Page 25 of A Fierce Wind

Across the table, Zoé met Freddie’s steady gaze.

With a pointed look at Zoé’s uncle, the Prime Minister said, “You could be most helpful in our desire to aid the royalists, Monsieur Donet.”

“My ships are at your disposal,” her uncle offered without hesitation.

Zoé caught the exchange of glances between her uncle and Freddie. Something is afoot and, before we sail for Guernsey, I mean to learn the truth of it.

From the other end of the table, Richard said, “Should the government decide to support the royalists in the northwestern provinces, it will make the Duke of Portland’s Whigs happy. The Vendée is ever on their tongues.”

Zoé had heard her aunt railing about the Whigs who followed Portland and were late to support Pitt’s ministry and the war with France. Zoé cared little for England’s politics except those that helped the fighters who wore the sacred heart patch. She tried to call to mind Henri’s angelic face framed by his blond curls, but the mental image proved oddly elusive. The passage of time had weakened her memory. The best she could conjure was a portrait surrounded by a glow of gold, like the painting of a saint in a breviary, halo and all. Had her gallant Henri really looked like that? Of course, he had not, but that was how she had begun to remember him.

“I am eager to end party differences,” Pitt told Richard, “and as long as Portland’s Whigs continue to support the war, we can find agreement on other matters.”

“England has exceeded the whole of Europe in extending its hospitality to the émigrés,” put in Madame de Montconseil with a look of gratitude aimed at Pitt. “I am certain they could be persuaded to join the fight in the Vendée, or what is left of it. I would think you have only to make your request known and they will rush to serve.”

“I need not ask them to go, dear princesse,” said Pitt. “The émigrés hound the ministry daily, clamoring for us to join the fight.”

By the time the pudding was served along with cheese and more port for the Prime Minister, Pitt had said he would seriously consider adding to his list of urgent matters support for the fighters in the northwest of France.

Zoé couldn’t have been more pleased, which is why she gave scant attention to the frown that appeared on Freddie’s face.

Freddie went searching for Zoé the next morning and found her in the garden dressed in an ivory gown over which she wore a peach pelisse against the chill. Dark ringlets framed her delicate face. It was hard to believe she was the same young woman who traveled the streets of Normandy as a soot-covered peasant.

At his approach, she straightened from where she had been bending over a white rose and turned to face him. Her eyes were the color of the overcast sky. “Good morning,” she said rather stiffly.

“Pigeon, I must speak with you.”

“And I must speak with you,” she threw back, her eyes growing stormy, which only added to his anxiety about a conversation he suspected would not go well. “What secret is shared between you and my uncle that you have chosen not to share with me?”

He let out a breath. “That is the matter I wanted to discuss.” Her forehead furrowed as he plunged in. “I have been asked to travel to Brittany and Maine to learn the needs of a royalist group there called the Chouans. It seems the surviving Vendéens have joined with them.”

“Mr. Pitt asked you?”

“Nay, ’twas Captain d’Auvergne while we were still on Jersey. I don’t believe Pitt knows the request has been put to me. I rather doubt he knows of my work in France.”

A shadow crossed her lovely face. “Oh, Freddie. It will be dangerous.”

“I’m relieved you recognize that fact, Pigeon, which is why I don’t want you to go.”

She returned him a look of surprise. “Why ever did you think I would?”

“Well, I—”

“Although now that I think of it,” she interrupted, “you cannot go alone.” He could already see her mind spinning with plans. She pursed her lips. “You will need someone to accompany you as a guard.” Chewing on her bottom lip, she added, “perhaps two.”

“Zoé,” he said in a stronger tone, hoping to take the conversation from himself, “D’Auvergne wants you to go with me, but I would be pleased to advise him you have declined.”

She turned from her planning to stare at him. “Me?”

“He has some notion your presence would be helpful due to the high regard the Vendéens have for you.” Freddie refused to admit the reason was her devotion to the Vendéens’ fallen hero; he hoped she had forgotten him.

“D’Auvergne believes I am essential to the effort to help the royalist fighters?”

Freddie looked down at the grass beneath his feet not wishing her to see how close she was to d’Auvergne’s actual words. “Something like that.”

She crossed her arms in front of her and tapped her toe. “Are you worried I might fail, Freddie?”

He raised his gaze to meet hers. “No, I am worried your life will be more at risk than it already is with your efforts to rescue the émigrés, which exploits, I might add, have caused me many sleepless nights.”

“I see.” She walked a few steps away and then turned to face him. “Does my uncle know of this?”

“He does.”

“And? What does he say?”

Freddie took a deep breath, searching for what he could say without telling her Donet had suggested they plan for her to go. “Your uncle will not insist you stay.”

“I should hope not,” she said emphatically. “He knows me too well for that. If I can help to identify the needs of the Vendéens and these Chouans, I will most certainly go.” Then as blithely as if she were suggesting a trip into town, she said, “When do we leave?”

Freddie hung his head in defeat. He could deny her nothing when she looked at him with those pleading dove gray eyes. And, this time, he had not one ally in his desire to refuse her. She might be fearless but he was not, not where she was concerned. “If I cannot persuade you of the folly of tramping into the woods of Brittany, then you will follow my orders, is that clear?”

“Very.” She was too pleased with herself.

“We will prepare once we return to Guernsey.” Then he tossed in as an aside, “Your uncle suggested Gabe might go with us.”

She gave Freddie a look that told him she was not surprised at her uncle’s suggestion or his knowledge she would insist on going. “I think it might be well for us to bring Erwan, too. He is a Breton after all.”

Freddie shook his head. He did not have a good feeling about any of this.