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Her Own Legacy:
A Woman Fights for Her Legacy as the
French Revolution Erupts
Determined to inherit her family’s vineyard, Countess
Joliette de Verzat defies society’s rules, only to learn of her illegitimate
half-brother, the rightful heir.
Her Own Revolution:
A Woman Forges a Treacherous Path to
Save Hundreds from the Guillotine
If Geneviève Fouquier-Tinville had the same
rights as a man, she wouldn’t have to dress like one. A suspenseful page-turner
led by a renegade heroine whose compassion for innocent people leads to both
loss and love.
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UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B0B9KN1536
***
EXCERPT
Her Own
Legacy,
Versailles, December 13, 1788
Joliette
Meets GuillaumeMaman
guided me toward a man so old, he could be my grandpapa. My arms tensed. She
could not possibly think that old man appropriate.
Papa
strode toward us. “May I have your first dance, ma princesse?”
Relief
washed through me.
Maman
frowned. “Bring her right back. She has many introductions.”
He
took my hand and led me toward a group of dancers.
“Merci, Papa,” I whispered.
He winked, led me to the lead
position, and danced me about the Galerie.
As the lead couple, we whirled with and between the dancers. Papa’s warm smile
and strong leading steps relaxed me, and I enjoyed myself. He led me to greet
the last couple. I turned to offer my hand to the next gentleman and his green
eyes—bright as grapevines during bud break—startled me.
I forgot the movement and faltered.
I searched to locate Maman. Had she seen? She would have me dancing twelve
hours a day after this.
Without missing a beat, he rescued
my wayward hand and adroitly led it to its next position. My hands grew moist
inside my gloves. His steps and arms were strong, like Papa’s, but dancing with
Papa had not made me breathless. The mirrors spun shards of light as he led me
through the twisting rosettes. I dizzied as he returned me to Papa.
Perspiration coated my face, and I fluttered my fan to dry it.
The man wore a frock coat and
breeches of pale lavender silk with tiny bouquets of violets—so delicate and
fine I expected them to have a scent—embroidered along his cuffs and hem. His
ensemble resembled that of our King, yet the silk puckered beneath the
embroidery—the fabric was inferior. He was working hard to fit in at Court, yet
every courtier would notice his black shoes—without red heels. He had not been
presented.
The allemande at an end, he turned to my father and bowed deeply.
He unfurled from his bow and straightened to Papa’s height. “Comte de Verzat, I
believe you are acquainted with my father, the Baron Pricaud?”
Papa’s eyebrow rose. “Ah…oh, yes,
you are…?”
“Guillaume Pricaud.” He bowed,
again. “It is an honor to meet the man who produces the finest wines in France,
if not the world, Monsieur le Comte.”
Finest in the world? I leaned
closer. The sounds of conversations, laughter, music all faded. His eau de Cologne smelled woodsy with a
hint of lime.
Papa gave a tight smile. “May I
present my daughter, Mademoiselle Joliette de Verzat?”
He bowed. My hand, of its own
accord, sought his. As he held my fingers, his lips brushed my hand ever so
gently. Damned protocol requiring gloves.
“Your mother’s beauty shines from
within you, Mademoiselle.”
Words sat in my mouth like melting chocolate. I was supposed to thank
him, but I could not summon a word. I held the fingers his lips had caressed.
“You
remember my father, Comte?”
“We
knew each other many years ago, when we were your age.”
Pricaud
reached into his frock coat and withdrew a thick blue leather purse. “He asked
me to deliver this.” With both his hands, he held it out to Papa. “My father
wishes me to express his humble gratitude for your patience.”
Papa
put up his hands. “Eh…that was so long ago. All is forgotten.”
“Not
by my father.” He continued to present the purse.
Why
did Papa refuse him? Pricaud’s demeanor, his manners, his tenacity, all
impeccable. Neither of my parents could find fault with Pricaud. Nor could I.
He never glanced at the emeralds at my neck. He knew of the Verzat legacy. Why
had I not seen him at Court before?
“There
is no need.” Papa shook his head.
Maman’s
skirts brushed against mine. “Pardon, Monsieur.”
Pricaud
withdrew the purse and dropped into a deep bow.
Maman
inserted herself between me and Monsieur Pricaud, but she did not extend her
hand. “My daughter and I have been summoned by the Queen.” She held my elbow
and drew me away. “Forgive us, please.”
Debra’s the author of the Château de Verzat
series that follows headstrong and independent women and the four-hundred loyal
families who protect a Loire Valley château and vineyard, and its legacy of
producing the finest wines in France during the French Revolution.
Her Own
Legacy published 2022,
Her Own Revolution published 2023, and
Her
Own War will be published in 2024. A passionate cook, she also wrote a
companion cookbook to the series:
Soups of Château de Verzat, A Culinary
Tribute to the French Revolution, 2023.
A graduate of the Fashion Institute of
Technology, she weaves her knowledge of textiles and clothing design throughout
her historical fiction. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her family and
standard poodle, named after a fine French Champagne.
Author Links:
