Historical Fiction
Date Published: August 15, 2015
April 1815
Rumors of Napoleon’s war plans spread across the French border into the Province of Brabant. The caretaker’s stepdaughter dreads the arrival of Napoleon’s soldiers with good reason...she knows their violent ways only too well. One fateful afternoon, Lisette is left in charge of the empty chateau. During the dark days that follow, a vow of revenge mars her efforts to make new friends and bask in the attentions of a rugged British officer. The three men she cares about face the battle ordeal of Waterloo. While fleeing the catastrophe of war, her every step is fraught with perils, brigands and heartache-
Lisette, a soldier’s daughter with iron will and a kind heart, refuses to surrender to hardship or vile threats... when faced with defeat by the past, she must find a way to protect those she holds dear and win a most precious victory.
Excerpt
The caretaker’s daily chore of
inspecting the abandoned chateau fell to Lisette whenever her
stepfather was absent.
Once this task was done, a few hours were
hers to spend as she wished; the prospect hurried her from the family
cottage with the door key and a workbasket in hand. Skirts held
aside, she crossed the wide courtyard under clearing skies, avoiding
the puddles strewn in her path.
Chateau Austerlitz, slate roof glistening
like a dark mirror after the noonday rain, towered above the estate
grounds.
A massive door of oak planks, studded
with iron brads in the medieval fashion, guarded the converted
fortress above a shallow flight of steps. The rusty lock, stubborn as
always, finally yielded; as the door creaked open, dank air rushed
past her cheeks. Out of an abundance of caution, she relocked the
door from the inside.
Engulfed in a dusty gloom, the cavernous
hall held a trove of tapestries, paintings and heraldic shields until
the summer previous. Faint outlines on the limestone floors still
marked where fine French carpets had resided.
Lisette hastened across the great hall to
the stone staircase, pausing now and then to sneeze into her work
apron.
Entering the second-floor ballroom, the
sound of her footsteps provided ghostly company.
The open space was empty except for a
carved trunk mistakenly left behind when the elderly Count Walbourg
fled to Vienna; the aristocrat was banished from Brabant when
Napoleon was exiled to Elba.
Fond recollections rushed from every
corner.
On many a summer’s night, lively music
from this grand room drifted across the courtyard to the caretaker’s
cottage and into the open windows of Lisette’s attic
bedroom.
During winter celebrations, logs blazed
behind giant andirons in the two fireplaces. Here, the Austrian
nobleman entertained his friends, the fine gilded panels brought from
Paris resounding with their gaiety.
Now the salon’s ceiling was freckled
with black mold, sad evidence of its changing fortunes.
Loud clattering arose in the
courtyard...the sharp echo of horse hooves raced through the empty
halls, a sound familiar to Lisette when she was a household servant
here.
Was the visitor coming from Genappe? The
narrow road past the chateau crossed the Baisy forest and led to
Brussels but was seldom used until the drier summer
months.
Thoughts in an excited jumble, Lisette
rushed down the stairs and crossed the hall while untying her work
apron, round wood heels of her shoes clacking on the stone
floor.
No one had ever arrived at the estate
when she was alone!
This morning after her family sped off to
Genappe, she felt capable enough but now her confidence
sagged.
Why had she not worn her best skirt
instead of the shabby one? Stowing the apron in the basket, she
checked her red knit stockings and white cap with trembling
fingers.
Lisette carefully turned the large key
and, opening the door a few inches, peered outside.
A military helmet, its metal badge
gleaming...a soldier!
Sparks lit her memory afire...the French
soldiers came to arrest her Irish father for desertion. Jabbing
bayonets in every hay-filled corner of the small barn, they found
him.
“No one is allowed here,” Lisette
said, studying this soldier in the courtyard from behind the safety
of the door.
His muddy black boots and splattered
greatcoat suggested an arduous journey; tethered beside the steps,
his dark bay horse was covered from muzzle to tail with brown road
slurry.
Before she could warn the soldier not to
come closer, he boldly mounted the steps.
“Bonjour, Miss Lisette.” His helmet
perched in the crook of his arm. “I am Corporal Grosbek, serving
His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Napoleon. Is Monsieur Pollard at
home?”
“What do you want with
him?”
How startling to hear their names spoken
by a stranger!
“Is not Monsieur Pollard caretaker of
this estate?” The soldier’s tone was firm but polite. “He is on
a list of possible suppliers for our regiment.”
“He is not here. Good
day.”
Grosbek sprang across the threshold,
forcing her aside as he said, “May I wait until he
returns?”
“My stepfather doesn’t allow
strangers in here!”
Ignoring her protest, the corporal loped
across the entrance hall to the drawing room like a haughty
fox.
Why was he so certain of himself?
Alarmed, Lisette edged to the open doorway, poised to run down the
front steps.
“I am not a stranger,” he said,
returning.
“I don’t know you, so you are a
stranger.”
“Monsieur Pollard surely knows our
family,” Grosbek replied, “as we have always lived in this
parish. In fact, you visited Wavre a few summers ago. We spoke after
Mass.”
“I’m very poor at remembering names,”
she replied, unable to think of a better excuse while turning the
matter over in her thoughts as if scrubbing potatoes.
After bitter arguments with her mother,
Lisette was sent away to visit a distant cousin in Wavre for an
entire summer.
That was three years ago...however, she
recalled fleeing the church hall to escape from a brash young man, a
pestering nuisance!
Could this be the same
fellow?
“I remember you were rude to me, Miss
Lisette, and hurried away as if I was a bore.”
The truth of his accusation stung. “You
are mistaken.”
“Well, it was a few years ago.” He
shrugged, adding a wry smile. “When does Count Walbourg
return?”
“His Excellency resides in Vienna,”
she replied, her pride in tatters, “and you may write to him there.
However, you should know...since leaving here, he seldom
replies.”
Lisette rubbed her fingers, recalling how
raw they were after days of packing every candle, pot and kettle of
Count Walbourg’s into straw-filled barrels and crates.
“Walbourg is an Austrian and Austria is
our enemy,” he said in a gruff voice. “We can take property or
anything else from enemies...or their friends.”
What kind of loyalty to a staunch ally
was this? She wanted to explain how Count Walbourg received the
former Spanish estate as a gift of France and later renamed it in
honor of Napoleon’s victory at Austerlitz.
Arguing with the soldier, however, did
not seem wise.
“Surely,” he said, eyeing the
staircase, “some useful articles were left behind.”
“No, my family watches over an empty
house.”
He tapped his boot toe in a rapid
drumbeat. “Empty, yes,” he said finally, “and not what I had
expected to find.”
While he spoke, she picked up the
basket.
Forgoing the search for new dampness in
the chateau for the time being, Lisette opened the front door wide
and stood beside it, always a hint for a visitor to
leave.
Grosbek agreeably followed her outside
and looked up at the Latin motto chiseled above the
doorway.
While she locked the door, he read the
inscription aloud.
“FORTUNA AUDACES IUVAT...what does it
mean?”
“I recall it translates as, fortune
favors the bold.”
He hiked his chin. “When my unit from
Paris arrives in this area, we will be very bold.”
“What town will they inhabit?”
Lisette slipped the chateau’s key into her hidden skirt pocket, her
mind racing with alarm. “Towns are the best place for billeting
troops.”
That hardship must not darken their
doorstep; she prayed he did not intend to bring his unit to the
chateau.
“I’m not allowed to say.” He
frowned. “We’ll forage to supply our regiment, possibly for
weeks. I thought we might store supplies here...but it’s too
damp.”
The burden of that terrible
run-for-your-life feeling eased; her common sense, having flown away
in fright, returned.
Relieved to be outside and thinking the
soldier was a reasonable man, she sighed inwardly.
After they went down the steps to the
courtyard, Corporal Grosbek glanced at his horse.
“I am traveling home from Charleroi.”
Pushing aside his greatcoat, he grasped the hilt of the short saber
at his waist. “May I water my horse and allow him to graze in your
pasture for a while?”
Olivia M. Andem lives in Southern California and enjoys speaking to book clubs, library and civic groups about the historic Georgian era that inspired The Hawthorne Diaries saga. She is a member of Romance Writers of America and is an avid reader and researcher of her English and American heritage. Aided by the encouragement of family and support of a Yorkie terrier, Harley-Girl, current projects include works of both romance and historical fiction.
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