Rake Most Likely To Rebel
The art of fencing, like that of love, required three important skills:1. Anticipating your opponent’s every move and working them into the exact position you desire.2. Being completely attuned to your opponent’s body.3. Absolute dedication – no matter how many hours are spent sweating it out.Haviland North, Viscount Amersham, has come to Paris to prove his skill with the blade. But feisty Alyssandra Leodegrance is not the opponent he was expecting! As expert swordplay leads to sizzling sensuality it’s difficult to say who will win… or what they will claim as their prize!Rakes on Tour: outrageous hell-raisers let loose in Europe!
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RAKES ON TOUR
Outrageous hell-raisers let loose in Europe!
When Londonâs most notorious rakes embark on a Grand Tour they set female hearts aflutter all across Europe!
The exploits of these British rogues might be the stuff of legend, but on this adventure of a lifetime will they finally meet the women strong enough to tame their wicked ways?
Read Haviland Northâs story in
Rake Most Likely to Rebel June 2015
And read Archer Crawfordâs story in
Rake Most Likely to Thrill August 2015
And watch out for more Rakes on Tour stories coming in 2016!
Bonjour! Welcome to our first stop in Rakes on Tour. Paris was the traditional first stop on the nineteenth-century Grand Tour for many, and Havilandâs story is centred around a fencing salon. The salle dâarmes in this story is modelled after a famous salle that really did exist at 14 rue Saint-Marc and was handed down from father to son. I have tried to be as true as possible to the various schools of thought mentioned in the story as Haviland continues his education as a fencer.
Gentlemen sought out fencing as an activity that furthered their education. Fencing was not only good exercise for the body, but it was also considered good exercise for the mind. To quote directly from LâEcole dâEscrime Français by Roman Hliva, âHandling a sword steeled oneâs nerves, provided courage and taught judgement under fire.â The salles were busy between four and seven in the afternoon, and manyâlike the one in rue Saint-Marcâhad different practising areas, an area for paying members and one for day guests who also likely borrowed the salonâs equipment since they didnât have their own.
One other note: nineteenth-century French uses the word âhôtelâ differently from its modern meaning. A âhôtel particulierâ, like the Leodegrancesâ, is not an inn but a large, private, free-standing home in town that does not share walls with other dwellings.
Enjoy Havilandâs story and a glimpse into French fencing!
Stay in touch at bronwynswriting.blogspot.com or at bronwynnscott.com
BRONWYN SCOTT is a communications instructor at Pierce College in the United States, and is the proud mother of three wonderful children (one boy and two girls). When sheâs not teaching or writing she enjoys playing the piano, travellingâespecially to Florence, Italyâand studying history and foreign languages. Readers can stay in touch on Bronwynâs website, bronwynnscott.com, or at her blog, bronwynswriting.blogspot.com. She loves to hear from readers.
For Monsieur Rouse,
high school French teacher extraordinaire: Votre ardeur pour la langue insuffle mon fil. Merci. (Je regrette, I have not conjugated âto inspireâ for some time. I hope the form is correct on insuffle!)
And for Ro and Bronyâwe will see the City of Light (La Ville Lumière) together soon.
Contents
Dover docksâMarch 1835
There were no pleasures left in London. One could only hope Paris would do better. Haviland North turned up the collar of his greatcoat against the damp of the early March morning and paced the Dover docks, anxious to be away with the tide.
All of his hopes were pinned on France now and its famed salle dâarmes. If springtime in Paris should fail to stimulate his stagnant blood, the rest of Europe awaited to take its turn. He could spend summer among the mighty peaks of the Alps, testing his strength on their crags, autumn among the arts and graces of Florence, winter in Venice feasting on the sensuality of Carnevale and another spring, if he could manage it. This time in Naples, basking in the heat of southern Italy with its endless supply of the ancient. If those destinations did not succeed, there was always Greece and the alluring, mysterious Turkey.
The exotic litany of places rolled through his mind, a mantra of hopefulness and perhaps a mantra of fantasy. His father had promised him six months, not a year or two. It would all have to be managed very carefully. In truth, Haviland preferred it not come to that simply because of what the need for such lengths indicated about his current stateâthat at the age of twenty-eight and with everything to live for: the title, the vast fortune that went with it, the estates, the horses, the luxuries other men spent their lives acquiringâhe was dead inside after all.
Heâd had to fight hard for this Grand Tour, abbreviated as it might be. His well-meaning father had relented at last, perhaps understanding the need for his grown son to spread his wings beyond London and see something of the world before settling down. Haviland had won six months of freedom. But it had come at a great cost: afterwards, he would return home and marry, completing the plans that had been laid by two families three generations ago.
