by Regan Walker
“The buggy is the only vehicle that fits these narrow country roads,” he told her. “’Sides, I can drive the cabriolet myself so we can be alone.”
Freddie had kept her entertained with stories of his smuggling days with Joanna that had ended when they’d encountered the fierce Captain Jean Donet one night off the West Sussex coast.
“Was it very frightening?”
“Zack Barlow and I thought so. I was seventeen and Donet was about to be attacked by a revenue cutter. My sister was still aboard his ship when he sailed away. I didn’t see her for months and, by then, she had married him!”
It was afternoon when they arrived at Perelle Bay. The turquoise waters were as beautiful as she remembered them, the house equally as lovely.
Nothing had changed since the first time she’d been there except that now there were servants. First, Freddie introduced her to the stable boy who led the horse and buggy away. Inside the house, she met a young footman, who promptly carried their small pieces of luggage upstairs, a housemaid, and a couple in their middle years. Timothy and Martha O’Brien, Freddie explained, would act as housekeeper, cook and butler.
“If ye need anything, madame,” said Mrs. O’Brien, “just let me know. Yer bed’s been turned down and the chamber already attended to when we arrived a few hours ago.”
Zoé wondered what the woman meant by that last comment but decided not to ask. She would see it soon enough. “Thank you, but I think we’ll be fine for today.”
The housekeeper curtsied and shuffled her husband and the maid out of the room. The footman remained by the door.
“We may need additional servants as we go along, Pigeon, but for now, with our voyages to France, a skeletal crew seemed best. The O’Briens live nearby, so only the footman, stable boy and maid will stay the night.
“In other words,” she teased, “we’re practically alone.”
He returned her a sheepish look. “Well, yes, as much as is possible.” He offered her his hand. “Shall we adjourn to our chamber, Mrs. West?”
The day had already been full of excitement and Zoé did not want to retire so late she would immediately fall asleep. Besides, Freddie was looking at her in that way that made her knees weak. She placed her hand in his. “Oui, Mr. West.”
When he opened the door, Zoé paused on the threshold, surprised at what she saw. “Oh. Did you do all this?”
The red bedcover had been sprinkled with white rose petals, perfuming the air. On the pedestal table between the two wing chairs in front of one window looking out on the bay, a tray set with fruit, cheese and bread rested next to a bottle of wine and two glasses. In the fireplace, a fire had been laid, ready to light.
Freddie put his arms around her waist and leaned over her shoulder. “No, but I think I know who did.”
“Your sister?”
“Aye, Jo’s the only one who knew where our home is located.”
“Now that I think of it, she may have enlisted Isabeau’s help,” suggested Zoé. “The girl has been giggling overmuch these last few days.”
Zoé turned in Freddie’s arms and placed her hands on his shoulders. “I think it was sweet of them to do that for us. It will make our wedding night that much more special.”
He kissed her, taking up where he’d left off at the church. Raising his head, his brandy-colored eyes had turned dark. “If you say so, Pigeon, but as for me, all I need is you.”
Why she should suddenly feel shy, Zoé had no idea. After all, she had been the one to suggest he make love to her the first time she had come to this room. But that was before Tante Joanna had told her what to expect. “Perhaps a glass of wine and some cheese?” she asked.
He chuckled and walked toward the small table. “Of course.” He poured two glasses of wine and handed her one. She drank it down betraying her nerves then took a seat in one of the wing chairs. He sat in the other. “You have nothing to fear, Pigeon. I love you and I will be gentle.”
“I know,” she said, feeling like the biggest fool. “It’s just that what your sister told me sounded… painful.”
“Ah, so I have Jo to thank for this sudden reticence on your part.”
“She was only trying to help.”
He pushed out of the chair and came to stand in front of her. “Forget what she told you. I will teach you all you need to know, Pigeon.” He reached for her arms and gently pulled her up. “Allow me to act the lady’s maid, as I did in Rennes. Only this time, we’ll be taking off our clothes.”
She turned her back to him and kicked off her shoes. He loosened her laces. The stays she wore beneath her gown were not much of an obstacle and he adroitly removed them. “You seem to know what you’re doing,” she said, noticing he had draped her clothing on one of the chairs.
“Recall I grew up with two sisters, Joanna, who you know, and Matilda, whom you’ve not yet met as she lives in London. Growing up at The Harrows, it was impossible not to hear their conversations about a woman’s frippery and all they wore underneath it. And then there were my youthful dalliances.”
“Which we won’t discuss,” she said.
“Which we won’t discuss,” he repeated.
Once she was down to her shift, stockings and garters, she faced him, nibbling on her bottom lip. “Your turn.”
He smiled and pulled off his boots. His frock coat followed to be tossed on a chair. Then he untied his cravat and began to unbutton his waistcoat.
“Allow me,” she said, gaining confidence. “I am good with buttons.”
He laughed. “I’ll bet you are.”
She took her time, teasing him with each button. His intense gaze told her he was not enjoying the pace. “Oh, very well,” she said, finishing the last button. “Kiss me, Freddie, and make me forget everything but you.”
“Gladly.” He quickly unbuttoned his waistcoat, removed his shirt and drew her against his bare chest, slanting his mouth over hers. The kiss that followed awakened every fiber of her being and set her heart pounding. His warm skin under her palms heated her blood and his muscles flexing beneath her touch reminded her this man was now hers.
Eagerly, she opened her mouth to his probing tongue, experiencing the same ache in her woman’s center she had the last time he’d kissed her in this room.
He pulled back and stared into her eyes. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he lifted her into his arms and set her on the huge bed. “We’ve plenty of room.” She opened her arms to him and he followed her down to sink into the soft feather bed, half of him covering her.
“I have dreamed of this day, Zoé, for a very long time. We still wear too many clothes. I want to see you naked.”
“All right.” She wouldn’t have called what she felt just then fear but she did worry for what he would think of her body. With his eyes staring into hers, he lifted her shift over her head. She closed her eyes not wanting to see his disappointment.
“You are as beautiful as I imagined, Pigeon, even more so. Your breasts are perfect; your skin glows as if lit from within.”
She opened her eyes and nearly drowned in the longing and the love she saw on his face. “Now will you make love to me?”
“As my lady desires,” he said, grinning.
Her aunt had told her there might be little if any pain if her husband took time to prepare her. She had been right about that. By the time Freddie joined their bodies, she was half out of her mind with wanting him.
She awoke at dawn’s light, hungry and a bit sore from their night of lovemaking. Nibbling on cheese and berries, she curled up in a chair and watched him sleep. His auburn hair caught the sun’s first rays. She had always loved its color and imagined it threaded with gray. She would love him then at least as much as she did now, of that she was certain. How wonderful that she had married her best friend.
“Pigeon?” came his throaty voice from the bed as his hand reached out and found her gone.
“I’m just having a bit of food. Are you hungry?”
“For yo
u. Come back to bed.”
“Is that my husband’s command?”
He rose on one elbow, trying to frown. “No, ’tis the wish of the man who loves you beyond reason.”
She was certain he was teasing her but with his bare chest rising just above the sheet, he was quite irresistible. The thought of cuddling into his warm body, of hearing again how he’d waited for her for so long, was too enticing. Freddie made her feel precious.
“In that case, the woman who loves you is coming with breakfast.” She picked up the tray and walked toward him and her destiny. Reaching the bed, she set the tray on the bedcover. “Did you want to eat now or later?”
“Later,” he said, pulling her onto the bed. “Much later.”
Epilogue
St Peter Port, 16 October 1802
Freddie lifted his gaze to the night sky where six rockets shrieked as they climbed upward only to burst with a loud boom, becoming fiery blossoms of blue, red and green. Cheers of delight rose up from their three boys jumping up and down on the Donets’ front lawn. Pax stood nearby keeping a watchful eye on the boys who adored him.
“Oohs” and “ahhs” sounded from the guests invited to witness the spectacle celebrating the Treaty of Amiens ending the war between England and France.
Another rocket fired, this one exploding into the form of a willow tree, its golden branches sparkling in the dark canvas above them like glistening stars. The glorious sight was received by silent awe before exuberant applause erupted.
Their oldest boy, Willy, clapped his small hands together, shouting, “Do it again!”
His younger brother, Charlie, followed suit. “Pax, tell them to do it again!”
Their youngest, two-year-old Tommy, took Joanna’s hand, his eyes glued to the sky.
Freddie tightened his arm around Zoé’s shoulder and pulled her close to kiss her temple. “Like you, Pigeon, ’twas worth the wait to see fireworks exploding over Guernsey.”
She turned into his kiss as she always did, as responsive now as when they were first wed. “I never thought the war with England would go on for so long, especially after Napoleon ended the battles in the Vendée two years ago.”
“Pitt cannot like the peace he has bought,” said Freddie. “Napoleon is not known for keeping his word. Nevertheless, I expect my fellow Britons will again be flocking to Paris. Perhaps your uncle will want to go and we might sail with him.”
A series of fireworks launched into the sky and, with a great boom, broke into hundreds of small whirling stars.
“That reminds me,” said Zoé, “I just received a letter from the princesse d’Hénin that I’ve not yet shared with you. She has already returned to Paris.”
“Taking advantage of Napoleon’s amnesty, I presume.”
Zoé shook her head. “Actually, she arrived in Paris before he signed it.”
Freddie thought of the woman Zoé had helped to flee to England years ago. “Perhaps we might visit her.”
“She would like that.”
More rockets were sent skyward in rapid succession, hissing, whistling and crackling as the night sky filled with light and bursts of vivid colors. “A fitting finale,” said Zoé. “I do hope it doesn’t give the boys nightmares.”
“Come, mon amour, let us gather our chicks and put them to bed so we can indulge in some of that champagne your uncle and Émile Bequel have begun sampling.”
Scooping up his two oldest boys to their disappointed groans, Freddie followed Zoé into the house. Young Tommy was already dozing in her arms.
The peace might not last but Freddie was a contented man.
Author’s Note
The Reign of Terror
Maximilien de Robespierre was the mastermind of the Reign of Terror, which took place from September 1793 to the end of July 1794. He was the leader of the Committee of Public Safety, the executive committee of the National Convention and, in 1794, the most powerful man in France. In explaining how terror would lead to a “Republic of Virtue” in a speech to the National Convention, he said,
If the spring of popular government in time of peace is virtue, the springs of popular government in revolution are at once virtue and terror: virtue, without which terror is fatal; terror, without which virtue is powerless. Terror is nothing other than justice, prompt, severe, inflexible.
In his haste to end all opposition to the revolution, he made sure laws were passed providing that anyone suspected of treason could be arrested and executed. He closed all provincial courts so that trials were held at the Revolutionary Tribunal in Paris. When Parisian jails overflowed with suspects, the process was speeded up, partly by ending the need for witnesses and any defense. The only punishment the tribunal could administer was death.
Thousands of people were executed, including not only Marie Antoinette, King Louis XVI and many of Robespierre’s political rivals, but also nobles, clergy, bourgeoisie and peasants. Half a million Frenchmen were imprisoned or placed under house arrest during the Terror. Over forty percent of the death sentences carried out during the Terror took place in the Vendée.
Robespierre fell from power on July 27, 1794, a year to the day after entering the Committee of Public Safety. He and many of his close associates met the guillotine on the next day. With his demise, the Terror ended, though the blot on France’s history remains.
Ironically, while the revolutionaries wanted no king, after having their fill of murder and bloodshed, they accepted Napoleon as emperor and eventually welcomed back the Bourbons to the French throne. If you’d like to read one of my stories set in England and France after the Bourbons return, you might like Racing with the Wind, book 1 in the Agents of the Crown series.
The Émigrés
With the storming of the Bastille on July 14, 1789, French émigrés began flowing into London and other parts of Europe in successive waves that became a tide of emigration. (The number is believed to be one hundred and sixty thousand.) In January 1792, the leaders of the revolution declared all of the émigrés to be traitors to France. Their property and titles were confiscated and the monarchy abolished.
The murders of September 1792, mentioned in my story, left an indelible impression. The victims of the slaughter included anyone the revolutionaries claimed might join an invading force. In reality, that was merely an excuse to get rid of those who disagreed with them. One of the most savagely treated victims was Princesse de Lamballe, the friend of Marie Antoinette who returned to France to be with the queen in her hour of need. Madame de Lamballe was stripped, raped, stabbed, her breasts cut off and the rest of her body mutilated. After she was dead, one of the assassins ripped out her heart and ate it while another stuck her head on a pike and paraded it under Marie Antoinette’s window. Such was the evil of those times.
Before 1792, the émigrés were mostly of the nobility. Those who had ties to England were welcomed into London Society. After the horrors of the September Massacres, the wave of those fleeing France included clergy and refugees of the lower classes. (This is one reason why the family of Lady Mary Campbell in Racing with the Wind has a French pastry cook.)
With Britain’s entry into the war with France in 1793, England opened her arms to the émigrés. London became an important destination for those seeking refuge. The comte de Provence spent twenty-three years in exile, some of them in England. In 1814, he returned to France to reign as Louis XVIII. The comte d’Artois, younger brother of Louis XVI, a character in Echo in the Wind, also spent many years in exile in England. Eventually, he returned to France to become King Charles X in 1824.
Anti-Catholic Persecution
During the Reign of Terror in 1794, the anti-Catholic persecution in France was fierce. Many nuns and priests were sent to the guillotine for refusing to repudiate their faith. In 1792, when the National Assembly called for the suppression of religious communities and the evacuation of pious houses, the Ursulines of Saint-Denis, who you will remember from To Tame the Wind, settled their debts and left the convent. Out of
some 10,000 Ursulines living in France at the time, about 1,000 were jailed and thirty-eight guillotined.
The War in the Vendée
The War in the Vendée was, until recently, denied by the French government and not taught in French schools. Yet it was the first “total war” in modern history, in which men, women and children were involved. It was also the first modern war that saw regular troops beaten by mostly unarmed peasants. As I researched this part of the revolution, I kept thinking the Vendéens and their brothers, the Chouans, were like America’s Minutemen who fought the British troops.
The Vendée was a poor rural region inhabited by peasants, impoverished aristocrats, petite bourgeoisie and poor priests. The social inequalities were less marked there than elsewhere in France. The people were loyal to their king and to the Church. Many of the priests came from Vendéen families. When both king and priests were denied them and a conscription of 300,000 demanded by Paris, they rose in rebellion.
The Vendéens fought on after their young general Henri de la Rochejaquelein was killed in January of 1794. But the revenge of the Committee of Public Safety on their defiance would be terrible. A quarter of a million royalists were slaughtered, including women and children in a campaign bordering on genocide.
Napoleon Bonaparte had great respect for the Vendéens. He called their war “le combat des géants”, the fight of the giants. He understood they fought for the preservation of their liberty and freedom of religion. In November 1799, when he seized power in a coup d’état, he immediately began talks with the Vendéen religious leader, the abbé Bernier, and set about repairing relations with the Church. Napoleon was no fool and realized if he was to be accepted as emperor one day, he must have the backing of the Church. By December, full rights of worship were restored, not only in the Vendée, but in the whole of France. Church bells rang once again.
The Isle of Guernsey
After Jean Donet’s marriage to Lady Joanna West in Echo in the Wind, he built a home for them on Guernsey where, with excursions into Lorient and Saintonge, they raised his orphaned niece, Zoé Ariane Donet, and had a child of their own, Jean-Jacques Henri Donet, who insists on being called “Jack”. Guernsey remained their home during the revolution. Donet’s vineyards in Saintonge and his home in Lorient were being kept for him by others, much like his townhouse in Paris. Jack was heir to his father’s title and lands, as you will see in Rogue’s Holiday, book 5 of the Agents of the Crown series, set in England in 1820.