To Tame the Wind (Agents of the Crown Book 0) (30 page)

His colleagues gaped at him.

“So the special license was for you and Claire Donet?” asked
Danvers.

“Aye, just so. And thank you for procuring it.” Simon
couldn’t resist a grin.

“You intend to marry Donet’s daughter?” asked Eden,
disbelieving.

“Well she
is
the granddaughter of the comte de
Saintonge,” said Danvers. “He could do worse. And so could she. At least she’ll
have a man who is besotted with her.” The baron slapped Simon on the back.
“Well done, old thing, well done.”

Eden harrumphed. “If you can talk that pirate into parting
with his only daughter, Powell, it occurs to me we should have sent
you
to Paris to negotiate our terms for peace. What is this favor you want?”

“Donet has come to London for the wedding. I want your
guarantee he will not be harmed nor any attempt made to capture him while he is
here.”

Eden stiffened and his face formed a frown. “You mean I’m to
let him off scot-free?”

“Something like that,” Simon muttered.

“Where is he?” Danvers asked.

“I have no idea where he is staying,” said Simon, “but he
intends to give away the bride at the wedding.”

“And when is that?” Eden inquired.

“Two days hence. You’re both invited, of course. Oh, and
Danvers, I think you should know that your wife has graciously offered to hold
the wedding in your home.”

The baron choked on his drink.

Eden sputtered.

But in the end, Danvers recovered, the favor was granted and
Eden grudgingly gave his word.

Simon was pleased.

That evening in the Danvers’ townhouse, Claire witnessed a
miracle. Her papa and her new friends all toasted her upcoming marriage to an
English privateer. She would never have believed it possible that persons of
three nationalities and such different walks of life could gather in London to
celebrate an English Protestant marrying a French Catholic and before the
American war was officially at an end.

They began the evening in the baron’s study, a footman
circling with a tray of sherry and brandy. As she sipped her sherry, it
occurred to Claire that her papa had never looked more like a French aristocrat
than he did this night in his black silk coat and breeches set off by a claret
brocade waistcoat and much lace at his chin. His black hair neatly queued at
his nape and a gleam in his dark eyes, he appeared a well-born gentleman, not
the pirate she knew he had been.

When the three men began speaking of the negotiations
underway in Paris, Cornelia beckoned her aside. “Your father, Claire, is going
to create quite a stir at your wedding.”

Worried for her papa, she asked, “Why? Is there something
wrong? Should I warn him?”

“Oh, no,” her friend whispered. “You misunderstand.”
Shooting a glance at Claire’s papa, Cornelia said, “I daresay there won’t be a
woman in the room who does not find her heart all aflutter. You never told me
how handsome he is. How polished his manners. And there is something most
mysterious about him, something almost… dangerous. I predict he will be quite
the sensation.”

Claire had always known her papa was a handsome man. Few men
had his presence or his striking dark looks, but she’d never thought of him as
an object of other women’s admiration. “Oh my.”

“Do not worry, Claire. I’m certain he knows how to handle
such attention.”

Simon came to her side then and slipped his hand into hers.
“What are you two clever ladies discussing on your own over here? I am missing
my bride.” His amber eyes seemed full of mirth, happy in his teasing.

“We are discussing my papa if you must know,” Claire said,
teasing him.

Simon cast a glance at her father who, Claire thought,
looked very much like the aristocrat he was raised to be. “He appears to be
enjoying the baron’s company,” said Simon. “Perhaps we should join them before
your father has the baron investing in one of his more questionable
enterprises.”

Cornelia gasped. Claire laughed. And Simon ushered them both
back to the other men.

The morning she was to be wed had arrived. Claire knelt
beside the padded bench in her bedchamber and folded her hands in prayer.
Though she would not be able to attend Mass in London and her wedding would be
presided over by an Anglican clergyman, she could still make her confession
before God and thank him for the man He had sent her.

When her papa had learned she would not be married by a
priest, he had said nothing. Perhaps he had been resigned to that since he’d
given his blessing to their marriage. Having allowed her to make her choice, he
was apparently accepting what she could not change. She would hide her own
discomfort. Simon might not be Catholic, but he was God-fearing, honorable and
true. She would cast no cloud on their happiness.

Cornelia burst into the room shortly thereafter with a maid
carrying a tray set with coffee and breakfast foods. The aroma of the dark brew
and baked bread filled the room, reminding Claire of her hunger.

“The servants and Cook are all in a dither over the
wedding,” said her friend, “so I thought we’d have a bite together. After all,
the wedding breakfast won’t be for hours yet and we can’t have you fainting.
What say you?”

The maid set down the tray and asked if that would be all.
At a nod from her mistress, she left the chamber.

“I have never fainted, Cornelia. But food sounds delightful.
What about Simon?”

“Simon was all nerves this morning, so Danvers insisted they
go for a ride in Hyde Park. ’Twill do them both good.” Then with a wink, “And
will keep them out of our way!”

“You and the baron are so good to us.”

“Nonsense. I am having fun. And to see Simon happy after all
these years brings us great pleasure. As for you, I look forward to having many
adventures together. Just think, when your husband is off on one of his
voyages, and Danvers is buried in his political scrabbles in the Lords, you and
I can go to Bath or Brighton. And I’ve a few ideas for charities that will be
needed following the war. So many families will have lost their men folk. It’s
a chance to do much good.”

Claire’s sprits rose thinking of the friend she now had.
“Oh, Cornelia. I am so fortunate to have found you. I would love to help in
your charities.”

“I am counting on it. And I know Danvers is expecting to be
an honorary uncle to your children.”

The thought of children warmed Claire. Yes, she very much
wanted to have Simon’s children.

“Come now, Claire, wipe that smile off your face and help me
eat these pastries. I made sure they purchased some for us when the servants
went for the sweetmeats for the wedding breakfast.”

Claire bit into a fig pastry and a question rose in her
mind. “I wonder where we shall live. Simon told me he has a house in Rye, but
he said something to my papa about a house in London.”

“You’ll be pleased to know that last night he told Danvers
and your father about one of the newer houses in the Adelphi Terrace he wants
to purchase. ’Tis a good location for a sea captain as it’s right on the
Thames. I think after their ride this morning, they were planning to meet your
father to view it.”

Claire picked up her cup of coffee. “It will make Papa feel
better about leaving me here if he knows Simon has plans for a home.”

“It’s a lovely area, Claire. And the best part is that you
will not be far away.”

When they’d finished their breakfast and had marveled over
all that had happened to Claire since leaving the convent, Cornelia’s maid came
to supervise the lads carrying pails of hot water to her chamber for her bath.
At Cornelia’s request, the maid agreed to stay to assist Claire with her
dressing.

Cornelia left Claire to her bath, but a few hours later
returned with a box and a bouquet of flowers, which she set on the dressing
table.

By that time, Claire was dressed.

“The men are back,” Cornelia announced, “and have dressed
for the wedding. You must hurry. The guests are beginning to arrive.”

Butterflies began to flutter in her stomach, but Claire took
a deep breath, resolving to stay calm.

Cornelia wore a gown of peach silk with lace at the
snug-fitting bodice and sleeves. It was simple but elegant and went so well
with her auburn hair and russet eyes.

“You look beautiful, Cornelia.”

“Danvers likes me in this color, so I wear it often. For
your wedding, I wore my favorite.”

Picking up the box she had set on the dressing table,
Cornelia said, “Simon brought this for you. I’m dying to know what jewels he
has bestowed on his bride.”

Carefully, Claire opened the blue velvet box. “Oh my!”
Sparkling inside was the most exquisite necklace of diamonds, rubies and gray
pearls. Loops of diamond chains were draped over a thin collar of rubies.
Hanging from the sparkling loops were pear-shaped pearls. “He must have
remembered my wedding gown, Cornelia. Look how well this goes with the roses!”

“It would appear your sea captain has excellent taste. Those
pearls are nearly silver. Here, allow me.”

Claire held out the box and Cornelia took the necklace and
fastened it around Claire’s neck. In the box were also ear bobs of diamonds and
the same pearls. When she put them on and stepped in front of the mirror, she
was amazed at her transformation. No longer the young, convent student dressed
in drab, dark blue, she was now a woman grown, adorned for her wedding. If only
Maman could have lived to see this day. Would she approve? Somehow Claire
thought the woman who had married a man who turned pirate for love of her would
approve her daughter’s choice.

“I like what my maid did with your hair,” said Cornelia,
fingering one long, dark curl. On the crown of Claire’s head was a mound of
curls save for one long curl draped over her shoulder. “And the gown is just as
lovely on you as I pictured it, Claire. So unique. I’ve not seen one in London
to compete with the workmanship of these embroidered flowers. Why they almost
appear real.”

“Papa was very proud of this gown. He selected both the
fabric and the style. Your maid was kind to use the pressing iron to smooth the
wrinkles. It was a bit crumpled as a result of our escape from Paris.” She did
not mention the carriage ride to Dieppe or the gown’s brief sojourn on the deck
of Simon’s cabin afterward.

“You are all ready, save for this.” Cornelia handed her the
bouquet of orange blossoms that she’d brought with the jewel box. “It is
tradition and represents the bride’s purity.”

Claire felt her cheeks flush. Simon had already claimed her
virtue. Though the Reverend Mother would be horrified, Claire had no regrets.
She had promised to marry him when he came for her in Paris. There would be no
other for her. Only Simon.

He was waiting at the bottom of the stairs when she and
Cornelia began their descent, his gaze fixed on her as a smile began to spread
across his face. The sea captain had once again become the well-attired
gentleman but with a vigor in his appearance that bespoke of his days spent in
the sun, his hands steady on the wheel of his ship. His golden hair was
confined to a neat queue, his broad shoulders encased in a cinnamon jacket with
gold buttons. Beneath it was an ivory waistcoat trimmed in gold braid and dark
brown breeches that hugged his thighs. Instead of his boots, he wore silk
stockings and black shoes with gold buckles. Her golden one waiting to claim
her as his bride.

“You take my breath away, sweetheart,” he whispered in her
ear as she reached him and he offered her his arm.

“And you mine,” she whispered back.

The rising noise from the many voices in the parlor some
distance away caused Claire to experience a sudden anxiety.
It must be a
large crowd.
She had thought it would be a small affair. “You should have
warned me.”

“’Tis only the same friends of the Danvers who came to the
soirée,” he assured her. Then with a chuckle, “Well, and perhaps a few
more.”

Coming up behind them, Cornelia said, “They
want to see the woman who has captured the gallant Simon Powell. And I am
certain word of your father’s coming has stirred quite a few to accept my
invitation. Already the females attending are all a titter.”

“Cornelia, you will make Claire nervous,”
Simon chided the baroness. Then he smiled at Claire and all in her world came
right. “’Tis a grand day for a wedding, no?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, it is.” It was a grand day to
leave the past behind and step into a future that was theirs. A future she very
much wanted.

He covered her hand with his palm. “You are
the most beautiful bride. But then your father has been telling me that for
hours. In the spirit of comity, I felt compelled to agree.”

“You jest. But since it helps my nervous
condition, I’m grateful. Oh, and thank you for the necklace. It is the most
gorgeous thing I’ve ever owned.”

“I’m pleased you like it. Of course, it’s your
own radiance that makes the gems sparkle.”

She returned his brilliant smile.

They entered the parlor and her gaze was drawn
to the many faces that turned toward them. Her papa, wearing a black velvet
jacket and his burgundy waistcoat, waited just inside the door. “Claire.” His
dark eyes sparkled as he smiled at her.

“Oh Papa!” So much emotion lay in their brief
exchange. He kissed her on the cheek and took her hand from Simon and placed it
on his own arm. Soon he would giving her back to her golden one for always.

The Anglican clergyman was easily identified
by his appearance and where he stood on the far side of the room. A white linen
vestment covered his black robe and at his neck were white Geneva bands. Though
his gray hair gave him a stern appearance, on his face was a smile, and for
that, Claire was grateful. Did he mind that Simon was marrying a Catholic?

“Don’t worry, Claire,” her papa reassured her,
patting the hand that rested on his arm. Then his eyes narrowed. “You want
this,
oui
? It is not too late to change your mind. I could whisk you
away to Paris where you’d have your choice of many men.”

“
Oui
, Papa, I want this. I love him.”

“Then you need only repeat the vows the
minister gives you and you will belong to him. Baron Danvers does you an honor.
The officiating clergyman is the Bishop of London.”