Free Love's First Light by Jamie Carie

round and awkward and . . . beautiful. His hand tentatively reached toward her rounded stomach. New life. All he knew was death and more death. What he wouldn’t give to have such a fresh start knowing all that he now knew. He barely touched her, more a skimming of his fingers against her dress. “When will the baby come?”
    “About two months.” She looked up into his eyes and he saw there a trust growing that he knew he didn’t deserve. But he wanted to. He wanted this chance she represented. A place to belong. A family to love and care for.
    Someone to need him again.
    I’ll do better this time!

Chapter Seven
     
    Scarlett returned home to find her mother crying into a lacy handkerchief, her little sister patting her back.
    Alarm filled Scarlett as she pulled off her cloak and tossed it to a chair. “What is it?”
    Stacia looked up and pressed her lips together. “A letter arrived. From Robespierre.” The name sent a shiver up Scarlett’s spine. Robespierre was responsible for much of the terror of this Révolution and, after hearing Christophé’s side, she was beginning to truly loathe her husband’s uncle.
    Stacia rose, strode over with a determined air, and grasped the opened parchment from a round, dark table near the door. She thrust it toward Scarlett. Before she could open it and read the first line, her mother wailed the news. “He’s cutting off the flour, Scarlett. Only one more month. What will we do?”
    Suzanne Bonham had never been one to accept sudden change with grace. It always came as a shock to her. Somehow, Scarlett just rolled with it. Stacia, though, seemed to thrive in the challenge of it. Between them, they had weathered their father’s death, Daniel’s death, Scarlett’s pregnancy—and now they would have to cope with no means to continue their income.
    Scarlett scanned the letter, heart sinking. Their allotment of flour was being brought to an end due to increasing demands in Paris. She felt less like crying than like throttling the man. She knew him as these others in the room did not. He was a clever, manipulative man who, she was certain, could provide them with anything he wanted should he want it badly enough. When Daniel died he assured Scarlett that, as she was carrying the Robespierre heir, he would ensure her future. Even in such turbulent times as these, he’d assured her that when she returned to the safety of the southern countryside, he would provide for her and her family.
    She carefully folded the letter and pressed the wax seal against her thumb, then set it back on the table. With slow steps she walked toward her mother and sank down, placing her hands in her mother’s lap, gaining the attention of her tear-stained face.
    “What will we do?” her mother repeated.
    Scarlett stared at her mother and then her sister. An idea formed, and she pressed her lips together, studying her little sister. “We still have one asset.”
    Stacia raised a single dark brow at her. She tilted back her head, a laugh escaping. “Is it husband hunting time?” She clasped her hands together in dramatic glee. “I have been waiting for the day.”
    Scarlett gave her sister a serious look. It would have to be Stacia. Not only was Scarlett round with child and in little position to go husband hunting, she feared it was too late for her. Scarlett couldn’t tell them that she thought she was in love with a madman, a beggar, someone who needed saving instead of the other way around. It was impossible. She was loathe to put this burden on Stacia. But what choice did they have?
    And, to make matters worse, there was only one place to find a good match for Stacia: Paris. In Scarlett’s condition, there was little chance she could travel such a distance. They would have to go without her. But how to convince her mother?
    She rose and slowly paced the length of the room. “You and mother will go to Paris. I will write a letter for you to give to Robespierre—”even saying the name