Showing posts with label Napoleonic Era. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Napoleonic Era. Show all posts

10 August 2016

The Art of the Decadents and the Bourgeois

 
By Laura Rahme

Francois Boucher’s The Chinese Garden

The downfall of the French monarchy during the Revolution of 1789 brought with it a new social order where art modes that were considered decadent and aristocratic were shunned.

Through Revolution, power and wealth flowed increasingly into the hands of the emerging bourgeoisie, a socio-economic group that had long aspired to the manner and graces of aristocrats, but who now sought to forge themselves a new identity, along with their own artistic sensibilities.

New styles emerged in dress, hairstyles, furniture, theatre and art.

Prior to the French Revolution, and ever since the reign of Louis XV, Rococo artists were the masters of the French art scene. This was to change.

Marie-Antoinette’s Art World

At the time of Queen Marie-Antoinette, before the French Revolution, paintings were lavish depictions of luxury, pleasure and the insouciance of a privileged class which did not reflect the majority of the population. Ordinary working class people were rarely subjects of these paintings.

Instead, aristocratic subjects are seen idling about in elaborate clothing without a care in the world. This was the time of Rococo art.

The Swing
Jean Honoré Fragonard’s The Swing (1767) denotes the carelessness and childishness of a young girl at play. Here, the aristocrats seem oblivious to the reality that the ordinary French person lives daily. This brand of art would have been odious to French revolutionaries given that as early as the 1780s, the price of bread was starting to rise due to poor crop yields, and the country’s debt was climbing.

The Lock
In The Lock (1777), Fragonard depicts a debauched noble class with perhaps a male making ready to corrupt his female companion despite her protests. The disordered bedroom and sheets allude to furious abandon, or even struggle, giving the onlooker a sense of forbidden erotic pleasures. This artistic style is in line with the libertine literature of the times, evoking themes from Le Marquis de Sade texts and Choderlos de Laclos’ Les Liaisons Dangereuses, the latter being hugely popular despite it being banned.

Portrait of Madame de Pompadour
In Francois Boucher’s portrait of Madame de Pompadour (1756), Louis XV’s chief mistress reclines on a sofa, dressed in a rich silk gown embroidered with flowers. Elaborate pink bows cascade down her corset, mirroring the perfect bow around her white neck. The great patroness of Rococo art appears regal and her encumbering court attire hints to her idleness and ease.

In the Rococo period, we also see decadence and immorality illustrated through Francois Boucher’ portraits. For example in his Brown Odalisque (1745), Boucher’s model is nude and tempts the onlooker with her exposed bottom.

Brown Odalisque
Boucher’s Léda et le Cygne (c.1740) dives with abandon into erotic perversion.  According to Greek mythology, Zeus transformed himself into a Swan to rape Leda. Yet the painting’s soft pastels and the lack of aggression implies yielding. Instead, the mood is languorous and Leda’s pose - lifting her dress - alludes to permissiveness.  

Leda and the Swan
Prior to the Revolution, almost all was permitted to aristocrats and they held rights over lower classes. In retrospect, the painting hints at the swan’s aristocratic embodiment with the rape of Leda recalling the suppression and abuse of the working classes who have no other choice. No wonder Boucher was in poor taste by the time the revolution began. Alas, despite his enormous talent, he remained unpopular for almost a century.

With these Rococo samples, it comes as no surprise that aristocrats were often seen as debauched and immoral. On several occasions, even Marie-Antoinette’s supposed sexual life and sensual pleasures were the subject of pamphlets and public scorn.

At the dawn of the French Republic, morality and discipline would need to be the focus of the new age if one were to distance oneself from aristocratic mores.  If a bourgeois wished to acquire symbols of stature, and ornaments for their home, they could not be seen as coveting the same frivolous art and perpetuating the same ideologies as aristocrats.

What style could a bourgeois possibly turn to?

Republican Scorn

With Liberty, Equality and Fraternity, the French mentality impassioned itself with noble ideals and moral rectitude. People became ‘enlightened’ and suddenly the excesses of the old regime with its implied hierarchies and light-heartedness were frowned upon.

According to Gamboni1, what irked revolutionaries was not so much the content of Ancient Regime paintings and images, but rather their symbolic representation.  While portraits of monarchs, members of the nobility and the Church were more directly attacked, any other work that these parties may have commissioned, possessed or displayed, were seen as symbolic of old power hierarchies and came under the revolution’s scorn.  Also to be wiped out or strictly discouraged were symbols of feudalism, superstition, toys and the ‘spoils of prejudice and arrogance’.

The terms pronounced when the city of Lyon’s buildings and monuments were destroyed leave no doubt as to the revolutionaries’ attitude: “In the name of the Sovereignty of the people…we strike with death this abode of crime whose royal magnificence was an insult to the poverty of the people and to the simplicity of republican morals.”

Discovery of Pompeii Ruins

In this sweeping social change, what, then, were accepted artistic symbols? What art forms were to be revered for their espousal of revolutionary values?

The answer to these questions were to be found in recent archaeological discoveries which had gradually brought upon an international change in the art scene.
That is, if a revolution had taken place in France, another revolution was burgeoning in the art world.

Earlier in the 18th century, the ancient Roman towns of Herculaneum and Pompeii had been discovered - in 1738 and 1748. These archaeological finds revealed gorgeous villas and a range of classical art from Greek vases to exquisite Roman murals. These discoveries newly inspired artists who began to experiment using Ancient Rome and Ancient Greece as models.

Europa riding the bull –
Fresco from Pompeii, 1
st Century AD
Antique style drawings, with their clean lines contrasted with the softness and airy touch of Rococo. The antique style was seen as representative of virtue while Rococo was coded as decadent.

Neo Classicism was born.

Juliette de Récamier’s Art World

Where Marie Antoinette had reigned supreme as Rococo graced French monuments and salons, after the French Revolution, it was the wealthy bourgeois socialite, Juliette Récamier, who became her Neoclassicism equivalent. 

Bust of Juliette Récamier -
Joseph Chinard, c.1801-2
A celebrity in her time, this wealthy banker’s wife heralded advances in furniture and dress style. Marie Antoinette had once commissioned Jean-Baptiste Pillement to decorate her Petit Trianon with his famed Chinoiserie style. No more. During the Neoclassicism period, socially accepted symbols included Ancient Egyptian lions and sphynxes, like those adorning the chairs owned by Juliette Récamier. The gracious hostess also owned an antique style bed with bronze-like ornaments and an x-shaped stool evoking Ancient Rome.

Styles in sculpture also reflected classical taste. In her time, Juliette Récamier was famed for her beauty and this marble bust depicts her as no less than the most gracious antiquity goddess.

Aside from being the subject of sculpture, Juliette Récamier also featured in a couple of paintings. One of these is her portrait by Jacques-Louis David, with a similar one painted by David’s pupil, Baron Gérard. In the latter, Juliette Récamier, the very spirit of Neoclassicism, is lying barefooted on an Etruscan chaise-longue, channelling the Greco-Roman vestal virgin with her simple white dress and up-styled hair.

Portrait of Juliette Récamier
by Baron Gérard (1802)
At the time, a journalist wrote, “Truth could go no further than this, she is so seductive to the eye and the imagination, that she gives off an impression of the ideal.”2 [translated from French]

Years before, Jacques-Louis David had produced equally ‘classical’ portraits, including this one of Madame Henriette de Verninac (1799), daughter of a minister and wife of a diplomat.

Madame de Verninac
The pose is almost identical to the one adopted by Juliette Récamier. Individuality seemed less important with this art form which was synonymous with patriotism, self-sacrifice and nationalism.

Jacques-Louis David - Art Dictator

Ironically, before the French Revolution, Jacques-Louis David had once been taught by sensualist Francois Boucher, and upon leaving Paris to study in Rome, had once declared, "The art of antiquity will not seduce me, for it lacks liveliness.” But times being what they were, even artists did well to reinvent themselves, if only for survival. Or was it only survival?  

During the French Revolution, David had joined the extremist Jacobins.  He not only voted for the execution of Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette but he lent his support to Robespierre during the Terror…as France’s art dictator. His subsequent abolition of France’s Royal Academy of Painting and Sculpture was often interpreted as a reprisal for slights suffered in his youth.

Years later, under Napoleon, he would continue to direct his Neoclassicism talent into much propaganda.

Neoclassicism under Napoleon

Neoclassicism swelled to propagandist proportions during the First Empire, with Jacques-Louis David producing this well-known portrait of Napoleon crossing the Alps. The painting is marked by austerity and discipline, both hallmarks of Neoclassicism, while still associating grandeur and fearlessness with Napoleon.

Napoleon Crossing the St. Bernard Pass (1800)
In a similar vein, David’s Napoleon in his Salon (1812) confers authority and power to Napoleon. The winged head of mercury is a Greek symbol of wealth, while the lion is an Egyptian symbol of a king’s power. Both further illustrate the furniture style of that period.  Meanwhile Napoleon’s poised stance, his uniform and sword combine to portray a man in control.

Napoleon in his Salon 1812
The Decadents and the Bourgeois

As seen, the French Revolution saw dramatic socio-political changes which precipitated drastic transformations in the art world and in the consumption of art. While the ‘decadent’ aristocrat favoured Rococo, at the end of the Ancient Regime, Neoclassicism had risen in importance. Neoclassicism was seen as aligning with the ideologies of the French Republic and for this reason was embraced and even championed by the bourgeoisie. Far from being a passive decorative art form, Neoclassicism served as a tool for advancing the interests of the French Republic and later of Napoleon.


Sources:
  1. The Destruction of Art: Iconoclasm and Vandalism since the French Revolution, Dario Gamboni, Reaktion Books, 1997.
  2. Portrait de Juliette Recamier, Carnavalet Museum, http://www.carnavalet.paris.fr/en/collections/portrait-de-juliette-recamier-1777-1849, Accessed on 28 Jul 2016.
  3. Neo-classicism & The French Revolution, Oxford Art Online, http://www.oxfordartonline.com/public/page/themes/neoclassicismandthefrenchrevolution, Accessed on 28 Jul 2016.
  4. 18th- and 19th-Century France - Neoclassicism, National Gallery of Art, http://www.nga.gov/content/ngaweb/features/slideshows/18th-and-19th-century-france-neoclassicism.html, Accessed on 28 Jul 2016.
  5. Rococo - Wikipedia
  6. Jacques Louis David - Wikipedia

All images from Wiki commons. 

27 August 2015

Excerpt Thursday: FINDING GABRIEL by Rachel L. Demeter

This week, we're pleased to welcome author RACHEL L. DEMETER again with her latest novel, FINDING GABRIEL. The author will offer one free copy of the novel to a lucky visitor.  Be sure to leave your email address in the comments of today's post  - this is your only opportunity to win. Winner(s) are contacted privately by email. Here's the blurb.

Colonel Gabriel de Laurent departed for the war intending to die.

After a decade of bloodstained battlegrounds while fighting in Napoleon's army, Gabriel returns to the streets of Paris a shattered and haunted soul. Plagued by inner demons, he swallows the barrel of his flintlock pistol and pulls the trigger.

But fate has a different plan.

Ariah Larochelle is a survivor. Orphaned at twelve and victim to a devastating crime, she has learned to keep her back to walls and to trust no one. But when she finds a gravely injured soldier washed up on the River Seine, she's moved by compassion. In spite of her reservations, she rescues him from the icy water and brings him into her home.

Now scarred inside and out, Gabriel discovers a kindred spirit in Ariah – and feelings he imagined lost forever reawaken as he observes her strength in the face of adversity. But when Ariah's own lethal secrets unfold, their new love is threatened by ancient ghosts. Can Gabriel and Ariah find hope in the wreckage of their pasts – or will the cycle of history repeat again?

Perfect for fans of Gaelen Foley's Lord of Ice and Judith James's Broken Wing, Finding Gabriel features all the dark romance, searing passion, and historical intrigue of The Phantom of the Opera and Les Misérables.

** An Excerpt from Finding Gabriel**

The flintlock pistol felt slicker than ink against Gabriel’s weathered palms. Lost to severe thought, he tentatively rotated the firearm between thumb and forefinger. Overhead, light from an oil lamp reflected off the slender barrel and penetrated the darkness of his soul. The illumination spilled across the sleet-covered cobblestones, emitting a faint golden ring through the dense haze of the River Seine. Seduced by the movements, water lapped against the embankment in a mockery of waves.

Broken and entirely alone, Gabriel had returned from the battlefield months earlier. And he’d departed for the war fully intending to die.

But things hadn’t gone according to plan.

A decade of his life had flashed by in a blood-spattered mirage. And now that he was back on Paris’s soil, his home felt more foreign than anywhere on earth. It was a blinding, 
soul-deep agony that rose from the shadows and came for him in the night. The memories would coil around his throat in a deathly embrace and echo in the haunted cavern of his mind.

But tonight would be different. Tonight, he would free himself.

He exhaled a shaky breath and two of his fingers fell from the pistol and settled upon the navy material of his uniform. The rhythm of his heartbeat felt strong and willfully defiant beneath his touch; the gold 
epaulettes decorating his shoulders trembled in time with his pulse.

Instead of dying alongside his men – dying as a war hero – new 
scars had been added to the old. External now reflected the internal.

Instead of meeting his maker, as the Catholics so eloquently phrased such things, he was decorated with an abundance of medals and applauded by Napoleon Bonaparte for his bravery.

Indeed, Gabriel mused, bravery is a rather easy feat when a man has so little to live for.

A 
solider with nothing to lose has everything to sacrifice.

He should have died countless times across countless battlefields. Day and night, his men were slaughtered before him, behind him, beside him … and yet no bullet had been spared for their commander. Death had a cruel sense of humor in that way. France’s emperor had been exiled to Elba, and Gabriel was isolated within the seventh ring of hell.

And now, standing along the River Seine on this harsh winter’s night, Colonel Gabriel de Laurent felt more cowardly than brave. Far more dead than alive. Whatever remained of his spirit had faded away since his return. His body had been degraded to a cold, numb shell. And he was empty.

Distant, rolling thunder wrenched Gabriel from his thoughts. A storm was moving in. A low blanket of clouds shadowed the horizon and obstructed heaven from earth. The scarce trees that lined the Seine quivered, their skeletal limbs shaking with the damp chill.

By this time tomorrow, Paris would be weeping for her fate.

Gabriel’s breaths grew labored, short, strained. Each one 
misted the night air and swirled tight coils against the engulfing black. Another volley of thunder shook the silence and roared like a caged beast. His eyes shut as he remembered the bellowing cannons that had dominated so many bloodstained grounds. Twisted nostalgia reared inside his gut. Indeed, the chaotic heat of the battlefield was preferable to the cold stillness in his heart. The war had offered a distraction, a purpose … a chance to conclude his legacy with a semblance of grace and integrity.

Gabriel lifted his face to the bruised sky as hard raindrops clubbed his cheeks. They streaked down his skin in lieu of the tears he refused to shed. The nearby oil lamp shuddered and flickered, threatening to wink out. A strange fog blew across the iridescent cobblestones, cloaking everything beneath an aura of hopelessness …

The night was expanding. And he was content with that.

Silent calm filled Gabriel’s heart as he inched dangerously close to the river’s edge. The front half of each boot hung off the cobblestone slab, waiting in eternal limbo. Even the air thrummed with breathless anticipation.

Down below, budding ice caps peeked out from the water’s glassy surface and glistened beneath the moonlight. They quivered within the unforgiving darkness, bobbing about like buoys at sea. Strangely mesmerized by the vision, Gabriel twirled the pistol, spinning it with the ease of a baton – stopping only to gaze down its throat. That slender chamber was a mouth into hell. Black, crude, infinitely bottomless.

It was an escape.

And he knew the release it offered would be bittersweet. The silver barrel gleamed with malicious intent, illuminating the engraved words de Laurent. Gabriel traced each letter with an aching heart. His gold signet ring, which he’d worn on his pinky finger since boyhood, shimmered like a beacon.

The wind moaned and shifted directions, plastering a damp forelock across his brow. A chill seeped inside his bones, numbing them to the marrow. It was a chill that had nothing to do with the piercing cold … a chill that was nearly eleven years in the making. The chill rooted itself much deeper than his skin; it lurked inside his chest, far beneath flesh and bone, within his very soul.

And he was drowning beneath the cold.

His pulse reached breakneck speed. Painful memories flooded his mind and body in one fell swoop –

A ring of blood encircling her neck like a macabre necklace. The sound of approaching footsteps. A storm of tears cascading down pale cheeks. The thrust of a blade. The caress of flames as they melt flesh from bone …

Gabriel tracked callused fingertips over his satchel’s worn leather, stroking the precious keepsakes within. The bag hung at his side, its strap draped across his shoulder in a viselike grip. A shiver traversed through his body as both eyes squeezed shut, remembering … reliving.

He longed to fade away, to simply dissolve into the darkness of his past forever. But there was no hiding – not even within the deepest shadows.

Sighing, he forced away the ghosts of his past and jolted himself into the present. Over eleven years had passed since that wretched time, and relief was finally in hand’s reach.

Now there would be no more pain. No more nightmares. No more agony.

There would be no more turning back.

Without sparing another thought, he slipped the pistol’s barrel between his lips, prayed to the God he’d never believed in, and deftly pulled the trigger.

About the Author

Rachel L. Demeter lives in the beautiful hills of Anaheim, California with Teddy, her goofy lowland sheepdog, and her high school sweetheart of eleven years. She enjoys writing dark, poignant romances that challenge the reader's emotions and explore the redeeming power of love.

Imagining dynamic worlds and characters has been Rachel's passion for longer than she can remember. Before learning how to read or write, she would dictate stories while her mother would record them for her. She holds a special affinity for the tortured hero and unconventional romances. Whether crafting the protagonist or antagonist, she ensures every character is given a soul.

Rachel endeavors to defy conventions by blending elements of romance, suspense, and horror. Some themes her stories never stray too far from: forbidden romance, soul mates, the power of love to redeem, mend all wounds, and triumph over darkness. Her dream is to move readers and leave an emotional impact through her words.

Don't be a stranger! Rachel loves to connect and interact with her readers: 

Visit Rachel's Official Website: http://racheldemeter.net
Stay in the loop with Rachel's Author Newsletter: http://tinyurl.com/rldnewsletter
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31 May 2015

Author Interview & Book Giveaway: Susana Ellis on BEAUX, BALLROOMS AND BATTLES

This week, we're pleased to welcome author SUSANA ELLIS with her latest release, BEAUX, BALLROOMS AND BATTLES: A CELEBRATION OF WATERLOO, a collection of co-authored works about the Napoleonic Era. One lucky visitor will get a free copy of Beaux, Ballrooms and Battles. Be sure to leave your email address in the comments of today's author interview for a chance to win. Winner(s) are contacted privately by email. Here's the blurb.

For Readers who enjoy a bit of history with their Romance… 

A historic confrontation 

Beaux, Ballrooms, and Battles is a celebration of the bicentenary of the showdown between Wellington’s “Infamous Army” and Napoleon’s Grande Armée. Wellington’s Allied Army consisted of a hastily organized mélange of inexperienced men from several countries who didn’t even speak the same language. 

A backdrop of war 

While life in Regency England continued much as it had been, the war with Napoleon was a constant source of preoccupation as young men who eagerly set off to become heroes in battle sometimes returned with life-changing injuries or worse, didn’t return at all. 

Nine stories of love tested by the trials of war 

A collection of sweet Regency stories of courage, hope, and the miracle of love surviving in uncertain times, brought to you by nine distinguished historical romance authors.


**Q&A with Susana Ellis**

What did you want to be when you grew up?

I liked school, so in elementary school I thought being a teacher might be fun. In high school, I found a book about freelance writing and read it several times and thought it would be wonderful to get paid for writing stories. When it came right down to it, though, I had to be able to pay the bills, so I became a teacher after all and put my writing dreams on hold for awhile. So when I left teaching and needed something to do for the rest of my life, writing seemed the way to go.

What is one thing your readers would be most surprised to learn about you?

As a Spanish/French teacher, I spent four summers studying in Spain, one summer in France and one in Mexico. I lived with one family in Santiago de Compostela for three summers in a row, and have hired the artistic daughter of the family to do the artwork for the cover of my story, Lost and Found Lady, when it is released separately. Living in another country is an experience that inevitably changes your world perspective. I wish everyone could have such an opportunity.

Tell us something about your newest release that is NOT in the blurb.

Catalina, my heroine, briefly considers becoming a nun to escape the tedious fate of most Spanish women she knew—marriage to a domineering man and a life of drudgery. She compares herself to the 17th century nun, Sor Juana de la Cruz of Mexico, who eschewed marriage to become a nun and have the freedom to study and write. Considered one of the most intelligent people in the country, she wrote in favor of women’s rights to education at a time when such views were considered sacrilege.

Is there a writer you idolize? If so, who?

I’m a huge fan of Diana Gabaldon and her Outlander series, to the point where I bid $600 in an auction to have lunch with her in Phoenix in 2013. I envy her ability to create characters that inspire the sort of devotion her Jamie and Claire have done. I feared that the television series would never be able to measure up to the books, but from what I can tell from the first half of the season, Ron Moore has outdone himself. And, in case you didn’t know, the second half of the season—in the U.S. at least—starts in two days!

Every writer dreams of getting “the call.” What were you doing when yours came? Who got to hear the good news first?

When I first started, I envisioned a long hard road to publication, so I didn’t submit anything the first year. Then some of my writer friends told me that submitting and getting rejections was an important part of the process, so I submitted my Regency short story, Treasuring Theresa, to the Cotillion line at Ellora’s Cave. Expecting months of wait time, I was surprised to get an offer for it in four days! The first thing I did was email my Spanish teacher friend Ellen, who called me during her lunchtime at school. I also emailed my friend Selene Grace Silver, who was the one who challenged me to write a short story in the first place. I was over the moon!

About the Author

Susana has always had stories in her head waiting to come out, especially when she learned to read and her imagination began to soar. Voracious reading led to a passion for writing, and her fascination with romance and people of the past landed her firmly in the field of historical romance.

A teacher in her former life, Susana lives in Toledo, Ohio in the summer and central Florida in the winter. She is a member of the Central Florida Romance Writers and the Beau Monde chapters of RWA and Maumee Valley Romance Inc.

Website • Facebook • Twitter

28 May 2015

Excerpt Thursday: BEAUX, BALLROOMS AND BATTLES by Susana Ellis

This week, we're pleased to welcome author SUSANA ELLIS with her latest release, BEAUX, BALLROOMS AND BATTLES: A CELEBRATION OF WATERLOO, a collection of co-authored works about the Napoleonic Era. Join us again on Sunday for an author interview, with more details about the story behind the story. One lucky visitor will get a free copy of Beaux, Ballrooms and Battles. Be sure to leave your email address in the comments of today's post or Sunday's author interview for a chance to win. Winner(s) are contacted privately by email. Here's the blurb.

For Readers who enjoy a bit of history with their Romance… 

A historic confrontation 

Beaux, Ballrooms, and Battles is a celebration of the bicentenary of the showdown between Wellington’s “Infamous Army” and Napoleon’s Grande Armée. Wellington’s Allied Army consisted of a hastily organized mélange of inexperienced men from several countries who didn’t even speak the same language. 

A backdrop of war 

While life in Regency England continued much as it had been, the war with Napoleon was a constant source of preoccupation as young men who eagerly set off to become heroes in battle sometimes returned with life-changing injuries or worse, didn’t return at all. 

Nine stories of love tested by the trials of war 

A collection of sweet Regency stories of courage, hope, and the miracle of love surviving in uncertain times, brought to you by nine distinguished historical romance authors.

** An Excerpt from Beaux, Ballrooms, and Battles: A Celebration of Waterloo**

September 14, 1793
A beach near Dieppe, France

“I don’t like the look of those clouds, monsieur,” Tobias McIntosh said in fluent French to the gray-bearded old man in a sailor hat waiting impatiently near the rowboat that was beginning to bob more sharply with each swell of the waves. “Are you sure your vessel can make it safely all the way to Newhaven in these choppy seas?”

The old man waved a hand over the horizon. “La tempête, it is not a threat, if we leave immédiatement. Plus tard…” He shrugged. “Je ne sais pas.”

“Please, mon amour,” pleaded the small woman wrapped in a hooded gray cloak standing at his side. “Allow me to stay with you. I don’t want to go to England. I promise I will be prudent.”

A strong gust of wind caught her hood and forced it down, revealing her mop of shiny dark locks. Tobias felt like seizing her hand and pulling her away from the ominous waves to a place of safety where she and their unborn child could stay until the senseless Terreur was over.

“Justine, ma chère, we have discussed this endlessly. There is no place in France safe enough for you if your identity as the daughter of the Comte d’Audet is discovered.” He shivered. “I could not bear it if you were to suffer the same fate at the hands of the revolutionaries as your parents did when I failed to save them.”

She threw her arms around him, the top of her head barely reaching his chin. “Non, mon amour, it was not your fault. You could not have saved them. It was miraculeux that you saved me. I should have died with them.”

She looked up to catch his gaze, her face ashen. “Instead, we met and have had three merveilleux months together. If it is my time to die, I wish to die at your side.”

Tobias felt like his heart was going to break. His very soul demanded that the two of them remain together and yet… there was a price on both their heads, and the family of the Vicomte Lefebre was waiting for him in Amiens, the revolutionaries expected to reach them before midday. It was a dangerous work he was involved in—rescuing imperiled French nobility from bloodthirsty, vengeful mobs—but he had pledged himself to the cause and honor demanded that he carry on. And besides, there was now someone else to consider.

“The child,” he said with more firmness than he felt. “We have our child to consider, now, Justine ma chère. The next Earl of Dumfries. He must live to grow up and make his way in the world.”

Not to mention the fact that Tobias was human enough to wish to leave a child to mark his legacy in the world—his and Justine’s. He felt a heaviness in his heart that he might not live long enough to know this child he and Justine had created together. He could not allow his personal wishes to undermine his conviction. Justine and the child must survive.

Justine’s blue eyes filled with tears. “But I cannot! I will die without you, mon cher mari. You cannot ask it of me!”

“Justine,” he said, pushing away from her to clasp her shoulders and look her directly in the eye. “You are a brave woman, the strongest I have ever known. You have survived many hardships and you can survive this. Take this letter to my brother in London, and he will see to your safety until the time comes that I can join you. My comrades in Newhaven will see that you are properly escorted.”

He handed over a letter and a bag of coins. “This should be enough to get you to London.”

After she had reluctantly accepted and pocketed the items beneath her cloak, he squeezed her hands.

“Be sure to eat well, ma chère. You are so thin and my son must be born healthy.”

She gave him a feigned smile. “Our daughter is the one responsible for my sickness in the mornings… I do not believe she wishes me to even look at food.”

She looked apprehensively at the increasingly angry waves as they tossed the small boat moored rather loosely to a rock on the shore and her hands impulsively went to her stomach.

“Make haste, monsieur,” the old sailor called as he peered anxiously at the darkening clouds. “We must depart now if we are to escape the storm. Bid your chère-amie adieu maintenant or wait for another day. I must return to the bateau.”

“Tobias,” she said, her voice shaking.

He wondered if he would ever again hear her say his name with that adorable French inflection that had drawn him from their first meeting.

“Go, Justine. Go to my family and keep our child safe. I promise I will join you soon.”

He scooped her up in his arms and carried her toward the dinghy, trying to ignore her tears. The old sailor held the boat as still as he could while Tobias placed her on the seat and kissed her hard before striding back to the shore, each footstep heavier than the last.

He studied the darkening sky as the sailor climbed in the boat. “You are sure it is safe?”

“La Chasseresse, she is très robuste. A few waves will not topple her, monsieur.”

“Je t’aime, mon amour,” she said to him plaintively, her chin trembling.

“Au revoir, ma chère,” he said, trying to smile, although his vision was blurring from tears.

Will I ever see her again?

He stood watching as the dinghy made its way slowly through the choppy sea to the larger ship anchored in the distance, grief-stricken and unable to concentrate on anything but his pain. When the ship finally sailed off into the horizon, he fell to his knees and prayed as he had never done before for the safety of his beloved. He remained in that position until drops of rain on his face reminded him of the Lefebre family waiting for him in Amiens.

With a deep breath, he rose and made his way to the nearby forest, where his horse waited, tied to a tree.

“Come, my friend. We have a long, wet journey ahead of us.”

Setting foot in the stirrup, he swung his leg over the saddle and urged the horse to a gallop, feeling his heart rip into pieces with every step away from his beloved.

About the Author

Susana has always had stories in her head waiting to come out, especially when she learned to read and her imagination began to soar. Voracious reading led to a passion for writing, and her fascination with romance and people of the past landed her firmly in the field of historical romance.

A teacher in her former life, Susana lives in Toledo, Ohio in the summer and central Florida in the winter. She is a member of the Central Florida Romance Writers and the Beau Monde chapters of RWA and Maumee Valley Romance Inc.