Smuggling of goods during the wars with Napoleon was an extremely profitable business. After the little emperor’s defeat at Waterloo, French goods were once more legally imported to the United Kingdom and smugglers struggled to prosper.
After Napoleon’s defeat, the French Bourbon King Louis XVIII ascended the throne. This younger brother of the guillotined Louis XVI assumed the role of monarch and did indeed invite French noblemen to return to their estates. Of course, there were caveats. Those who had supported the Revolution or Napoleon Bonaparte in any overt manner were not welcomed. French aristocrats did flee the horrors of the revolutionaries. Many ran to the United Kingdom. So many emigrated that the British populace began to fear those bearing French names. As Neville Vaughn learns in The Viscount’s Only Love, many were suspected of being spies for the French governments. Neville Vaughn is well aware of these issues and is naturally wary of assuming ownership of an estate where he’d have sway over Frenchmen who might mistrust him or even hurt him.
Panorama of inner courtyard of Blois, showing different architectural styles.
After the Bourbons were restored in 1815, many French peasants rioted and refused to accept the return and hegemony of their previous lords. We know too that many welcomed their seigneurs home. But not many returned. During the Revolution, historians estimate the total number of aristocrats who left were 16,000. Approximately 1300 were executed. After the wars and the murder of so many of them, approximately one-third returned. As the decades wore on, the old nobility and Napoleon’s intermarried.
Drawing Room, Chateau Villandry, Loire
One revealing study of the causes of the revolution is, as Neville learns from his steward Duroc, the size of the peasants’ land holdings were very small. Poor production and high taxes meant many had starved under the ancien regime. Granting them larger holdings meant they were better able to sustain themselves.
On a note of fashion, that hat that Neville buys for Delphine in Paris may have actually been purchased on the Rue de Rivoli. Napoleon Bonaparte had ordered the creation of the pavilions along this avenue long before his nephew the next emperor of France hired Baron Haussmann to reconfigure Paris streets and buildings. Shopkeepers did operate there, loving the proximity to the Louvre. And that hat box? Yes, indeed, it most likely was made of cardboard and stenciled paper! Bound with a big ribbon, the gift would have been one any woman would love.
Azay-le-Rideau, Val de Loire
My Chateau de Valerie in The Viscount’s Only Love is a fiction. Yet it is a composite of many I’ve visited in the Loire Valley, north to Vaux le Vicomte, Reims, Compiegne and Chantilly. The limestone of the Val de Loire, tuffeau stone, is a gorgeous white stone that glistens in the sun. King Francis I authorized the renovation or building of so many, including the cavernous, chilly Chambord and the complicated Blois, that it is no surprise his efforts bankrupted his country. Yet he did indeed influence the architecture and many of the period chateaux bear his comfortable style of furnishings as well as his mark, the salamander.
Stained glass windows, Throne Room, Chateau Amboise
In the Chateau de Valerie, you see Diane de Poitiers’ serene Chenonceau as it seems to float upon the River Cher. You read my admiration of the charming livable rooms of medieval Azay-le-Rideau and also the cozy boudoir of Empress Josephine’s Malmaison. You see my delight in the stained glass windows and heavy casements of Chateau Amboise.
Empress Josephine’s boudoir, Malmaison, Paris
I urge you to learn more about these marvelous homes of kings, queens, mistresses and aristocrats. To this day, many are owned and operated by those who built them centuries ago. Those who own them today have survived, as we would hope that the descendants of Neville and Delphine Vaughn have, to cultivate the beauty of them for all of us to still enjoy.
Thank you for reading my work. I love writing and I hope I have brought you enjoyable hours of serenity and delight.
Cerise DeLand
Note well: All the photographs here are my own and bear my copyright.
For more pictures and commentary, please visit my blog, http://cerisedeland.blogspot.com
The Duke’s Impetuous Darling, Book 3
Prologue
April 1815
Brighton, England
"Promise me," Alastair insisted and faced the young woman he had loved since he was twelve. "I must hear you say it."
The wind off the Channel tore at Belinda's hat, whipping tendrils of her black hair around her pristine heart-shaped face. He brushed the strands from her large sky blue eyes and tucked her curls beneath the broad brim of her pink straw bonnet.
"I will carry it with me."
Her grandfather's old French pistol was her best defense against the smuggler and his aristocratic accomplice whom she'd accidentally discovered on this beach hauling ashore his contraband. "Everywhere."
She flattened her hands against the red coat of his Royal Dragoon uniform.
"Say it, Bee."
"Everywhere. Yes. I promise."
"And no more solitary rides at dawn."
She pouted. "You are mean."
"Practical! Your aunt's groom obliges you too much." He lifted her chin and peered at her with harsh intent. "You mustn't come here at any time of day, either."
"Another promise? Oh, Alastair. I must find him."
"No. You mustn’t."
"His Majesty's Customs offer a reward of three hundred pounds for his capture. Think of that! That's enough money to—”
"To do what, Bee? Put you and your sisters in a rented house for a year? Your aunt and her step-son, Griff Harlinger, are happy to support you."
"They may be. But I'm not." She frowned at the waves crashing on the stony shore. Her father's death and loss of his estate and good name shamed her. Alastair had comforted her soon after the man’s death. She’d mourned not only for the loss of her sire and her home, but also for the insult by two of her friends who had snubbed her in public. "Ask no more of me, Alastair. I've just promised to carry my pistol and you know I'm a good shot!"
He gripped her shoulders. "Good, if a bit too eager to save the day."
"Oh, please don't remind me how I hurt that poor tenant. I am plagued by guilt."
"My dear, you saw him from afar and thought he was a poacher. Didn’t you tell me he understands and forgives you?"
"Oh, he's just being kind, Alastair."
"Kind or diplomatic. The incident is done. He’s alive—”
“With less of his ear!”
“Nonetheless, you won't go riding at dawn and you won't come here and you will carry your weapon. We don't want you brought up to the Old Bailey accused of murder."
She gave a sad laugh. "They wouldn't."
In the secluded nook of the fisherman's stall, he did what he'd never been so bold to do in all the years he'd known Miss Belinda Craymore. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and drew her closer to him. From this vantage point, her maid Mary above on the cliff could not see them.
Bee came into his arms easily, willingly and he smiled at her. "You've done enough to identify this thief. It's his high-stepping friend we must be wary of. Men like him protect smugglers, my dear. They make the deals with merchants and take their cut. You've not just threatened the profits of a gang of smugglers, you've set the Shoreham Revenue officers on the nob who set him in business. You don't know who he is or who his friends are."
"I wish I'd seen more of him, but all I spied in the dawn was his bull nose and his belly in his fine pink satin waistcoat."
"That was enough. Too much, in fact." Alastair pointed toward the beach. "We don't see him here today. But he will clear the way for his gang to return. They'll try to run this coast again. We just don't know when. Take comfort you did your duty as a citizen. You identified him."
"Not so well that the revenuers could catch him," she complained. He heard her worry that the leader of the band of smugglers was still not captured two months after she'd spotted him here with
his gang.
"The Commissioners of His Majesty's Customs are not known for failure, Bee." He curled her close and she nestled her face into the shelter of his shoulder. "So promise me, Bee. One more thing."
She sniffed, testy because she wasn't getting her way. "Another promise? You're becoming aggressive, Captain Demerest."
"I am." He stroked her back. His leave short, he was to return to his troop in a few days for the campaign against Napoleon. But before he left he was determined to carry with him into battle the assurance that Belinda Craymore would be safe.
"I've already said I would not come. I so wanted to catch them and restore my sisters and me from my father's disgrace."
"I know you did. You gave Customs the best information they've had in months about those thieves and they value it. But it's too dangerous for you to come here. You'd expose your interest. Customs patrol the coast. Leave this investigation to them. I don't want you coming here looking for them. Promise me."
She gulped. "I did."
"Good." He raised her chin with a gentle touch. "Now the last."
"Very well." She put her nose in the air, tolerant but teasing him. "What?"
"All these years, Bee, you and I have been friends."
She parted her full pink lips in a mischievous smile. "Yes. From that day when you were fourteen and I fished you from your father's lake."
"I couldn't swim," he said with a helpless shrug. "I would have drowned."
She toyed with the gold braid across his coat. "You taught me to ride astride."
"So unflattering," he chuckled. "And now you ride at dawn that way and get yourself in trouble. It's one thing to mistakenly shoot a harmless tenant, my dear, but discovering smugglers and their conspirators is more dangerous work."
"But riding at dawn is the best fun. No one is about. The way the sun splits the darkness and spreads like sweet butter over a meadow. The way birds chirp and put joy in your soul." She dug her fingernails into the fabric of his coat, the way she'd nestled her way into his heart. "Oh, Alastair, you've brought me joy the same way."
He caught one ebony curl that escaped her coif. He tipped his head, his new helmet precariously top-heavy. "That is the finest compliment you've ever paid me, Bee."
"Is it?" she asked, her fair blue eyes clouded with distress. "You must have it now, Alastair, before you return to France. All these years, you've been safe in Spain in the worst of battles. Never a wound. Never an illness."
The rule never to speak of how lucky one was in battle prohibited him from commenting. But they'd never spoken of a future together, either. He'd never had anything to offer her. A second son, he'd had to beg his father not only for funds to buy his commission but also for his uniforms, boots and sometimes even to buy another horse, his other shot out from under him. For more than nine years, he'd collected his army pay and found it bought little more than his rations and his meager enjoyments. Only with the victories of Wellington's army had he earned hope of prize money that might afford him a life that might include a wife.
She was the only one he’d ever wanted by his side, in his arms, in his bed. He’d had nothing, not even hope he might survive the gory battlefields he’d trod. Now, close to the end of these wars, determined to finish off the nemesis that was Napoleon Bonaparte, he vowed to himself he’d live to see the end of all the suffering and conflict. But he heard her fear for him and sought to share his own optimism. "I will return, Bee."
"Come home, please, Alastair. We'll ride together at dawn."
"Oh, Bee." He wanted nothing more than peace and rest from the endless killing that left him sleepless, restless and often helplessly irritable. "After we rout Bonaparte in Europe, I'll have a promotion. In July, I'll have served seven years as captain, two as lieutenant. I'm due to become colonel. That will mean a raise in pay." His older brother's death ten months ago on the field in Toulouse meant he was now Viscount Lowell. But that title brought land long neglected. He hoped he might revive the estate’s production so that it might sponsor a decent living for him and the woman he adored. But his duty was to remain in the Army until Bonaparte’s defeat—or perhaps even afterward to ensure peace.
She put two fingers to his lips. "Speak no more of this."
"I must." Frustrated that she'd stop him from declaring for her after all these years of silently loving her, he crushed her closer. She fit him, body, mind, soul. "I will return and when I do, I'll ask your aunt for her permission for your hand."
She watched him, her brows wide in wonder. "Alastair—”
He cupped her cheeks. “Tell me you’re not surprised.”
“But I—” Her lower lip quivered.
“Tell me that you’ll agree to marry me because I lo—”
She put two fingers to his lips.
He kissed them. “You’ve always wanted me, Bee, as I have you.”
Her blue eyes grew fierce with outrage.
Shock rang through him like the boom of canon. She’d refuse him? He urged her closer.
“No, Alastair. No.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“But I am. I am! Don’t you see? I have no money. No dowry. My sisters and I live on Aunt Gertrude's charity. Griff’s too. I'd bring you nothing."
"I don't want money, Bee. I want only you."
Tears formed on her elegant lashes. "It's not merely money that prohibits us from marrying."
He knew her objection and her sorrow. "I don't care about your father."
"I do! How would it look that the new colonel's wife was the daughter of a notorious gambler and drunk? A bankrupt? No one would associate with you."
"My darling, Bee. This is His Majesty's Army where merit wins the day."
"Character, too."
"My character," he added. "And yours. And yours is sterling."
She shook her head.
"It is. Look what you've done to catch this Blue Hawker."
She shrugged. "He deserves to go to prison. Or be transported."
"You have a fine sense of justice, my dear. And I applaud it. But what your father did has no bearing on how I value you. I want you as my wife, Belinda Craymore. So promise to wait for me."
"I will wait. But you must do your part and promise me to come home."
He swung her up into his arms and whirled her about. For the first time in all their lives, he kissed her luscious mouth. "I promise you, darling."
Only two days later, as he boarded the packet to take him across the Channel did it occur to him that she hadn't agreed to his proposal of marriage. "You will marry me, Bee. You will."
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Who is Cerise DeLand?
Cerise DeLand
Cerise DeLand loves to write about dashing heroes and the sassy women they adore. Whether she’s penning historical romances or contemporaries, she has received praise for her poetic elegance and accuracy of detail.
An award-winning author of more than 50 novels, she’s been published since 1991 by Pocket Books, St. Martin’s Press, Kensington and independent presses. Her books have been monthly selections of the Doubleday Book Club and the Mystery Guild. Plus she’s won nominations and awards for Best Historical of the Year, Best Regency and scores of rave reviews from Romantic Times, Affair de Coeur, Publisher’s Weekly and more.
To research, she’s dived into the oldest texts and dustiest library shelves. She’s also traveled abroad, trusty notebook and pen in hand, to visit the chateaux and country homes she loves to people with her own imaginary characters.
And at home every day? She loves to cook, hates to dust, goes swimming at least once a week and tries (desperately) to grow vegetables in her arid backyard in south Texas!
Also by Cerise DeLand
Regencies
Lady Starling’s Stockings
The Stanhope Challenge, Regency Quartet, box set
Regency Romp Series:
Lady Varney’s Risque Business, #1
Rendezvous with a Duke, #2
Masquerade wit
h a Marquess, #3
Interlude with a Baron, #4
Christmas Belles, Series:
The Earl’s Wagered Bride, #1
The Viscount’s Only Love, #2
The Duke’s Impetuous Darling, #3 (currently in Nine Lords for Christmas box set)
Delightful Doings in Dudley Crescent Series:
Her Beguiling Butler, #1
His Tempting Governess, #2, debuts late 2018
His Naughty Maid, #3, debuts 2019
Erotic Regency Romances:
His Delectable Cook
Sense and Sensibility
Victorian Romances
Those Notorious Americans Series:
Wild Lily, #1
Daring Widow, #2
Sweet Siren, #3
Scandalous Heiress, #4, 2018
Miss Bereston’s Last Beau, #5, early 2019
Medievals
Swords of Passion Series:
At Her Service, #1
For Her Honor, #2
With Her Kiss, #3
* * *
Military Romances
7 Brides for 7 SEALs Series:
You Were Always Mine, #1
No Getting Over You, #2
SEALs Going Hot, box set
Burning for Nero
Conquering Zeus
A Long Time Comin’ (erotic romance)
Hard Drivin’ Man (erotic romance)
Contemporaries
The Viscount's Only Love: Christmas Belles, Book 2 Page 13
