Page 71 of Beyond the Lavender Fields
“Did she refuse you?”
Gilles’s head shot up. “Refuse me? I did not make her an offer.”
“Why not? What are you waiting for?”
One of them to change their beliefs. A peaceful end to the violence. Stability in France. A miracle. The impossible. “Caroline and I are not marrying.”
Père’s spectacled eyes returned to the paper in his hands. A small stack of documents sat beside him. The next contract, no doubt. “Is that an unspoken agreement, or did she make that clear this evening?”
Gilles flopped against the back of the couch. This man was intolerable.
“Tell me she appreciated thenavettesat the very least. I wouldn’t want you to have to force them down your own throat.” He picked up another page. “Though I would offer to help you dispose of them, if you haven’t already.”
“I left them on her desk, and she did not say anything about marriage, to refuse or to accept, this evening.”
Père went back to the first page he’d studied, then swapped them again. “Despite your political alliances, the two of you are closer in your beliefs than it sometimes appears.”
“I never took you for a matchmaker.” Gilles spun his grandmother’s ring around his little finger.
“Not many opportunities to practice at sea,” Père said. “Though I try to stay far away from that business. Too dangerous.”
“Then you’ll excuse me if I don’t appreciate you trying to meddle in my affairs.”
Père lifted his shoulders, unaffected by the remark. “I do not think the solutions to what this country needs are as obvious as your Jacobins seem to think. I hope you have not been blinded by their fancy words and lofty dreams.”
“The people of France want leaders who will create change,” Gilles growled. Somehow his father had turned traitor in his time away.
“And it may be that this country needs a new government.” Père nodded as he read. “It also may be that the government currently forming is not the one France needs. In that case, you and yourmademoisellewould both be right and both be wrong.”
“Caroline wants a return to the old ways. She wants to be able to dance again and carry on in her high society.” Gilles dismissed the ridiculousness with a flutter of his hand, but then let it drop to his lap. That generalization was hardly fair. Yes, Caroline missed the old days, but their disagreements carried deeper. She clung to the old religion with the same fierceness Danton and Robespierre and Marat held to their ideals of liberty and equality. It wasn’t as though she didn’t know the possible consequences of her actions. Behind the fashionable gowns and lofty airs stood a woman unafraid to face the injustice she saw.
“Can you blame her for missing her friends and diversions?”
A small part of Gilles wished he could see her dance. She’d be graceful and steady, with a firm command of all the steps. Her eyes would sparkle in the candlelight. He could almost hear the swish of her silk gown, elegantly understated but striking. The fantasy sent a tingle over his arms.
“One quickly loses his sense of humanity without the opportunity to gather with others for a moment of frivolity,” Père went on. “That is why I support my men congregating so often in the evenings. But I find it severely lacking here at home.”
Gilles pursed his lips. There were still some opportunities for society, but they had become wrapped up tightly in revolutionary propaganda. Someone of a different belief would not find much diversion from them. And there were the gatherings in cafés, though women could rarely join and the meetings, again, centered on revolutionary ideals. Dancing had turned into calls for violence. So had most of the singing.
“What sort of government do you think we need, if you don’t think the current attempt is working?” Gilles rested his chin on his interlocked fingers. Perhaps the Jacobins had gone too far in their attempts to put off the old regime. Caroline certainly believed so. Did the situation really necessitate such overstepping, rationalizing actions that were against their purported beliefs?
Père shrugged. “I do not care who is in power, so long as the import taxes stay low. Though, come to think of it, I would not mind a return to smuggling. That brought a fine income.”
Gilles snorted. “You never left smuggling. You sneak in your piracy prizes as much as you did your smuggled goods before the revolution.”
“I beg your pardon.” Père dramatically threw down his papers on the stack. “Privateering. I have a letter of marque.”
They’d never see eye to eye on this. Gilles bit back a reluctant chuckle. Some things would never be resolved, and maybe it wasn’t of great importance that they were.
His father cracked a grin. “I just don’t have a letter recognized by the current government.”
Gilles stared at the man sitting across from him. Père had never admitted to that.
“Your mother doesn’t much like the termpiracy.Privateeringsounds more acceptable, so I use that.” Père sank back against the sofa and rested a foot on his knee. “Sometimes you have to make allowances for those you love, even if you disagree.”
“Such as allowing your sons to pursue careers contrary to your wishes?” Strangely Père hadn’t yet turned to lamenting Gilles’s absence onle Rossignol. He rarely missed an opportunity for that.
Père tapped his chin as he nodded. “Even if the son makes a better mariner than he realizes.” He slipped a hand into his waistcoat and withdrew a folded piece of paper. “I heard from Dr. Savatier on my return.”
