The Duke’s Embrace by Erica Ridley

Author:Erica Ridley
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 9

Bastien and Eve swung their stools to the other side of the phaeton in the middle of the smithy. Morning sun poured in the open doors, bathing the all-black phaeton door with light.

It wouldn’t be all black for long.

In exchange for reducing the outstanding amount on a blacksmithing IOU, Bastien had managed to procure several different vials of pre-mixed paint from the local colorist, who was responsible for the bright cheeriness of the village doors and exteriors.

These weren’t precisely the right colors, but nor was Bastien precisely an artist. Or even sort of an artist. Luckily, the primary requirement was no more complex than the ability to draw a rectangle.

Eve leaned forward. “Which one is this?”

“This,” Bastien replied, “is the Tricolore. It became the national flag in 1790, the year after my family fled France.”

Although only distantly in line to a title, by 1789 his parents had become alarmed at the direction and frequency of the executions around them. They’d bundled up seven-year-old Lucien, four-year-old Bastien, and two-year-old Désirée, and came to England to visit Uncle Jasper until the revolution blew over.

“Did you never see it?” Eve asked.

“I did.”

In 1791, there had been a brief time during which his family thought they might save their lands. They’d traveled back for that express purpose, but winter slowed them, and their arrival was too late. Désirée was too young to remember the look on their parents’ faces, but Lucien and Bastien would never forget.

Soon after, their distant relation Louis-Philippe became the duc d’Orléans. But there was no time to petition for favors. Le duc d’Orléans was desperately trying to secure his brothers’ release from captivity. The revolution was ongoing.

So they waited for the right moment.

They should have stayed in Cressmouth. If they had, the whole family would still be alive.

“How is the paper coming?” he asked to change the subject.

Her face lit up, as she began explaining about the finished pages whose designs she was already setting into type. Bastien tried to keep his focus on the blue stripe, the white stripe, the red stripe, but no matter how hard he tried, his gaze kept returning to Eve.

He loved how animated she became when she talked about the words she wrote, and the emotions she hoped they engendered in her readers. She was already beautiful, but her enthusiasm and obvious joy made her even more magnetic.

She let out a sigh. “Am I foolish to hope I can mold the Gazette into something meaningful?”

“Not at all.” He finished the last stroke. “Sometimes hope is the most precious gift we can have.”

“I just want to be taken seriously.” Her eyes grew distant. “Then maybe I could stop bad things from happening.”

He put down his brush and frowned. “Is something bad about to happen?”

“I don’t know.” She bit her lip. “Bad things always happen.”

Bastien tilted his head. He’d been immersed in his own loss and the repercussions of tragedy for so long that he hadn’t stopped to consider that other people suffered loss, too. People like Eve.

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