Photo credit: Visit Belgium © Alex Kouprianoff
June 18, 1815, the culmination of the Napoleonic Wars when the forces of the Anglo Allies and the Prussians under the Duke of Wellington and Field Marshal von Blucher triumphed over the French Grand Armee of Napoleon Bonaparte. Within weeks, Napoleon had abdicated and was shipped off to the remote South Atlantic island of St. Helena where he died six years later. The victorious armies of Wellington and Blucher occupied Paris, and the Bourbon King, Louis XVIII, was restored to his throne. The decisions of the Congress of Vienna, however reactionary one might now consider them, preserved a general peace in Europe, with a few exceptions, until the outbreak of another widespread conflict, WWI, in 1914.'
June 18, 1815, the culmination of the Napoleonic Wars when the forces of the Anglo Allies and the Prussians under the Duke of Wellington and Field Marshal von Blucher triumphed over the French Grand Armee of Napoleon Bonaparte. Within weeks, Napoleon had abdicated and was shipped off to the remote South Atlantic island of St. Helena where he died six years later. The victorious armies of Wellington and Blucher occupied Paris, and the Bourbon King, Louis XVIII, was restored to his throne. The decisions of the Congress of Vienna, however reactionary one might now consider them, preserved a general peace in Europe, with a few exceptions, until the outbreak of another widespread conflict, WWI, in 1914.'
In honor of the Great Battle, a group of nine authors have compiled an anthology of romantic stories. Beaux, Ballrooms, and Battles is available as an e-book for $2.99 (click here) from all relevant platforms and from Amazon.com as a trade paperback for $14.99 (click here). Below, a description of my story, "Folie Bleue."
On the night of the 30th Anniversary of the Battle of Waterloo, Aimée, Lady Prescott, reminisces about meeting her husband in Bruxelles on the eve of the fighting. She had avoided the dashing scarlet-clad British officers, but she could not resist the tempting smile and spellbinding charm of Captain Robert Prescott of the 16th Light Dragoons who— dangerously to Aimée— wore blue.
At the left, is an image of what my hero looks like. Actually, he is a member of the Blues and Royals on duty at Horse Guards in London, but as far as I am concerned, he is Robert Prescott. Dont you think he would appeal to any heroine worth writing about? Yum.
Here is a short except from my story:
“…Robert and I wandered off again, away from the discussions of unworthy royals. We headed across a little bridge to an island in the small lake. As we came off the bridge, the ground was wet and spongy. He placed his arm around my waist, and we continued in the marshy grass. His hand was warm and I wished he would never take it away. I hoped he would leave it there for—oh, the next hundred years?...
I looked back at our footprints in the dewy grass, set off by the sun glinting off our tracks. My shoes were soaked but their ruin was a small price to pay for the lasting image of our side-by-side steps. As I write about it, my heart is full. I can see it as if it had been this morning, not more than thirty years ago.”
“…Robert and I wandered off again, away from the discussions of unworthy royals. We headed across a little bridge to an island in the small lake. As we came off the bridge, the ground was wet and spongy. He placed his arm around my waist, and we continued in the marshy grass. His hand was warm and I wished he would never take it away. I hoped he would leave it there for—oh, the next hundred years?...
I looked back at our footprints in the dewy grass, set off by the sun glinting off our tracks. My shoes were soaked but their ruin was a small price to pay for the lasting image of our side-by-side steps. As I write about it, my heart is full. I can see it as if it had been this morning, not more than thirty years ago.”
However you observe the bicentenary of the Battle of Waterloo, be sure to remember all those lost in all our wars, and those who were left behind when their loved ones never returned. It's a sobering thought.
Somehow it seems humankind has a hard time learning its lessons, n'est ce pas? Adieu.
Somehow it seems humankind has a hard time learning its lessons, n'est ce pas? Adieu.
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