The Art of Rebellion
by Brenda Joyce Leahy
Publication
Date: June 15, 2016
Publisher: Rebelight Publishing
Art
is Gabrielle's passion, but her parents have other plans for her
future-marriage to a man three times her age who holds nothing but disdain for
art. Gabrielle is determined to escape life as the baron's trophy wife and the
confinement of traditional roles. She flees her privileged home in the French
countryside for Paris and the grandmother who understands her passion. When she
cannot locate her grandmother, Gabrielle is left on her own in the City of
Lights. The art world of Paris, 1900, brims with excitement, opportunity, and
risk. Should Gabrielle trust her new friends, or will they take advantage of
her hopes and dreams?
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Excerpt:
A shrill blast of the
train’s whistle jolted through me. I ran through a veil of steam and scrambled
up the rail car steps, my heart thudding in a prayer of thanks for slipping
away unnoticed.
I
ducked inside, quickly found my seat, and settled my art box and bags beneath
it, my parasol on the seat beside me. My eyes were drawn to the window. The
early morning light revealed a handful of people on the platform waving
farewell. I turned away. No one would be out there to wish me a safe journey.
I’d made sure of that.
A
loud thump on the panel behind my head informed me the adjoining compartment
was occupied. Children argued loudly over where to sit and a thin, tired
woman’s voice begged for quiet.
I
smoothed my blue kid gloves, a secret parting gift from my older sister Nacia.
She alone was privy to my plans. My blue felt hat, speared into submission by
Grand-mère’s hat pin—six inches of sterling silver topped with a crimson cloisonné bead—hopefully created the
impression of a young woman much older than sixteen years. I tucked my
undesirably large feet, pinched into fashionable heeled slippers, under a froth
of petticoats and skirts and waited nervously for the train to depart.
Despite
the early hour, a slick line of sweat snaked a path between my
shoulder blades and dampened my corset laces. Was sneaking away like a thief in
the night a mistake? I glanced out the window once more, for
it might be the last I saw of Laval.
The
clouds of steam thinned, and I locked eyes with a tall, imposing woman wearing
an outrageous hat of stuffed birds.
I
gasped. Madame Dupont, the worst gossip among Maman’s society friends.
Her
eyes widened. She took a few steps forward but an attendant blocked her path as
he stopped to assist a woman overloaded with baggage. Madame Dupont tilted one
way then another, craning her neck as she searched me out.
I
flinched and turned away. When I dared look again, she was gone. No doubt she
would rush to spread the scandalous news: Sebastian and Désirée’s youngest
daughter rode the express train bound for Paris—without a chaperone.
With
a deep breath, I shoved Madame DuPont to the back of my mind. I could not stop
her. There was no going back.
I
pulled a creased envelope out of my purse and stroked it for courage. It held
Grand-mère’s photograph and an address acquired only recently. An address in
the capital. Paris. The very word promised the fulfillment of every wish.
One
more whistle, and the sharp grinding of iron wheels on the rails signalled our
departure. Just as the train shuddered and began to leave the station, a man
boarded the car. He stuck his head into my compartment and gestured to the
empty bench across from me. “I believe this is my seat, mademoiselle.”
I
nodded sharply, trying to disguise my dismay. I’d paid extra to have the
compartment to myself. That cheat of a ticket seller!
The
stranger stowed his bags on the rack above, setting his top hat beside them
with care. He sat down and snapped open a newspaper. Every now and then, he let
the paper drop and peered at me over his wire-rimmed spectacles. I averted my
gaze each time, but not before sneaking my own look at him.
He
appeared to be in his mid-twenties, about the same age as my older brother,
Charles. His suit wasn’t custom tailored, yet he held himself with the same
dignity as any high-born gentleman. Even behind spectacles, his cobalt blue
eyes exuded a notably intense hue. Clean-shaven with a slim build and broad
shoulders, he looked strong and athletic. As a caricature, he would make a fine
thoroughbred horse, albeit one with a jagged scar spoiling his facial features.
Brenda
Joyce Leahy has travelled to France five times but finds there’s always more
explorations awaiting her. She loves historical fiction and thinks she was born
a century too late but can’t imagine her life without computers or cell phones.
So, perhaps, she arrived in the world at just the right moment to tell this
story.
She
grew up on a farm near Taber, Alberta but now lives with her family near the
Rocky Mountains in Calgary, Alberta. After over 20 years practising law, she
has returned to her first love of writing fiction. She is a member of several
writing organizations, including the Society of Children’s Book Writers and
Illustrators (SCBWI): her profile there is
http://www.scbwi.org/members-public/brenda-johnson-2. The Art of Rebellion is
also profiled on the Humber School of Writers’ website at
http://creativearts.humber.ca/programs/school-writers/published-books. Brenda
is also a member of the Historical Novel Society:
http://www.historicalnovelsociety.org, and leads a YA/MG writers’ critique
group in Calgary.
The
Art of Rebellion is her first Young Adult novel, published by Rebelight
Publishing, spring 2016.
Giveaway:
·
Two
(2) winners will received a physical copy of The Art of Rebellion by Brenda
Joyce Leahy (US/Canada)
·
Five (5) winners will
receive a digital copy of The Art of Rebellion by Brenda Joyce Leahy (INT)
Ends September 30, 2016
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