If you'd rather place an order by talking to one of our cheerful order desk clerks, please call 1-888-232-4444 (USA and Canada only) or 250-383-6864. From Europe, ring our UK order desk clerk at local rate number 0845 230 9601 (UK only) or 44 (0)1865 722 113.

Beyond Conventions

by Judith Petres Balogh

188 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #02-1222; ISBN 1-55395-507-2; US$15.85, C$18.23, EUR12.36, £8.19

The inheritance of an unusual necklace and of an Arab-Norman mansion on the other side of the globe take Rowan to Italy where she discovers the unusual love story of her grandparents.

About the Book

At the beginning of the twentieth century, Rowena inherits a house from her paternal grandparents in Italy, and also an unusual piece of jewelry. Both inheritances intrique her. In order to find out more about her mysterious ancestors she sails from New York to Italy. There she learns about the love affair of her grandparents, who were caught in a vicious web of social discrimination, unbending parental authority and in their own ambivalence between responsibilities abd the desire for personal fulfillment. Their life was deeply influenced by friendships and losses and by the moral standards of the eighteenth century. As they mature and discover what is truly valuable in life, they find a most unconventional solution to their problem. Their great, romantic love and their capacity for sacrifices change Rowena's cynical attitude about love.

Also available from this author THIS OLD HOUSE BY THE LAKE.

About the Author

Judith Petres-Balogh, a retired techer of gifted students, lives with her husband a peripatetic existence between their residence in the USA, Germany and Hungary.

Excerpts

Christmas was always somewhat complicated on account of the fastidiousness of the princess. It was her cherished habit to invite a small group of intimate friends and relatives on Christmas Eve. She loved the holiday and enjoyed making this day very special and festive. However, in the relative isolation of the country everybody, and most notably the less wealthy group which did not move to the capital for the winter, was eager to receive invitations to chase away the lethal boredom of the long months. Receiving an invitation acquired an importance far beyond a mere social nicety, or a confirmation of social standing. It was a psychological necessity to break the loneliness and solitude of the winter months. The princess was fully aware of the significance, even the necessity, of a social gathering. For this reason she always gave a larger dinner party for the casual acquaintances on the night before she hosted the select few. As long as an invitation was extended these guests were not hurt about their exclusion on the twenty-fourth and came eagerly, gratefully. The Boar often pointed out to his wife that by the virtue of her wealth and social position she was far beyond having to please people, but because of her sensitive temperament she understood the need for diversion and of course, she could not endure hurt feelings around her. The total exclusion would have occasioned disappointments and bitter feelings, which would have pained her. The solution of two parties following each other was perfect.

Traditionally the palatine and his family moved on Christmas Day to the castello of Paul and Hermione to continue the celebration for two or three days; therefore, Victoria and her parents usually did not attend either of these dinner parties of the princess. On the other hand, the Boar and his son suffered from the prospect. They did not much care for the people who came on the twenty-third and they could not hide their aversion about having to spend an evening with supremely uninteresting people, who would eat, drink and sweat excessively, assume an air of ridiculous refinement and stay far too long. The sweet smile of the princess stopped any opposition before it could be voiced.

"Roma locuta; casa finita," mumbled the Boar. Rome has spoken; the case is finished, closed. The smile of the princess remained steady and sweet.

"I do not understand the Latin language," she said demurely, which of course was not true, and the smile contradicted her statement. "I am not such a horrid authoritarian as you would make everybody believe."

"No, my dear, we know that. And rivers are flowing uphill and the moon is made of cheese, if you say so. And you'll always have your way."

"Thank you," she said, and Lorand could not understand why his parents beamed happiness during this bantering.

The opulent meal and the relaxing warmth made the eyelids heavy and slowed the conversation between Lorand and his parents. Sleep was in the air. The count forgot about his new horse and his bees; in a short while the parents hugged their son one more time, then retired for their customary afternoon nap.

CHAPTER FOUR

As soon as the parents were out of sight, Lorand ordered his horse. On his way out he snitched a white rose from the crystal vase on the dining room table. Only God and Jemal, the Turkish gardener, knew how his mother managed to force these rare beauties to blossom in her hothouse; the flowers were the envy of her less talented neighbors. He felt no guilt for taking it; nothing but the perfect white bloom, tended by his own mother, would be worthy of the lady he loved.

In a few minutes he was heading at breakneck speed toward the valley. The cold wind whipped at him, but he had no sense of pain or discomfort, except his impatience to be with her as soon as possible. She was the reason for his early return from school, she was the reason for his sleepless nights, and it was because of her that he wrote poetry instead of reading the big books about constitutional law and political theories.

Lorand was in love with the white heat of youth, with the tenderness of a poetic heart and with the happiness of one, whose love is returned. For weeks he was trembling at the mere thought of this meeting. For weeks he rehearsed what he would say, how he would say it. Now he could not remember a thing and felt only the exploding urge to be with Camilla as soon as his horse could carry him.

The long avenue to the mansion where she lived was lined on both sides with chestnut trees. They were young, first generation trees lacking history, or even proper shade. The large building at the end of the alley was a little too ostentatious, a little too new. The flawless columns, ornamental statues, the semicircle of marble steps were too unnaturally perfect and bore the taste not of the owners, but of whoever was commissioned to design it. Shiningly faultless, it declared new money and lacked the musty dignity of ancestors. It had nothing of that natural shabbiness, which is acquired through centuries of settlement and constant use.

There was a world of difference between his home and that of Camilla's gilded, much too ornate palace. His had a used, comfortable look, where many generations made their home, laughed and cried, celebrated and died, long before he was born. Dogs, servants, peasants sauntered in and out at the lower level. The princess often puttered in her hot houses or gardens and liked to supervise the cooks. They lived unaffectedly among the treasures of art and craftsmanship and barely

Camilla's house had all the heavily gilded furniture money could buy and everything matched. His bore the patina that cannot be bought. Hers had price tags.

Lorand slowed his horse. As he was nearing the showy entrance portico his former euphoria evaporated. He was young and his father often reminded him of his lack of experience and never missed a chance to point out that he is far from being rational; hence, not yet ready for independence. But as he was nearing the house he was smart enough to know that he was treading on dangerous ground. It was not laziness, nor lack of eagerness, which made him wait until his parents retired for their naps. He knew that if they had any inkling where he was heading, they would strongly disapprove of this visit, perhaps even forbid it. He might have been deemed immature, but he was no fool. Still smarting from the disastrous discussion about his schooling, he knew that the count would object even more violently to his attachment to Camilla. When the Boar spoke a verdict nothing could alter it and only a fool could think that he had a chance to oppose it. But in this case Lorand believed, quiet irrationally to be sure, that in the end all would come out right. His parents were obviously in love with each other and because of that he counted on their benevolence. Those, who love, know all there is to know about love and from this knowledge comes understanding. This seemed self-evident to him and also rather simple. All he wanted was this understanding and beyond that their blessing. He knew that there would be difficulties, some objections, but in his euphoria he perceived these as minor hurdles, nothing to really worry about. He knew that the differences between the two families were enormous by the standards of the time; yet, he stubbornly believed in the ultimate acceptance of his chosen lady. The sight of the brand new mansion dimmed his hopes.

He was not just born into fabulous wealth, but into a family whose name was a bright star in his country's history. His titles were impressive and spelled power. His family was at home in most of the royal courts in Europe and he, as the only son, was groomed for great things, including a perfect, politically correct marriage.

Camilla's family, despite the newly acquired wealth, was not accepted into the upper classes. Her father was a merchant, an extraordinarily rich one, but nevertheless, a merchant; he was a self-made man from a very humble background, who was determined to move upwards. In order to achieve his goal he did not shrink from obtaining a noble title through some secret, left-handed deal. It was whispered that this folly involved a substantial price tag. The title meant nothing, because he did not change into a nobleman overnight, no matter how many coronets embellished his shirts, underwear, tablecloths and bath towels. Those who knew about the deal, and just about the entire province did, laughed behind his back at his empty title, but he was pleased when the house staff addressed his wife as "baroness". The merchant wanted to see his family established in the very class, which despite the new title and the substantial wealth regularly snubbed them. They did not "belong" and had to be satisfied socially with the local landed gentry and with the stewards, the doctors, the clergy and the notary. To be sure, they enjoyed respect in that circle and had many good friends among them, but the doors he coveted were consistently closed to them.

Camilla and her family had to follow the social rules rigidly, because they were closely watched and even the slightest deviation could mean ridicule, or worse. It is very difficult to get on any sort of social wagon, but very easy to fall off of it; even money cannot prevent that. On the other hand, perhaps ironically, Lorand's position was so secure that he could do almost any scandalous thing within limits, including traveling on foot with a single servant accompanying him and not lose face. He was free to break many of the sacred social rules; it made no difference, as long as he behaved as a gentleman. Being an honorable gentleman was the most important thing in his life. Nothing else mattered, everything could be endured, problems could be solved, goals achieved, but only if his honor remained impeccable.

And here was the real root of the problem. Despite the soaring and unrealistic hope he nurtured, in his rational moments he knew well enough that loving Camilla and wanting her for his wife was hopeless. As a gentleman, he should have broken off with her long ago, or never even started. But he could not do it. He was so totally possessed by her that he could sooner give up a part of himself, or even his life, but not her. He spent many sleepless nights trying to see a way out, trying to find a solution, but other than spinning dreams he could not accomplish anything else; no workable plans occurred to him. His agony was the conviction that a gentleman should never love a lady, unless he had honorable intentions. He had the intentions, of course, and they were highly honorable, but knew all along that he would be forbidden to voice these intentions.

The unalterable, rigid fact was that Camilla was not considered an acceptable consort for the palatine's son, especially in view of the fact that an ideal bride was already selected for him and that both families endorsed the impending marriage. Victoria was all proper, virtuous and untouchable. She had a shining pedigree, an unusually fine education for those times, had a pleasant character, was beautiful, and since they knew each other all their lives, they got along very well. She was a most desirable bride, especially in the eyes of others. But Lorand wanted Camilla only. In that socially rigid age, where life was further complicated by the unassailable right, which always gave parents the final word in all decisions, the merchant's daughter had not a chance against Hermione's daughter. Sober for a moment, he realized how impossible his situation was. But, because he was young and has not yet learned that some hurdles are impossible to master, even for the palatine's son - or because of it - he refused to dwell on the problem. As long as his father did not openly oppose it, nothing was lost yet. But of course, he had to first talk to his father and he dreaded to even think of that confrontation.

As soon as he entered the drawing room he forgot his misgivings. The parents, Sophia and Joseph, were unassuming, pleasant people, comfortable like old slippers. Baroness Sophia, mindful of her elevated position, wore a dark green velvet gown richly embroidered with gold and had rather too many rings on her chubby fingers. She was attempting to read a new French novel, which bored her more than the Sunday sermons in church and was truly delighted when Lorand entered and saved her from expiring from sheer dullness.

Joseph sat at a Louis XIV desk and worked on his accounts. He could not progress as rapidly as he wished, for he had to be mindful of his pipe. He was not about to burn a hole in the desk, because of a holy and well-founded fear of the baroness. For some reason, quite beyond his understanding, Sophia held all acquisitions in high esteem and every scratch or burn mark was an occasion for a conjugal storm of cosmic magnitude. Her scenes were frightful and not worth the damage he made. Being a prudent man, he did his best to avoid all occasions, which could release her much-feared wrath.

He was the only son of poor, hardworking peasants, who were not much better off than serfs were. A long forgotten ancestor in the murky past was made a nobleman for some obscure deed. Sometimes almost an entire village was rewarded with such a document for some service rendered to the king and very few people took it seriously. Life continued as before. Despite the elegant decree, kept in the cabinet with the cracked mirror, birth and marriage certificates and a dried palm leaf saved from last Palm Sunday, their lot did not change. The barnyard animals had to be fed, stables cleaned, grain sown and then harvested, food and some absolute essentials had to be provided for the family, taxes and tithes paid. Poverty, endless hard labor and hopelessness would not go away just because of the fancy paper fading of old age between other mementos. Joseph's father was not even "impoverished", as some romantics like to talk of family fortunes they never had; he and his ancestors were simply dirt poor, as long as they could recount the past. However, Joseph received a fair education in the hope of landing a government job with a modest, but steady income for the rest of his life, and thus elevating him out of the hopeless drudgery that was the fate of the peasants. The sum needed to cover the expense of his education was all the parents could scrape together by selling everything they had, including personal and household items, and by borrowing heavily.

But fate, or inclination, has a way of changing human destiny. The university he attended was near the best grape-growing district in the country. While Joseph was driven to despair by his books, he became increasingly interested in viticulture.

When he completed his studies he knew more about grapes and wine, than he knew about laws and codes. While waiting for the government post, which on account of not having any connections in high offices, failed to materialize, he made the acquaintance of an old man, whose vineyard became such a burden to him that he was about to sell it. Despite the great age difference they became friends and it did not take long until they made a business agreement. Joseph was to tend the grapes and produce the wine, and they would share the profits. Long before the government's refusal came in regard to his application, Joseph had a well-tended vineyard and was a budding wine merchant with a modest income and high hopes. His parents lamented bitterly that all the nice education was going to waste, because their son, instead of being a respected government official wearing a suit and a hat and looking toward a modest but secure future, chose to sink back into the rank of hardworking peasants. Joseph, thoroughly rational and down-to-earth, merely laughed. He was one of those very rare individuals, who not only understood completely the task he was undertaking, in his case growing grapes, but had an excellent, almost phenomenal business sense as well and knew exactly how to reach a goal. And he had luck. It seemed that everything he touched prospered. He knew how to sell what he produced, and made a handsome profit, which he saved frugally in order to acquire additional vineyards. He produced an impeccable, noble wine and soon delivered it to palaces and abbeys inland and abroad. His fortune was established.

Being a prudent man, he also knew that a bad harvest, an early frost, a hailstorm of a few minutes could ruin him, so in order to avoid disaster he insured himself by branching out into other fields. He manufactured bricks, owned lumberyards, mills and country inns. He was breeding horses, and although behind his back he was called by the sobriquet "that horse-dealer" (or worse), his horses were sought after in the entire country. Soon he was in a position to lend money to those aristocrats, who had the habit of spending more than their income was. Gossip had it that although he never asked for interest on the money lent, he was amply compensated with favors, which further helped him in building his empire. Always willing to sacrifice the immediate rewards for his long-term goals, he was patiently waiting for the day when he would no longer be an outcast in the social world of the upper classes.

Personally he cared little for such things, but Sophia had ambitions and he was smart enough to please her whims. At present it was her dream to be accepted into the rarefied atmosphere of noble society. She was convinced that a smartly planned marriage would open the door, which remained stubbornly closed to them. She expected that sooner or later a desperately impoverished aristocrat would come along, who for the sake of financial security would close his eyes to Camilla's background. One just had to wait it out, be smart, keep up appearances, keep making even more money, and in the end the solution would fall from heaven right into their laps.