“Darling, don’t you think Laurence is a little young to take up knife throwing?”
Danielle glanced up from little Laurence, softly nursing on her lap while his tiny eyelids fluttered with coming sleep.
Her husband stood in the door of the nursery, watching her closely.
She proudly produced the toy wooden knife she’d made for their son. “There’s no such thing as too young, not with a matter so serious as this. Besides, have you felt how tightly he grips your finger? Best to start teaching him now. A grip such as that will never do.”
Gregory stepped into the room, all dark hair and intense eyes and strong shoulders. She sighed just looking at him.
He plucked the toy from her hand, and her sigh turned to a scowl.
“That’s what you call too loose a grip.”
“Not if you intend to throw it.” Which she clearly should have done, straight at her husband’s mouth to wipe that ridiculously arrogant smirk off his face.
He only grinned wider, as though reading her thoughts—something he’d grown rather adept at in the twenty months they’d been married. “I believe your little charge has fallen asleep.”
She looked down to find Laurence still, his eyes closed in slumber, and his cheek pressed softly against her. “I’d have noticed if I wasn’t so distracted.”
She lifted the ten-week-old babe up to her shoulder and patted his back.
“You do know that if you ever tire of feeding him, I’ll find you a nursemaid.”
She nuzzled her son’s downy head. “I know that’s what’s done in England, but I love nursing him too much to give the task to another.”
“Our neighbors must think you insane for taking the burden upon yourself.”
“’Tis fitting then. Our neighbors think you insane for marrying a Frenchwoman.”
“Touché.” He smiled faintly and reached out to stroke some hair back from her face. “You left your hair down today.”
“Not all day.” The staff would have been scandalized, though she’d yet to figure out what England found quite so scandalous about a woman having hair. “I let it down when I came in here.”
“Because?”
She shrugged. “I like feeding Laurence with my hair down.”
“I like looking at you with your hair down.” His eyes turned from their usual soft blue-gray to a dark smoke color. He bent to place a kiss on her forehead, but as he did so, his frock coat fell open to reveal a rolled-up newspaper.
“You brought me news.”
He straightened. “You weren’t supposed to see that quite yet.”
“What’s happened?”
“Our navy invaded the port at Copenhagen and destroyed the Danish fleet two weeks ago.”
“The British navy, you mean.” She would have teased him further about precisely whose navy it was—his—and whose navy it wasn’t—hers. But the somber glint to his eyes stopped her.
“Yes. The British navy.”
“That’s a foolish move. Now Denmark will surely fight alongside France rather than remain neutral.”
He handed her the paper, and she unrolled it to reveal a headline that stated precisely such: the once-neutral Denmark had officially allied itself with France and was joining the war. Beneath the main article, smaller pieces about France’s likely invasion of Prussia sometime before the year’s end filled the page.
She crumpled the paper into a ball. “Is it ever going to end between our countries?”
“It doesn’t seem as though things will conclude anytime soon, no.”
“I want...” What? To be free to visit her parents and siblings without being called a spy? To have Laurent back, to erase the six months Julien had been imprisoned on a British man-of-war before Westerfield and Gregory had found and freed him. To have no more fighting between their countries, hear no more insults hurled at “Frogs” when she spent a day shopping.
“Don’t be sad, darling.” Gregory cupped her chin, drawing it up. “I might not be able to stop the war, but we have little Laurence. We have God. We’ll muddle our way through the rest of it.”
She sniffled back a tear and smiled tentatively at her husband. “I know.” And she did. Somewhere deep inside, she knew. The world around them might clamor for one another’s blood, but she and Gregory had found a way to make peace between themselves and forge a life together despite two hostile countries.
’Twas a lesson she prayed the rest of the world would learn sometime soon.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from ACCIDENTAL FAINCÉE by Mary Moore.
Dear Reader,
I’m excited to finally get Danielle’s story into your hands! When I wrote the first book in this series, Sanctuary for a Lady, two years ago, I never thought I’d get to continue the Belanger Family Saga and share Danielle’s story with you. But here it is, the third book of the Belanger Family Saga! I hope you enjoyed reading this novel and cheering for Gregory and Danielle.
One of the things I love about the French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars is France’s belief in equality. In fact, that belief was the motto of the French Revolution, Liberty, Equality, Fraternity. As we look back at history with our own modern mind-set, we can certainly see areas where France failed to truly provide things like liberty or equality, but France had a dream of it. In the midst of monarchial Europe, the people of France understood the importance of equality and fought several wars to keep other European countries such as England from reinstating both a king and a way of life that had been terribly hard on the French commoner.
When I wrote Danielle’s story, I wanted to bring to life some of the differences in ideals between the French and English, which is why notions of equality and liberty for the commoner cause so much hardship between Gregory and Danielle. Many people think the French Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars were solely about land, but for the French people, at least, the wars were about liberty and equality. And looking back at this period of history, a part of me wishes that the French people had triumphed.
If you enjoyed my book, I would love to hear from you. You can contact me via my website at www.naomirawlings.com or write to me at PO Box 134, Ontonagon, MI, 49953. And thank you for taking time from your busy life to read Danielle’s story.
Naomi Rawlings
Questions for Discussion
How did the countries of France and England differ in their treatment of commoners?
What was Danielle and her family’s greatest fear if England won the war?
How do you feel about Napoleon’s system of secret prisons and methods for dealing with possible spies? What are some fairer punishments that Napoleon might have meted out for threats against France?
Do you think there are ever times when it’s morally right to go against a law? Give some examples.
What sacrifices does Danielle make to help Gregory and his friends?
What sacrifices does Gregory make in order to marry Danielle?
What types of sacrifices have you had to make in your own life? Do you think those sacrifices were worth the ultimate good you were able to do?
What does Danielle initially think about Gregory’s British nationality? Why does she have such hard feelings toward the British?
What biblical principles does Danielle use to counter this prejudice?
What does Gregory initially think about Danielle’s position as a peasant?
What caused Gregory to overcome his prejudice?
Where do you think prejudices exist in society today? What are some ways we can all work together to eradicate such prejudices?
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Historical title.
You find illumination in days gone by. Love Inspired Historical stories lift the spirit as hero
ines tackle the challenges of life in another era with hope, faith and a focus on family.
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Chapter One
En Route to London, 1817
“Oh, Grace, it can be none of our concern!” Grace’s younger sister, Lydia, warned softly. “I am persuaded it would be better if we did not get involved.” But Grace was already walking toward their parlor door at the Blue Swan Inn.
Sitting quietly over a pot of tea in their private parlor, Lady Grace Endicott and her sister had been surprised to hear voices from the next room come clearly through the inn’s thin walls.
“I tell you, Mama, it was Lord Weston pulling into the yard,” said a faceless voice in a tone of loud frustration.
“But, dear, what does it matter?” asked a harried older woman in response.
The first voice, more menacing now, drawled, “Really, Mother, must I spell everything out for you?”
Grace now had the two women pictured in her mind and she did not like the view. Would a daughter really speak so to her parent?
“My dear Charlotte,” the mother complained, “Lord Weston is rich, to be sure, but should you like to be married to him? He has quite a reputation as a rake.”
Charlotte snorted loudly. “What a singularly stupid question. Do I wish to be a marchioness with more pin money than you can even imagine? He must marry sometime. He has to beget an heir. Once I have provided one, I will be free to go my own way...with all the money I need to do so.”
Charlotte’s mother responded, “So you have a plan?” Then she asked eagerly, “You think you can catch him?”
“Mother, dear, I have a splendid plan,” Charlotte replied, her tone oozing with evil intentions. “I will happen to encounter him when he enters the inn. I will insist he join us. He cannot refuse to pay his proper respects to my beloved mother. When I bring Lord Weston here, you must rush past us, claiming that you are ill, and leave the room. I will keep the marquess in here long enough to be fully compromised.” She laughed wickedly. “He will be honor bound to marry me, and I will be very rich!”
That was the point at which Grace knew she must do something. She knew it was none of her affair, yet she would not wish such a thing forced upon an innocent person. She was appalled at the way Charlotte and her mother had spoken to one another. That they would contrive to trap a man into marriage went beyond her comprehension or experience. A husband at any price? Grace did not remember Society to be so avaricious in her own Season. She knew she and Lydia would never fit in with London’s ton if deception and plotting was the way of life there.
Lydia was so looking forward to her Season, the purpose behind the girl’s first trip to London, but Grace had visited the city many times and had always felt the people to be cold and calculating. She regretted having to leave her country home, even for a short while. She also worried that Lydia’s innocent and kind heart would be hurt by the cruel ton.
The best way to protect her precious sister would be to lead by example, through helping others in need whenever possible.
Grace would start now.
“Darling Lydia, I cannot stand by and allow such a malevolent act.” She walked out of their parlor, intent on saving this man from his conniving assailants. She knew she would appear forward to address a stranger, but that was a small price to pay if she could warn him of their intentions.
Grace need not have feared identifying the marquess; there was only one man and he was with the landlord. He was large, with the blackest hair, and he was obviously a Corinthian—as men of fashion were often called—based on the number of capes on his driving coat. With a short prayer, she walked up behind him.
“Sir?” she asked, summoning her most charming smile. “When you are finished making arrangements with Mr. Dobbins, may I speak to you a moment?”
As the most handsome man she had ever seen turned to her with a question in his dark eyes, she held out her hand, and indicated a small table centered in front of the benches beside the entryway.
The gentleman raised a brow and asked, “I beg your pardon?”
He began smiling lazily down at her, waiting for her to explain herself. But those eyes were awake upon every suit, despite his smile.
“Will you not sit, my lord?”
“I prefer to stand, I thank you.” He looked at her askance. “But I should like to know how you know me.” He leaned up against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “I admit I am quite at a loss as to know how I might be of help to you.”
“No, sir,” she said, almost in a whisper. “It is I who wish to help you.” As he laughed out loud, Grace began to seriously regret not listening to Lydia’s pleas.
* * *
Brandon Roth, Lord Weston, had no idea what was afoot, but he was enjoying himself immensely. When the tedium of the journey to London had initiated the stop at this inn, little had he known what awaited him. The woman before him was behaving in a peculiar fashion, to say the least, but he sensed no malice from her. He could not help but be intrigued by her plea for a private conference. They were in full public view, so he felt relatively safe from the traps normally set for him. Yet he remained wary.
“My lord,” she said, “I have overheard a plot to compromise you into marriage, and I wished to put you on your guard.”
He had not known what to expect, but he would have never guessed this! She appeared to be telling the truth, and he wondered at such innocence in one certainly out of her girlhood. “You overheard?”
“Yes. You see, my sister and I were taking tea in that parlor there, and the women in the room next to ours were talking quite loudly.”
“Ahh, an eavesdropper, are you?”
“Of course I am not...” She put her hands on her hips, frustrated. “You are making sport of me when I am trying very hard to be of help.” Her voice had a low timbre. He would not go so far as to say sultry, but it was soothing, even in the exasperation he caused her.
Brandon did his best to avoid laughing. He wondered whether she was coming from or going to London. Already he hoped the latter and that their paths would cross again in Town; though he supposed even she would lose her charm eventually.
“Very well, madam. Why don’t you finish your tale and we may proceed from there.”
She tried to explain to him about the conversation she and her sister had overheard, and she finished with, “I thought if I could get word to you before she appeared, you would be able to handle the matter in whatever manner you wished.”
He asked, “Did you by any chance catch the, ah...lady’s name?”
She turned red at his insinuation. “Oh, dear, it was Charlotte, I think. Yes, I am sure it was Charlotte.” She bowed her head, saying, “Godspeed, my lord,” and turned to go.
He could not think of a Charlotte at the moment, but truth be told he was not terribly concerned with her. It was obvious this woman was unaware of his reputation, but somehow, he thought she would have offered her help even if she had known of his well-earned title of rake. For the first time in a long time he was touched. Amused, but touched.
He grasped her hand as she turned away, and she looked askance at him over her shoulder. He pulled her back, to face him, and took hold of her other hand, as well. She smelled good—of lavender, he thought. He was still intrigued by her; he wasn’t ready for their tête-à-tête to come to an end.
“As a man too often in the presence of grasping and manipulative women, I apologize for m
y behavior to one who is obviously not.”
“Great guns! You are the strangest man I have ever met!”
“‘Great guns’?” he repeated, and threw back his head in laughter once more, squeezing the hands he was still holding. “What a delight you are, my dear!”
“Shh! I beg your pardon,” she said, eyes downcast. “I am not in the habit of having to watch my tongue.”
He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed them. “On the contrary, you are the most delightful and—”
A gasp from across the room broke the spell, and his rescuer broke the hold he had on her hands. She nervously smoothed her gown. Looking over, Brandon felt his smile immediately give way to a frown. It had never occurred to him the Charlotte she had mentioned could be Lady Charlotte Marchmont, one of the most outrageous gossipmongers in all of London.
The lady’s eyes were mere slits and her voice was insinuating. “Well, my lord, either you are being much less discreet, even for you, or it appears you have kept a budding romance secret from the ton. I wonder which it could be.” Apparently if Lady Charlotte was kept from carrying out the seduction overheard through the walls, she would, at the least, be sure of retribution. Brandon feared it would be directed at the perceived interloper. So here he stood, free of Lady Charlotte, but bound now, in honor, to protect this woman. Her reputation could soon be in tatters, if Charlotte Marchmont had her way.
He could walk out that door as though nothing had happened; Charlotte could spread any tale she liked of his actions; Society would forgive him. And there would be no penalty to Lady Charlotte for spreading unsavory tales, from a society that loved juicy gossip more than reputations.
No, the consequences would rest solely on the woman in front of him, who had done nothing to deserve them.
He had not expected the backbone of the lady before him as she retorted, “I am not a secret anything to this gentleman. And I will thank you—” she said, just as Brandon announced:
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