Château de Verzat Series
Her Own Legacy
Her Own Revolution
by Debra Borchert
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.
Her Own Revolution
Paris, July 30, 1794
Geneviève attempts to escape arrest
At dawn, I brushed the white dust from my skirts and peeked out from the cellar. I ran through alleys to the back entrance of the Châtelet, crept up the servants’ steps, crossed the hall to the clerk chamber, and stopped to gather my wits. Please, God, help me find the papers I copied. If I could present them to the Tribunal, they would be forced to release Papa.
I edged myself around the doorway and stepped back to see the clerks already at work. Instead of copying, they were sorting documents into piles lining a table before the fireplace where Imberton stood, straight as a pike.
Armand held up a paper. “Roland?” He lifted another. “And Delignon?”
Imberton indicated two piles. Armand deposited the papers and returned to his desk where a stack of documents teetered. I wished Armand had already sailed for America.
Denis, holding folders, called out, “Widow Capet.” Imberton pointed at the tallest pile. Denis deposited the folders and hurried to my father’s office. Denis’s twins were four now, and his wife with child. I hoped he would be safe.
Imberton noticed me. His face reddened as he pointed and shouted, “Guards! Arrest her!”
My heartbeat thundered.
“Guards!” Imberton shouted.
I ran for the servants’ stairs. My legs shook so hard, I careened off the walls as I clambered down the steps. Where could I go that was safe? The château, but I’d be stopped at the city barrier. I could no longer use my father’s name—the day I’d dreaded since the first time I used it as protection had arrived. The only way past the barriers was through the tunnels. My skin felt too tight, like it was suffocating me.
I stood panting at the side door. Once I opened it, I’d be exposed. But if I went through the side exit, I could make it to the square and blend in with the market people. I would have to walk past the morgue. The tunnel was dark, lit only by holes in the ceiling protected by metal grates embedded in the streets above, which I had stepped over a hundred times. I’d never traveled the passage, but I’d no better choice.
I wrapped my shawl around my face, took a deep breath, and ran. The moans from prisoners in the dungeon echoed along the stone passage. The air was thick with the stench of blood and death. I shoved open the wooden door, not caring who was on the other side. Stopping in the alley scattered with rags stained with blood, I wrapped my shawl around my shoulders and forced myself to walk calmly. I peered around the corner.
The square wasn’t much longer than the copying room. I inhaled, stood tall, and headed for the biggest knot in the crowd.
Rioters swarmed the arched entrance, raising pikes and screaming. Men and women wearing red caps charged across the square. A woman pounded the closed main doors. “Give me back my husband!”
I tottered and pressed my feet to the cobbles.
“Join your victims, you man-eater!” yelled a man, wielding a sword.
A rotund man, his beard and hair wiry and disheveled, bellowed, “Send Tinville to hell! Let him wallow in the blood he has shed!”
I fell back. They were screaming revenge against my father. I bent over, nauseated and dizzy. Clutching the building, I forced myself to stand straight.
A guard came out of the entryway and yelled, “He’s at la Conciergerie!”
The crowd of red-capped sans-culottes turned and flowed like a stream of blood across the square and over the bridge toward the prison. I could get Papa out, like LaGarde. I just needed men’s clothing, a place to hide, and a plan.
I forced myself to breathe calmly, descend the steps, and intermingle with the crowd, while trying to remember the tunnel entrance nearest the prison. The flower seller stood at the edge of the market. I headed straight for her and hoped I could make it without anyone recognizing me.
A powerful hand grabbed my arm, pulled me to the bulk of a man, his warmth penetrating my sleeve. I opened my mouth, but his other hand covered it. The square spun around me.
*Her Own Legacy is only 0.99 in the UK, CA and AU stores from March 5th – 15th!*
Her Own Legacy
Her Own Revolution
Château de Verzat Series
Debra Borchert
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.
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