Page 61 of A Fierce Wind

“This is hardly the conversation of two who are about to be wed!” He looked up to see his redheaded sister standing in the doorway, attired as if she were setting out for Oxford Street in London.

“You must admit these are unusual times, Jo.” He couldn’t help feeling a bit embarrassed she’d caught them discussing plans to return to France, albeit on the coast. She wouldn’t be pleased they would take up even that limited role.

“That may be so, Freddie, but we’ve a wedding to plan and your excursion into the Atlantic has postponed that effort. I need to borrow Zoé for the day and Isabeau will be coming with us. The modiste is to do the final fitting for Zoé’s gown and Isabeau’s dress. Then there’s the menu for the wedding breakfast to plan.”

“I approve,” he said with a smile. It would get Zoé’s mind off her desire to venture into the streets of Granville and keep her busy till dinner. “What about the boys?” Since they’d returned to Guernsey, Jack and Pax had become inseparable.

“Jack has agreed to organize games for Pax and him, though I worry about the mischief those two will get into. He has promised there will be no lessons in how to use a knife. Hopefully, their governess will be able to keep an eye on them.”

“What will you do, Freddie?” asked Zoé.

“Your uncle has released me from ship duties to take a look at some properties that might suffice for our new home. If there are any I think you might like, Pigeon, we can view them tomorrow.”

Zoé’s eyes lit up at the mention of their new home. They’d discussed where they might live and concluded Guernsey suited them well. An English Crown dependency where French was spoken in the streets and the food was as good as any capital in Europe. The brioches from the pâtisserie on High Street were a particular favorite of his. And, living on Guernsey, he could remain a part of her uncle’s merchant shipping business.

“Are there many properties to see?” she asked excitedly.

“A few,” he said in a droll manner. “One ramshackle farmhouse the agent told me about seems particularly interesting.”

She threw her napkin at him and got to her feet.

He couldn’t resist the laughter that bubbled up in his chest.

“You see what I’m up against, Tante Joanna.”

“Indeed I do. Remember, I helped to raise him. Come, let us be off. Isabeau is waiting at the front door.”

Zoé came around the table and kissed Freddie on the cheek, the fragrance of roses whetting his appetite for more. Before he could reach for her, she glided out of the room with his sister, leaving him with his coffee and a smile on his face.

He smiled a lot these days.

Shopping in St Peter Port with her aunt required decisions Zoé had not often made in the last several years. Choosing fabric, style, trim, stockings and shoes consumed hours and that was only the beginning. There were still underclothes to select, a chemise, stays and petticoats, not to mention a hat or a bonnet.

Having become used to the clothing of a peasant woman and lately that of a Chouan man, she had braced herself for her return to Society, which her earlier trip to West Sussex had required, and now she must do so again for her wedding.

The carriage moved along the town’s cobbled streets toward the modiste’s shop on High Street. “I’m determined to see you properly attired for this very important day in your life,” said her aunt looking out the window. “We are nearly there.”

Zoé’s participation in the previous shopping jaunt on Jersey with her aunt and Madame de Montconseil had given her a new respect for her aunt’s knowledge of a lady’s frippery. Not that the princesse needed any instruction but Zoé surely had.

“Do you think our fittings will take very long?” Zoé wanted to visit the jeweler to buy Freddie’s wedding ring, perhaps one easily seen from a distance.

“The fittings, no, but we have other stops to make.” Tante Joanna looked across the carriage seat to where Isabeau sat next to Zoé. “What do you think of a straw hat with a wide blue ribbon, my dear?” she asked the girl.

Isabeau nodded. “’Tis not what Breton women wear, but I like ribbons.”

“Very well, you shall have one to match your gown.”

Isabeau had become fond of Zoé’s aunt but, at times, the girl would stare off toward France. They’d not had word from Giles and Zoé worried for him.

The carriage stopped in front of the modiste’s shop and her aunt accepted the footman’s hand, stepping down to the street. Isabeau followed and Zoé trailed after her, sighing deeply.

“To my way of thinking,” said her aunt, who hadn’t failed to notice the sigh, “while it is important to understand the politics and issues of the day, a lady must also know how to dress to enhance her natural beauty. For your wedding, Zoé, you must look your very best.”

The bell above the door jingled, alerting Mrs. Dobree they had arrived. The antechamber where she greeted her customers had a long counter on one side. Behind it, rising to the ceiling, were shelves filled with bolts of satins and silks and flowered, striped and sprigged muslin. On their first visit, her aunt had selected a beautiful Bremen blue for her gown of silk and a paler shade of the same blue for Isabeau’s dress.

Zoé had chosen lavender silk. The color was her favorite but one she’d not worn since before the revolution began.

Mrs. Dobree came from behind the counter to meet them. “Je pense you will be pleased with the gowns,” said the dark-haired woman, who had a pencil stored over her ear and a measuring tape around her neck. “The seamstress is my best. She just finished them yesterday. As you ordered, Madame Donet, the waists are higher, the style simpler. And for you, Mademoiselle Donet, only one petticoat will be required.”