and dedicated to the Révolution. He was clearly comfortable in their surroundings, but to Scarlett it was all a foreign world, where crystal glasses clinked in toasts, where dish upon dish was served by a man dressed as richly as any of those seated. Where she watched the others to learn what to do, which elegant fork to raise, when to dip her fingers into the silver bowl of gleaming water, when to laugh.
She knew Daniel saw her ineptitude, but he didn’t regard it with any care. Instead he would motion to her when to lift her cloth napkin and dab at her lips, when to lift her glass for another toast.
To the Republic!
It was their cheering cry. She turned to him and whispered the unspeakable. “What do you want . . . the Republic?”
He could have disparaged such naiveté. Instead, he leaned in and whispered something that she hadn’t known could ring throughout her entire being. “Freedom.”
After the meal they took a walk through the garden of the estate. Daniel left his place in the parlor with the other men as up-and-coming speaker and thinker to take her aside and explain the way of the world outside of Carcassonne.
“But how will you overcome the Crown? The king? Is not such thinking treason?”
“Treason is now siding
with
the king. The Republic believes the king is treasonous to his country. The royal debt, the taxes on the poor, the oppression of a splendorous, decadent crown. They live on their next whim whilst the people starve.”
Scarlett nodded. She had seen the suffering. After her father, a mason worker and jack-of-all-trades in Carcassonne, died, she, her sister, and her mother had suffered to pay the tax, selling many family heirlooms to keep their home. It was what propelled Scarlett on this search for a husband.
Daniel took her by the shoulders. “I plan to be one of those who ends the tyranny of the crown. Like my uncle, Maximilien, I will work for, and if need be, die for the Republic.”
The weeks that followed held that same enchantment. He took her driving around the city of Paris, showing her the sights and places like the indoor tennis court near Versailles, where the assembly had signed the Tennis Court Oath, and the Bastille. He spoke to her in that same passionate way that overwhelmed crowds and left them shouting and waving their fists in agreement. Her shouts were internal, but she knew when she looked at him, stared into his dark, sure eyes, she had become his greatest supporter. He held her heart in the palm of his hand; all he had to do was ask.
It happened late one night in her aunt’s parlor. As if some hidden signal had been given, their elders had filed from the room, exchanging amused glances that had only added to Scarlett’s nerves—and anticipation.
As the door clicked shut, Daniel took her hands into both of his. They stood there for a long, silent moment, the crackling of the fire in the background, her nervous smile framing the moment. Waiting . . . waiting for him to speak.
“Scarlett.”
She swallowed hard, her brows raised, and held his intense gaze.
“Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
Glee bubbled up and out her throat. She blinked back the happy tears and nodded. Suddenly shy, she looked down and then back up into the most beautiful male face she’d ever seen. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
She could feel the smile in her heart spread to her face. She laughed and placed her arms around his neck as he drew her close.
He held her for a long moment and then traced little kisses from her jaw to her cheek, stopping only for a heartbeat when he reached her lips.
At long last he lowered his lips to hers—and Scarlett reveled in her first kiss.
THEIR WEDDING CAME about almost overnight, and before she’d had time to take a real breath, Scarlett was Madame Robespierre. They’d moved into a comfortable apartment on the fashionable Rue Saint-Honoré, near his uncle, the most renowned member of the Jacobin Club and the
She knew Daniel saw her ineptitude, but he didn’t regard it with any care. Instead he would motion to her when to lift her cloth napkin and dab at her lips, when to lift her glass for another toast.
To the Republic!
It was their cheering cry. She turned to him and whispered the unspeakable. “What do you want . . . the Republic?”
He could have disparaged such naiveté. Instead, he leaned in and whispered something that she hadn’t known could ring throughout her entire being. “Freedom.”
After the meal they took a walk through the garden of the estate. Daniel left his place in the parlor with the other men as up-and-coming speaker and thinker to take her aside and explain the way of the world outside of Carcassonne.
“But how will you overcome the Crown? The king? Is not such thinking treason?”
“Treason is now siding
with
the king. The Republic believes the king is treasonous to his country. The royal debt, the taxes on the poor, the oppression of a splendorous, decadent crown. They live on their next whim whilst the people starve.”
Scarlett nodded. She had seen the suffering. After her father, a mason worker and jack-of-all-trades in Carcassonne, died, she, her sister, and her mother had suffered to pay the tax, selling many family heirlooms to keep their home. It was what propelled Scarlett on this search for a husband.
Daniel took her by the shoulders. “I plan to be one of those who ends the tyranny of the crown. Like my uncle, Maximilien, I will work for, and if need be, die for the Republic.”
The weeks that followed held that same enchantment. He took her driving around the city of Paris, showing her the sights and places like the indoor tennis court near Versailles, where the assembly had signed the Tennis Court Oath, and the Bastille. He spoke to her in that same passionate way that overwhelmed crowds and left them shouting and waving their fists in agreement. Her shouts were internal, but she knew when she looked at him, stared into his dark, sure eyes, she had become his greatest supporter. He held her heart in the palm of his hand; all he had to do was ask.
It happened late one night in her aunt’s parlor. As if some hidden signal had been given, their elders had filed from the room, exchanging amused glances that had only added to Scarlett’s nerves—and anticipation.
As the door clicked shut, Daniel took her hands into both of his. They stood there for a long, silent moment, the crackling of the fire in the background, her nervous smile framing the moment. Waiting . . . waiting for him to speak.
“Scarlett.”
She swallowed hard, her brows raised, and held his intense gaze.
“Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
Glee bubbled up and out her throat. She blinked back the happy tears and nodded. Suddenly shy, she looked down and then back up into the most beautiful male face she’d ever seen. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
She could feel the smile in her heart spread to her face. She laughed and placed her arms around his neck as he drew her close.
He held her for a long moment and then traced little kisses from her jaw to her cheek, stopping only for a heartbeat when he reached her lips.
At long last he lowered his lips to hers—and Scarlett reveled in her first kiss.
THEIR WEDDING CAME about almost overnight, and before she’d had time to take a real breath, Scarlett was Madame Robespierre. They’d moved into a comfortable apartment on the fashionable Rue Saint-Honoré, near his uncle, the most renowned member of the Jacobin Club and the
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