by Brenda Joyce
He went to do her bidding. Momma was napping and Amelia was in town.
Julianne could not contain herself. “Have you heard from Dominic? How is he? Is he alive?” she cried, trembling.
“I haven’t heard from him, Julianne, not since he said goodbye when he was leaving London.”
Tears arose. She had been worrying about Dominic ceaselessly and she cried so easily now. It was the child, of course. “Do you know if he is alive?” she managed.
Nadine slowly said, “Of course he is alive. If he were dead, we would certainly learn of the terrible news.”
Was she right? Julianne hugged herself. Because it was so cold, even in the house, no matter how many fires, she wore a shawl. She was beginning to show, just a little bit, but the shawl concealed her full bosom and protruding abdomen.
Nadine wasn’t looking, though, as she took off her gloves and coat, the hood fur-lined. Julianne took the coat and hung it on a wall peg by the front door as Nadine said quietly, “You really do love him.”
Julianne whirled. “I am so afraid for his life!”
Nadine inhaled. “I didn’t know what to think, Julianne, when Catherine told me about what you had done. I asked Dominic, but he wouldn’t discuss it with me. In fact, his reaction to my questions merely affirmed what I had already learned—that he genuinely loved you.”
“He hates me now.”
“I am not sure about that,” Nadine said softly. “But he is hurt and he feels betrayed. He was betrayed.”
Julianne did not intend to defend herself another time. She gestured at the chairs before the roaring fire. Nadine smiled briefly and walked ahead of her. Julianne followed. “So it is a good sign, that at least we haven’t heard bad news?”
“Yes, it is a good sign. It isn’t safe for him to correspond with anyone here.” Nadine faced her.
“Is there any more war news? I heard about the battle at Cholet.”
Nadine shrugged, and she was grim now. “It was a terrible defeat, but even worse, Jacquelyn laid siege to Granville and failed. During the retreat, his columns became severely extended. The stragglers were attacked by the republicans. Thousands more died.”
Julianne cried out and her shawl slipped from her shoulders. “I am sure Dom was in that battle!”
Nadine’s eyes went wide as she stared at her round belly.
Julianne stroked the hard contour. “It will soon be common knowledge. I am carrying Dom’s child,” she said proudly.
Nadine looked up and met her gaze, shocked. “Does he know?”
“No.”
“He must know—Catherine must know.” She began to cry. “Oh, Julianne, this is the best news I have received since Dominic left. It is wonderful!” And she hugged her, hard.
Julianne felt relief flood her. “I don’t know if Dom will be pleased—”
Nadine cut her off. “He will be thrilled. He loves you, in spite of what happened, and he will love this child.” She smiled. “My mind is made up. I am staying in Cornwall for the rest of the winter, so we will be neighbors. I will write Catherine immediately, inviting her to visit.”
Julianne tensed.
Nadine patted her hand. “She has to know, Julianne. Trust me, she will be pleased. This is the most precious gift you could give her.” Her smile faded.
And Julianne realized what she meant. If Dominic did not come home, he had a child to carry on for him.
JULIANNE STOOD AT THE kitchen window, staring outside. The day was gray and blustery, the trees wind-whipped. Beyond the barren front lawns and the pale drive, she glimpsed the frothing ocean. Yet she really didn’t see any of the gray day; instead, she saw Dominic, standing in the front hall of Bedford House in all his splendid finery. His eyes were warm as they met hers and she was holding their newborn baby....
“Julianne? You will catch a chill at that window,” Lady Paget said, taking her elbow. And her green eyes were filled with concern.
Lady Paget had arrived a week ago, with several bags. True to her word, Nadine had written to her, telling her about the child. Catherine hadn’t minced words when Julianne had first let her into the house.
“I am aware of your condition, Miss Greystone,” she had said, “and in spite of all that has happened, it is a blessing. I am here to mend fences with you.”
Julianne had been in some shock, enough so that she had been speechless. Amelia had rushed to the rescue, greeting Catherine, apologizing for the state of the manor, offering her tea and having her bags removed to their single guest chamber.
Catherine had brought Nancy and her own ladies’ maid with her, while Nadine called every day, often with her sisters. And the manor’s halls were suddenly filled with feminine chatter, warmth and laughter....
A routine emerged. The women would take walks together, then read to one another in the salon. The Dowager Countess would take up her embroidery when Julianne sat down to read the weekly journals or retired for a nap. And then there was the new piano.
When Catherine realized that there were no musical instruments in the house, and that Julianne had once played the piano, she had a beautiful instrument delivered to the house. It had been put in the great room, not far from the hearth. Julianne played every afternoon.
Her audience quickly expanded. The six women would crowd her as she played, while Garret, Nancy, Jeanne and their stable boy would stop their chores to steal into the house and listen. Soon, the Comte D’Archand began to appear in the later afternoons for tea, bringing his violin to play with her....
But there was no news from Dom.
Winter had arrived. She knew that the La Vendée royalists had never been resupplied by the British. Nadine and Catherine discussed the dire straits Jacquelyn was in constantly. They always did so behind closed doors, not wanting to worry Julianne, but Julianne eavesdropped shamelessly. Like her, they were worried about Dom.
It was so cold in Cornwall. Was it snowing in France? Was Dom on a frozen battlefield somewhere? Did he spend his night shivering in a canvas tent? Or was he immersed in espionage in Nantes or Paris, eluding the Jacobins and their agents on every street corner? Why didn’t he write!
“Julianne, I think it is time for an outing,” Catherine said firmly, interrupting her dismal thoughts. “We will go into Penzance for lunch and shopping.”
Julianne faced her. She had begun daydreaming almost constantly. Worry over Dom’s safety vied with her dreams of a future with him and their child. “I am not sure that is a good idea,” Julianne began, but she was suddenly intrigued. She had been in hiding at the manor, for what felt like an eternity, and she was eager to get out.
Catherine knew, for she smiled. “You cannot hide from society for much longer, my dear. And I will protect you.”
Tears filled her eyes. Once, Catherine had been her enemy. In the past week, she had become both a friend and an ally.
Catherine smiled and said, “I am going to go upstairs and change my gown. Why don’t you do so, as well? It will be a lovely outing, but we must dress warmly. Some social intercourse will be good for you.”
She knew that she had been standing at the window, thinking of Dom—and dreaming of him. Julianne nodded. When Catherine had left, she reached for the counter and leaned against it. She desperately needed to get out of the house, but what she really needed was word from Dom.
And an image flashed of her and Dominic, sitting together in the great salon at Bedford House, smiling warmly at one another, a little boy toddling about the room.
Catherine had forgiven her, and she couldn’t help hoping that Dominic would one day return and do the same. Still, she knew it was so dangerous to have such dreams.
She could hear Amelia and Nadine conversing in the hall. She was about to go upstairs and change into something far warmer, when she heard a horse whinny outside.
It was too early for the Comte to call. Julianne suddenly felt a chill tingle from the nape of her neck all the way down to the base of her spine. Dominic.
Sh
e felt him so strongly. Afraid she was losing her mind, she whirled. It had started to flurry outside. A big bay hack was there, the rider dismounting, his cloak swinging. His back was to her. All she could see was his dark hair, pulled into a queue beneath a bicorne hat, but she froze.
Dominic had come home. The rider turned and she saw him clearly through the window. It was Dominic.
Julianne seized her skirts and ran into the hall, then threw open the front door. Dominic was striding toward the house and their gazes met. He faltered.
She froze. But her heart thundered. “You’re alive.”
He had paused. “Julianne.”
And her mind came to life. She had betrayed him. He had left her. But he had returned from France and he was standing just outside her front door!
And then he started to run to her, his face a mask of anguish and determination. In that instant, Julianne knew she was forgiven. She rushed into his arms and he lifted her high and whirled her, then set her down and held her, hard. “Julianne!” he cried, crushing her in his arms.
“You survived!” she wept.
“I survived,” he said, rocking her. He kissed her temple, her hair. “Julianne, I have missed you so much. I am so sorry I sent you away!”
She clung to the lapels of his cloak and looked up into his eyes. She was shocked because they were filled with unshed tears. She saw so many shadows there, a darkness left by the war. “I have missed you, too. Betraying you almost killed me. I hated doing so, Dom, but I was so afraid for Momma and Amelia!”
“I know.” He took her chin, tilted it up and kissed her, hard and desperately.
And Julianne felt the depth and extent of his anguish then. She let him kiss her for a long, long time, so afraid of what he had suffered. She held his broad shoulders, while tears streamed down his face. But he did not make a sound.
She clasped his cheek. What horrors had he lived through? How could she help him heal? “I love you.”
“I need you,” he said hoarsely, in return.
“I will always be here for you.”
He smiled grimly. “So I am forgiven for behaving like an utterly selfish and self-absorbed aristocrat?”
“There is nothing to forgive.”
More tears arose. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I am so glad you are safe and home! Dom, please, I beg you—never go back!”
He searched her eyes. “I am needed in London, Julianne.”
Silently, she thanked God and any other powers responsible for such a decision.
“Will you come back to London with me? So I can court you properly?” He almost smiled.
She trembled. “Of course I will. But what, exactly, do you mean?” Had her brothers already spoken to him? Did he know about the child?
He smiled through his tears at her. “I love you and I must make an honest woman out of you.” He hesitated. Dominic was never uncertain, but he was uncertain now. “Will you marry me, Julianne?”
Her heart leapt. She had never wanted to hear anything more! “Have my brothers forced you to ask such a question?”
He started in confusion. “What are you speaking about?”
He didn’t know, she thought, stunned. Her heart racing, she pulled her shawl apart. He glanced briefly at her exposed bodice—and then his eyes widened and he glanced lower. Julianne took his hand and swept it over her hard, rounded belly.
“You’re with child,” he gasped.
She held his hand against their son or daughter. “Yes, Dom, I am carrying our child. I pray that my news is pleasing.”
He looked up, his green gaze glistening. “I have come home in utter despair. So many have died. They razed the vineyards…” And his gaze moved to their clasped hands, atop her slightly swollen abdomen.
No one should have to suffer as he had—as all of France was suffering.
“Julianne, in this time of dark despair, you are bringing me joy and happiness!”
She smiled as he pulled her back into his arms. He looked at her, his eyes still brimming with tears, but they were also shining with love. He said, “We are going to have to elope.”
She laughed. “I do not mind eloping, Dom, but everyone else might.”
He smiled. “Everyone else?”
Julianne took his hand and they turned. Crowded in the doorway were Catherine, Nadine and Amelia, with Nancy, Jeanne and Garret behind them. Everyone was beaming, even Catherine, who wept silently with a mother’s joy.
Dominic turned and took her back into his arms. “So I am the last to know?” he asked softly.
“You are the last to know,” she said as softly, her heart skipping.
He tilted up her face and kissed her again, but this time, slowly, deeply, with purpose. “Shall we elope before or after I take you upstairs?” he asked, smiling.
“After,” she managed breathlessly, new visions dancing in her head.
His grin was wicked. “Temptress,” he said softly.
“Rogue,” she returned.
Julianne smiled as he took her hand, holding it tightly, as if afraid to ever let her go. And as they returned to the house, Dominic was descended upon with hugs, kisses and a great many declarations and questions. Julianne stepped back, to allow him his reunion with his family. Her heart was filled with joy. Her body was filled with desire. And there was so much love.
He was alive, he was home—and he had come back to her.
He glanced at her and mouthed, “Thank you.”
And she knew she had given him the greatest gift of all—the gift of new beginnings—the gift of hope.
* * * * *
Dear Reader,
It wasn’t all that long ago that my publisher asked me to start a new historical series. My muse led me to the fascinating period of the French Revolution and the revolutionary wars. I was instantly intrigued by the politics and dynamics of the era. Spying on both sides was endemic! The British spent a fortune on their spy networks in France, they infiltrated the local police forces, and even tried to rig elections! The small radical movement in Britain was at first feared, and then repressed. And soon, the British began to truly fear a French invasion on their shores. What a great backdrop, I thought, to set a series of love stories! And so The Spymaster’s Men series was born....
I have tried to accurately portray the events of the period, yet do so in such a way that my reader is neither overwhelmed nor bored. One quick note—the Pantheon, where Julianne meets Marcel, was actually destroyed by a fire the previous year, and while it was subsequently rebuilt, it would not have been standing in the summer of 1793 as I described.
The story of the La Vendée royalist rebellion in 1793 ensnared me from the start. I have very loosely based my fictional character Michel Jacquelyn on their leader, the nobleman Henri de La Rochejaquelein. The rebels were not just dispossessed noblemen, but peasants and Catholic clergy, too. The rebellion against the new French republican government began in the spring of ’93 both as a protest against military conscription and secularization of the clergy, but there was also genuine outrage over the execution of the king—not to mention serious bread shortages and high unemployment. A series of surprising victories over the far greater French forces did follow, but as I described, the rebels were lacking in arms, food and other supplies. By the fall, this shortage was critical. The rebels were starving to death.
The British had begun to promise aid in the summer, but were distracted by the various war arenas in which they were engaged. Some sources claim that the convoy was supposed to rendezvous with Rochejaquelein and his men off Brittany (Granville) in mid-October, but it never came. Other sources claim no such plans were finalized, and Rochejaquelein besieged Granville in order to attain the port for a resupply effort. In any case, the siege of Granville was a disaster, and in retreat, his army was split. Thousands in the columns caught behind enemy lines died.
On December 2, twelve thousand British, German and émigré troops arrived off the coast of Brittany with supplie
s to join the starving rebels. But the rebels weren’t there—so they sailed away.
Rochejaquelein and his army were defeated on December 12 at Le Mans. And on December 23, just north of Nantes, his men were annihilated. A few thousand escaped in small groups incapable of mustering up a strong resistance. Rochejaquelein was killed in January of 1794. “Final Pacification” of La Vendée was begun then. Farms and villages were burned and razed to the ground; the residents of La Vendée, regardless of age, gender of political affiliation, were hunted down and murdered. The very last rebel band of six thousand men was finally wiped out in April of 1796. And thus ended the La Vendée rebellion.
The Spymaster’s Men live in dangerous times. Each hero faces death on a constant and daily basis, whether at home or abroad. As Dominic remarked, there is no honor in war. War changes everyone. But these wounded heroes can be salvaged, their souls saved—as you have just read.
I hope you have enjoyed Dom and Julianne’s passionate romance. I am looking forward to writing the rest of the series and I hope you will enjoy the soon to be told tales of the rest of the Spymaster’s Men.
À l’amour,
Brenda Joyce
ISBN: 9781459220379
Copyright © 2012 by Brenda Joyce Dreams Unlimited, Inc.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
