*Gold Award-Winner in The Coffee Pot Book Club Book of the Year Awards 2024 in the Enlightenment Category*
Her Own War
Château de Verzat Series, Book #3
by Debra Borchert
Publication Date: July 14th, 2024
Publisher: Le Vin Press
Pages: 438
Genre: Historical Fiction
As Napoleon Rises from the Ashes of The French Revolution, One Woman Dares to Spy Against Him
Imprisoned for the crime of impersonating a man, Geneviève LaGarde fears giving birth in an asylum could be certain death for her and her unborn child. Desperate for her release, her husband, Louis, trades his freedom for hers and must join Bonaparte's army in Egypt.
As Geneviève wages her own war against the tyrannical general, she not only risks her own life but also those of her children and the four hundred families who depend on the Château de Verzat estate. Knowing her desperate actions could cause the government to confiscate the entire vineyard, she sacrifices everything to save her husband and protect the people who become her family.
A captivating tale of the power of love, hope, and courage, and the strength of community.
Hôtel Salpêtrière, Paris
November 1797
The jangle of keys made me jump up, smooth my cap, retie the rope at my wrists. My heart raced as I imagined Louis’s arms around me. God, please let him take me and our child out of here.
The door opened. A narrow figure with a sharp, slanted bonnet entered.
I pressed my hands against my chest. Where was Louis?
The door closed, and she stood with her back pressed against it. A cellmate? No, she would be dressed like me. A breeze blew in from the window, and the woman pressed a lace-trimmed handkerchief to her nose.
At first, I imagined the figure was Magdeleine’s ghost, but a spirit wouldn’t need the door. I swallowed against a building nausea.
“Louis couldn’t come today, so he asked me to visit.”
At the sound of Suzanne’s voice, I froze. Louis would never. I had to play her game, or things would worsen for me—and my baby. She could scream for the guards, claim I attacked her, and I’d be thrown in the dungeon—Louis might never find me.
She stepped out of the shadow, her blue gown shimmering like a stream in the gloom.
My hands reached to cover my head and, instead, I forced a smile. “How kind of you.”
She offered a package wrapped in a serviette. “He asked me to bring bread and cheese.”
No doubt she poisoned the food. She wanted me out of her way for good. I reached out, and she dropped the bundle into my hands.
“Please thank Cook for me.” I pressed the food to my chest, like I cherished it. “Won’t you join me?”
She shook her head.
“I will save it for later.” I placed the bundle onto my straw pallet, slipped out the rat tail I had hidden, and secreted it in my fist. “How is everyone at the orphanage?”
“Fine. We are all missing Louis, though.”
My heart lurched. Louis was busy getting me out of here. I drew in a slow breath to calm my rapid heartbeat.
She smoothed her palm over her lustrous silk gown. “He’s gone back to his courtier ways,” she swung her skirts, “dressing as one, carousing until dawn, and off again this morning.” She laughed. “He’s enjoying his freedom.”
I forced a serene smile while imagining clawing her face. Getting rid of me wasn’t enough for her. She wanted to drive a wedge between me and my husband. “That sounds like Louis.” I gave a false laugh. “He must know half the demimonde of Paris.”
She dabbed the handkerchief at her nose.
“Does the odor bother you? I’ll move the slop bucket.” As I picked up the bucket, I dropped the rat tail at her feet and placed the bucket in the opposite corner.
She straightened to her full height, still a head shorter than I. “You don’t have to wait eight months to get out of here.”
Every whore knew the eight-month term of imprisonment, especially if they had endured it. Had she? I imagined knocking her out, shaving her head, trussing her hands, and stealing her clothes, but that crime would send me to the dungeon or keep me in this asylum forever. I would follow along, but I would win. “Oh?”
She shielded her mouth and whispered, “They want women to populate New France. If you agree to go, they will forgive your crime and put you on a ship tomorrow.”
I widened my eyes, hoping I looked thrilled. “To North America?”
“When I leave, I will tell them you volunteer.”
My heart thudded. She could do just that. Why hadn’t she without visiting me?
“If you don’t volunteer…” she rubbed the silk cords of her reticule. “I’ll report Louis’s escape from prison.”
I gripped my rough tunic. “Why would you do that?”
“Are you really that stupid? I have wanted Louis since Magdeleine introduced us. I got rid of her, and now, I’ll get rid of you, too.” She smiled with self-satisfaction. “If you leave him, he won’t pine away, and he’ll love me.”
Rage throbbed in my arms. Shadows darkened. She reported her best friend—she murdered Magdeleine. My baby and Louis were the only things keeping me from breaking Suzanne’s neck. I wondered how I could make her death look like she had tripped and fallen. Sweat broke out all over me as I no longer suspected, but knew, the viper had me arrested and thrown in here. And she could send me across an ocean. If they took me, Louis would never find me. I had to scare her so much she would be desperate to flee and forget about volunteering me. I had to give her what she wanted.
“As I wish us both to live, I will volunteer.”
Delight flashed in her eyes.
“Oh! Be very still.” I pointed. “There’s a rat beneath your gown.”
She jumped and shoved herself into the corner, her feet pounding the cell floor. She screamed and screamed and screamed.
I bent down, plucked up the tail, and held it up. “There must be two, for one bit the other’s tail off!” I pawed at her skirts, searching for vermin. “Where’s the other one?”
She screamed louder, higher. Her feet ran in place.
An avalanche of screams from my fellow inmates careened. Hysterical laughter followed. My chest ached for the poor creatures.
“Are you feeling well? You are quite pale. Would you like to sit down?”
She clutched her neck.
“You shouldn’t stand there. Rats sometimes drop down through that hole in the ceiling.”
She jumped to the door and screamed, “Guard! I wish to leave!”
Like an echo, the inmates mocked her, their voices high and screeching. I wish to leave, I wish to leave, I wish to leave! The rattle and scrape of metal cups across metal bars added to the cacophony.
As her back was turned, I tossed the rat tail at her neck.
She screamed and shook her arms while her feet pummeled the floor. “Why does the guard not come?”
“Did he tell you when he would return when he let you in here?”
“No!” Fear elongated her face, making her look like a terrified ferret.
The laughter grew in intensity. “Did you give him a bribe?”
“No.” Her forehead creased in disgust.
“Oh, dear.”
She grabbed me. “What do you mean?” The feather in her hat trembled.
I shouted over the screams and laughter. “It is customary to tip the guard to ensure he’ll return for you.”
“I’ll give him a whatever he wants.” She gripped her reticule to her bosom.
She didn’t know they came every ten minutes. And I wanted her to be so frightened she’d forget to volunteer me. I shook my head. “That might be some time.”
She pressed herself against the door, like she was willing herself to pass through it.
“Don’t worry. The guard will come when he delivers the next meal.”
“When’s that?”
“Dawn.”
Throwing her head back, she screamed like a demented goose.
If I hadn’t been so terrified of her volunteering me, I would have enjoyed tormenting her more, but it was about time for the guard to arrive. I would make it look like I had summoned him. I motioned for her to move away from the door. She took a tiny step, allowing me to peek out the screened window. I heard a faint jangle of keys. “Monsieur, I have a visitor who would like to leave.” My voice was so rational, my fellow inmates did not repeat it.
I smiled. “He’s coming.”
As the key ground in the lock and the door opened, she flew, her feet slapping the stone.
I stood in the gloom, the dark cell closing in around me. I hoped she was too terrified to volunteer me. I wiped sweat from my face. If they did come for me, how would I get word to Louis? I stared at the rat tail. I might have to act so crazy they would deny me passage. Louis was at risk, too. But I didn’t think Suzanne would report him because she wanted him. She used my love for him to coerce me to volunteer.
I rubbed my stomach, trying to calm the nausea—and my baby. “You’re safe little one.” Louis, please hurry. Please. Get us out of here soon.
Château de Verzat Series:
Debra Borchert
Debra Borchert has had many careers: clothing designer, actress, TV show host, spokesperson for high-tech companies, marketing and public relations professional, and technical writer for Fortune 100 companies. Her writing has appeared in The New York Times, San Francisco Chronicle, The Christian Science Monitor, and The Writer, among others.
She is the award-winning author of the Château de Verzat series of historical novels (Her Own Legacy, Her Own Revolution, Her Own War). At her characters’ insistence, she published their recipes in the companion cookbook, Soups of Château de Verzat: A Literary Cookbook and Culinary Tribute to the French Revolution. She has cooked soups on KING-5’s New Day Northwest, and her recipes have appeared in Costco Connection and A Taste of France.
She is a sought-after speaker and presenter. A few presentations she delivers: A Journey Through the French Revolution, and Common Women, Uncommon Courage in the French Revolution. She has delivered marketing presentations to Women’s Fiction Writers Association’s Historical Fiction Affinity Group, The History Quill, and Pacific Northwest Writers Association, based on her book: Give ’Em Something to Talk About: Word-of-Mouth Drives Book Sales, A Marketing Workbook for Spreading the Word. She frequently guest-blogs and is a columnist for WFWA’s Write ON! Magazine.
A graduate of the Fashion Institute of Technology, she weaves her knowledge of textiles and clothing design throughout her historical French fiction. Her work has been honored with Historical Novel Society Editors’ Choices, Publishers Weekly BookLife Editor’s Pick, selected as a semi-finalist in the William Faulkner—Wisdom Creative Writing Competitions, Runner-up in the Independent Author Project (Historical Fiction), a Coffee Pot Gold Medal Book of the Year Award (Enlightenment Category), and has received many five-star editorial reviews.
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