if’n that’s the way of it, he should just go get
her.”

“’Tis not so easy, that. She’s with her father, the
Frenchie, now. Or mebbe the nuns, now that I think o’ it.”

Climbing into Danvers’ carriage with his friend, Simon left
Whitehall in a foul mood, still smarting from Eden’s stinging rebuke, one that
Simon considered totally unjustified. He’d refused to apologize for interfering
with Eden’s unforgivable action in sending a warship into Calais. It could have
spelled disaster had he not been there to intervene. An image of gunfire on the
wharf and Claire falling to the wooden planks, wounded, filled him with dread.

“You need not fret. Eden will return to his good-natured
self in time.”

“Good-natured? Surely you jest. The man’s insane,” Simon
returned.

“He’s got a lot on his mind these days. The treaty
negotiations have him worried. The prime minister rejoices in the rumor that
the Americans will abandon their friends in France, but Eden’s suspicious.”

“As tight as America and France have been, according to the
Scribe, I’d be suspicious, too,” he grudgingly admitted. “Perhaps Lord
Shelburne is too trusting.”

The carriage pulled up in front of the Danvers’ townhouse
and Simon stepped down, waiting for his friend.

“Cornelia will want us to join her for afternoon tea. You’ll
not disappoint her?”

“I shall not,” Simon said, though he knew it would commit
him to at least an hour of chatter. Then, too, Cornelia might ask about Claire.
What could he say?

Soon the three of them were seated in the parlor with a tray
of small sandwiches and sugared cakes.

Cornelia, who sat across from him, set down her cup. “I
wonder if Claire is yet wed.”

“Wed?” Simon nearly spit out his tea, the porcelain cup
clattering against the saucer. “I thought she was returning to the convent.”

Cornelia gave him an incredulous look. “However did you get
that idea? Oh, I know Claire thought at one time to become a nun, but it was
clear to me her heart was not in it. And, it seemed her father had other plans.
Why, he even had someone picked out for her.” Her gaze assessing him, she added,
“By the time she left, Claire realized she was not suited for the cloistered
life.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”

Studying her nails, Cornelia said, “A lawyer, I think.
Someone in Paris.”

It was one thing to let her go to a convent because of a vow
made to a dying girl. It was quite another to send her into the arms of a
suitor. What kind of a man was he? One more worthy of her? “Do you have a
name?”

Cornelia looked up, unfazed. “Alas, no.” At her side,
Danvers munched on a sandwich, seemingly indifferent to Simon’s predicament.

“I see.”

With a heavy heart, Simon returned to his ship that evening,
and had Jordan call together his men who’d had been in contact with Donet.
Wingate and Busby had been the Frenchman’s prisoners and both Elijah and Giles
had been in Paris to arrange the exchange. Once they were seated around his
table, he asked them, “Did Donet or his man, Bequel, ever speak of a lawyer in
Paris to whom Claire Donet was betrothed?”

The men exchanged glances, then shook their heads.

“The subject never came up, Cap’n,” said Elijah. “Bequel
asked after the girl, ’o course, and Giles told him she was bein’ looked after,
that no harm had come to her.”

Giles nodded his agreement.

“None of us in Lorient were in a position to hear of such
news,” said Wingate.

“I want to know who this lawyer is,” Simon coolly replied.
“I’ll not see her with a man who would not treat her well,” he murmured.

“Our contacts in Paris can tell us,” said Elijah chewing on
the end of his unlit pipe.

Simon turned to Wingate. “I’d ask you to stay in London to
find us a ship to replace the
Abundance
. Make sure your idle crew is
paid as we’ll soon need them.”

Wingate nodded. “Aye, I’ll see it done.”

Simon rose and walked toward the small windows, looking
south toward France. “We were going to Paris for Eden; now ’tis urgent I go for
more. I won’t be left in the dark about this man Donet has chosen for his
daughter.” His mind whirring with plans, he turned to face his men, his jaw set
in firm determination. “And, John, I’ll need a favor from Lord Danvers. It’s
just a contingency, but he’ll understand when he gets the message. I’d ask you
to deliver it.”

Wingate nodded. “Of course.”

Giles opened his mouth to speak and then paused as if he
suddenly remembered something. “Cap’n, when Elijah and I were in Paris, we
spent some time in a tavern that is a favorite spot for lawyers.”

“Ye’d not believe the dandies that traipsed through there,”
said Elijah grimacing. “Enough fancy dress to make ye sick.”

“Then we’ll begin our search there,” said Simon. “Load what
supplies we need. We sail with the tide.”

Paris

Claire felt like she was sleepwalking, going through the
motions of living while detached from everything around her. She’d been to Mass
that morning and made her confession before going to the modiste’s with her
maid. Thus, her conscience was clear, but her thoughts were still a world away
when the guests began arriving for dinner. Even the beautiful wedding gown her
papa had ordered for her had not improved her outlook.

Her papa’s salon, an ornately decorated room with red
ceiling and gilded panel walls, soon filled with the chatter of men and women
from very different walks of life: statesmen, business partners of her papa and
their wives and some of her papa’s men who were dressed as gentlemen for the
evening, including Émile Bequel, who she had learned was her papa’s
quartermaster. The language spoken was French and the praise for her papa’s new
townhouse effusive.