Accidental Heiress (5 page)

The first boarding school her father had sent her to was near Avignon. She had no desire to go back.

“Why now?”

Pascal smiled, but it looked conciliatory. “He says specific instructions will be delivered after you make the decision to accept or decline the tasks. But I am allowed to give you some information on Saint Mary of the Universe Orphanage. Here it is.”

He handed her an envelope. She opened it and glanced through the information for clues. The words seemed to jump around, but she focused hard on the first page, which looked like basic information about Saint Mary's.

She'd read it later, once she had time to focus and digest the information and the odd journey her father was thrusting upon her from the grave. Was he trying to preach the lesson that someone always has it worse?

Henri placed his other hand over hers. “Are you okay?”

“I will be.”

Couldn't her father at least give her most recent wounds from losing him a chance to heal before he asserted his power?

“There are two last things,” Pascal looked apologetic. “He stipulates if you don't comply, the estate will be sold and split between the institutions your father wants you to visit, and if you do comply, then you must complete your visits within three months of today. Will you accept the terms of his challenge and if so, when would you like to visit?”

 

Despite the amazing savory aromas that were filling the house, Pascal declined the invitation to dinner, but Henri stayed. As he followed Margeaux out to the kitchen to help A.J. with preparations, he felt guilty.

Colbert's baiting rankled him. Although he had no idea what this
reward
would be, he wouldn't take a penny of the estate from Margeaux if she decided she wanted to see this charade through to the end.

The only reason he'd go through with it was to help her with what was sure to be an emotionally challenging escapade.

What the hell was Colbert thinking, asking him to lead Margeaux to an orphanage and convent in the south of France? What did the man have up his sleeve?

He was a piece of work—dictating people's actions even from the grave.

He wanted the chance to talk to Margeaux about it—to tell her it was not his intention to horn in on her inheritance, but dinner preparations were coming together and A.J. handed him a head of romaine, asking him to wash and chop it for salads.

The methodical work was good for sorting out his thoughts, so Henri complied. As he was standing at the sink washing the lettuce, through the kitchen window he noticed Sydney's car drive up the long gravel driveway and park in front of the house.

What was she doing here? She hadn't mentioned anything about stopping by.

“Are you expecting anyone?” he asked, fully expecting A.J. to say no.

“Oh, yeah, Sydney's joining us.”

“Really?”
he said as he watched her get out of her car and navigate the front steps to the
front door. “How did she secure an invitation for herself?”

A.J. threw him a strange look. “We invited her. She called earlier today saying she wanted to come by and pay her respects to Margeaux. You know, bring her some flowers. Cheer her up. That's what friends do.”

Friends?

Since when were Sydney and Margeaux friends?

The thought made him uncomfortable.

He heard one of the women call, “I'll get it,” in response to the knock on the door. Then he heard muffled greetings, undefined but happy feminine notes that drifted from the foyer to the kitchen, straight to his nerves.

Sydney wasn't the type who collected girlfriends unless she had a reason. His gut was telling him she was here tonight on a reconnaissance mission.

He heard Margeaux greet Sydney before they made their way into the kitchen. And when Sydney, who was holding a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates from Maya's Chocolate Shop—a St. Michel institution—saw Henri standing at the sink holing the head of romaine,
the surprise that flashed in her eyes confirmed his suspicions.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she said to Henri, her British accent sounding clipped. “I didn't realize you were invited.”

She flashed one of her dazzling smiles.

“Funny, I thought the same thing when I saw your car pull up the driveway.” He gestured toward the kitchen window. “Though, I live next door, if you'll remember.”

He winked, but it was meant to be more touché than flirty.

“Well, here we are.” She turned to Margeaux. “How may I help with dinner?”

 

As she arranged the beautiful bunch of mixed flowers that Sydney had brought, Margeaux noticed the tension between Sydney and Henri. It was palpable enough to slice with a butter knife.

Still, even as rattled by Henri's presence as Sydney seemed, she was overly nice to Margeaux. For some strange reason, her attention made Margeaux uncomfortable. What was going on?

The woman was gorgeous—tall and dark
with smart, emerald-green eyes. Dressed in classic black slacks and a cashmere twin set, she was the epitome of elegance. The night Margeaux met her, she'd been achingly positive Sydney was in love with Henri, but now, she wasn't so sure.

Still, the old, less evolved Margeaux wanted to claim Henri to herself. To tease him and tempt him and see if the spark from the past was still alive and well. But the new, more level-headed Margeaux realized she'd been away for a long time. Of course Henri would move on with his life. He deserved someone like Sydney.

Still, every nerve in her body objected to the thought of losing him forever. All it took was one glance, one brush of his hand and she threatened to spontaneously combust. The problem was, they'd been apart for years and he had Sydney in his life—whatever the nature of their relationship might be. Margeaux certainly didn't want to get in the middle of it, or the low-toned, private conversation Sydney and Henri were having by the far counter as they worked together making the salad.

Rather than torment herself by watching
them, Margeaux grabbed a crystal platter and the box of Maya's chocolates and went to the terrace. There she tried to re-focus as she arranged the dessert and made sure the table was ready for the tarragon chicken, green beans, salad and fresh baked bread A.J. had prepared.

The table looked better than if Martha Stewart had popped in for a surprise visit. Pepper was putting on the finishing touches by lighting votive candles she'd managed to find. She'd worked her magic, drawing from the abundance of fruit from the orchard and fall foliage that adorned the garden.

“You could probably create a tablescape out of rags and clothespins, couldn't you?” Margeaux teased.

Pepper blew out a match and pulled a face as if she were contemplating the design problem. “I'll have to give that a try sometime.”

“I'm sure you probably could make it happen,” Margeaux said. “Tonight, everything looks exquisite.”

Just then, Caroline carried out six wineglasses and a bottle each of merlot and chilled chardonnay.

She held up the bottles for Margeaux and Pepper to choose, then handed Margeaux a glass of red, and Pepper a glass of white.

On her terrace, surrounded by her friends, Margeaux noticed that the vibe was different than in the kitchen. It felt good, and she was filled with gratitude for the blessing of her girlfriends, but there was that stab of regret reminding her that, thanks to her father's
lesson plan,
she'd be away from them for God knew how long.

She'd be with Henri, which set her stomach spiraling. But she reined it in. Who knew if he would put his job aside to join her on these adventures? If they did travel together, what would she do about their undeniable chemistry? They couldn't simply be friends.

She shook off the thought because she had more important things to worry about—such as how she hadn't told her girls about her father's plans for her. Not yet. There were still a few days left before they had to leave. She'd wait until the time was right.

The three were toasting each other when Sydney joined them with a tray of bread and plated salads.

“Where in Texas are each of you from?” she asked.

“Austin,” Caroline answered, offering her a glass of wine. She chose the chardonnay.

“I
love
Texas,” Sydney said, and proceeded to ask questions about the weather, the economy, the housing market. The men.

The men?

“Why are you so interested?” asked Pepper. “I mean, what about Henri?”

Margeaux shot Pepper a dagger of a sideways glance for bringing up the big elephant in the room, even though the same question had been burning in the back of her own throat, too. That was the thing about Pepper—she said what everyone else was thinking. With her sweet accent and proper debutante polishing, she could get away with what most people couldn't.

But that's when Margeaux realized Sydney was looking at
her.
“I have no idea,” Sydney said. “I think Henri's the one who isn't quite sure what he wants.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over the women, as unwelcome as a sudden rise in the humidity. Margeaux felt heat burn in her
décolletage and creep its way up her neck, settling on her cheeks.

“Oh, well, then,” Pepper said, filling the silence. “I'm just saying, Texas is a great place, but it's certainly not Europe.”

More uncomfortable silence.

“Oh, my goodness,” Pepper exclaimed. “Caroline, do you realize we haven't even offered our chef and sous chef glasses of wine? That is a high-grade problem, and we should tend to it immediately.”

“Absolutely, I'll help you,” said Caroline.

They disappeared into the house like twin Bacchuses on the lamb, leaving Margeaux alone with Sydney.

“Are you considering a move to Texas?” Margeaux asked, simply for the sake of making conversation.

Sydney seemed to weigh the question for a moment. “May I trust you with a secret?” she asked, lowering her voice in a conspiratorial fashion that made Margeaux even more uncomfortable.

“Sure,” said Margeaux.

Neither smiling nor frowning, Sydney pinned Margeaux with her emerald gaze. Margeaux
felt as if she were being sized up. “I'm seriously considering a move to the Dallas area.”

Sydney wasn't
trusting
her. She was testing her.

“Really?” Margeaux sipped her wine. “Why would you do that when your job is still in St. Michel?”

Sydney smiled, but the expression was somehow sad. “I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.”

Oh, no.
Margeaux flinched. She crossed to the table and started opening another bottle of wine. Pepper and Caroline had taken the open bottles inside, and with the direction this conversation was taking, Margeaux definitely needed some liquid courage.

The question was obviously rhetorical because Sydney didn't wait for an answer. “You realize he's still in love with you, don't you? I saw it from the second he set sight on you again at the casino after all these years.”

A
fter Sydney said good-night, Henri stayed to assist with the cleanup, hoping for a chance to talk more with Margeaux about the news Pascal had delivered. However, Caroline, A.J. and Pepper refused to let Margeaux and Henri help. Instead, they shooed the couple out to the terrace to enjoy the last of the fire and the wine.

“We've got this under control,” insisted A.J.

“I'm sure you do,” Henri replied, “but isn't there a rule about the cook not cleaning
up since she did all the work to prepare the meal?”

“Cooking's the fun part,” Pepper said, the wine rounding her words even more. “Seriously, we don't mind a bit.”

With that, she handed each of them a clean wineglass and closed the French doors between the terrace and the patio, shutting Margeaux and Henri out in their own little moonlit world.

Though he'd been willing to help, Henri was glad for the time alone with Margeaux. The evening had been filled with lively conversation, but she'd been a little subdued after Pascal's visit. The blues that had settled around her since her father's death seemed a bit more pronounced tonight, despite the good friends who were rallying around her.

A full moon and the low, red glow of the fire lit the terrace. Henri noticed Margeaux shiver and rub her arms with her hands. She was wearing faded blue jeans and a long-sleeved light pink cashmere sweater that looked so soft it begged to be touched, but the temperature was falling fast and he knew the sweater wasn't heavy enough to keep her warm.

“Are you cold?”

She nodded. “Just a little.”

“Here, take my jacket.” He slid out of the coat and slipped it around her shoulders. Then he took her hand and led her to the fire.

 

Margeaux settled herself on a wicker love-seat in front of the fire as Henri emptied the last of the red wine into their glasses, picked up the platter of Maya's chocolate and joined her on the cushion-covered couch. Their knees grazed when he sat down, but neither pulled away.

Henri offered her a piece of chocolate. She took one and bit into it, letting the delectable silkiness of it melt over her tongue. She tasted hints of cinnamon, spices and rose petals mixed into the deep, rich cocoa.

Henri did the same, and held her gaze as they clinked wineglasses.

For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, enjoying the chocolate, sipping the wine and relaxing in the warm glow of the fire.

Henri cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. He seemed a little nervous. She wondered if the setting was a little too
intimate for him. Perhaps he felt as if he were being untrue to Sydney?

She scooted away, allowing for some extra space between them. “What are you thinking?” she asked.

“I just want you to know,” he said, staring into his wineglass. “I don't have any designs on your father's estate. Despite this task he's asking us to complete, I believe everything should go to you.”

Ah, he
was
uncomfortable. This was his way of telling her he couldn't go away with her for two weeks in Avignon. She'd told Pascal she would do it. She'd made arrangements to be in St. Michel with her father for the foreseeable future. Now that she'd had a couple of hours to digest the “challenge,” as her father had put it, she was curious, and she had the time. But how could she expect Henri to clear his schedule for her?

“Henri, don't worry about it. I know my father's little game is an inconvenience. I'd never expect you to drop everything to do it.”

He shook his head. “No, that's not what I meant. I fully intend to help you through this, just as your father asked. I just don't want you
to misunderstand and think that I want something in return.”

Okay…hmmm
…now she was even more confused.

“Don't you think Sydney will mind you going away with me?”

“Why would she mind?”

“Well…I just thought… She left early tonight, didn't she?” Margeaux stared at the flames because she was too afraid to look at him.

“Actually, I was surprised to see her here tonight.”

“She's a persistent woman, isn't she? She seems to get what she wants.”

“What do you mean?”

Margeaux looked up and seemed to assess him for a moment. The firelight made her blue eyes shimmer. Yet, there was a note of sadness in her expression that made him long to reach out and pull her close, to assure her that everything would be okay. Even though he couldn't guarantee that, he silently vowed to be by her side every step of the way during this scavenger hunt her father was putting her through.

She cleared her throat. “What do I mean?”
she repeated his question, obviously buying time.

He nodded.

“I guess I'm trying to figure out what she means to you.”

“And that makes
her
a persistent woman, huh?” He wanted to make her laugh, but she didn't, and now it seemed as if he were the one buying time. “I'm not sure what you're asking.”

She shifted and her knee pulled away from his.

“I think you know exactly what I'm asking. But if you want me to spell it out for you, I need to know if you two are…
involved.
”

There was something exhilarating about her curiosity, about the fact that she cared.

“Sydney is a wonderful woman,” he said, “and I wouldn't be telling the truth if I didn't tell you that for a while we've walked the line between friendship and…” And what? People didn't waver between love and friendship. Two people were either in love or they weren't. If you had to think about it, wasn't that pretty telling? “And I guess with her I never discovered what was on the other side of friendship.”

Margeaux squinted up at him for a long time, as if trying to measure his honesty. “But she seems to want a lot more than…
friendship.
”

Henri shrugged, not really wanting to dissect his relationship with Sydney. In fact, he didn't want to talk about Sydney at all. Then, for a moment he thought he glimpsed something familiar in Margeaux's eyes—a look that hinted at the past; one that stirred old feelings.

“Friendship is all I've been able to offer her. And I think it's all I'll ever have for her. I let you go because I had to,” he said. “It was what you wanted. But I never stopped loving you. I feel as though I let you down. I know I should have come after you, but you shut me out.”

“When I left, I shut everything and everyone out,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because it was the only way I could function.”

Looking at him now, it all seemed so simple. Why had it seemed so hard back then? What was difficult was fighting the compulsion to blame herself as she thought of all the things she should've done instead of shutting him out—fighting the bitterness that always crept
up when she thought of the way her father had shut her out. Still, she wished she hadn't made so many mistakes, lost so much time.

There were so many things she had not told Henri. Important things she should have shared, but back then she'd had a hard time forming the words on even the night that she'd asked him to run away had started out all wrong. To go away so that she wouldn't have to go to boarding school.

Henri had said no.

And before she could tell him
why
they needed to go away together, he did something so unexpected, something so far from anything she'd ever imagined—he'd told her that her going away was for the best, and that since she'd be gone, it was best that they break up.

No.

He belonged to her; they belonged to each other. There could never be anyone else.

Margeaux had been so floored that she couldn't speak. All her words bottled up inside.

First her father had rejected her.

Now Henri. The one person she thought would love her forever.

But Henri wanted out.

Being here with him now, after all these years, she wondered if she should tell him what she should have told him all those years ago, but so much time had passed and really, there was no reason to bring it up now.

Especially when he reached forward to touch her face, then stopped before he did.

“What?” he asked. “You look like you want to say something.”

She shook her head. Her skin tingled with want for him and she shifted closer. He pulled her into him, and as he caressed her back, she melted at the feel of his hands on her. Until this moment, she hadn't realized just how much she'd missed his touch.

How much she missed him. No, now that everything was brand new, there was no use in rehashing the past. Especially since it wouldn't change anything. But they could move forward.

He felt achingly familiar and brand-new all at once. Even though secrets of the past niggled at her to pull away, to talk to him, self-preservation looked after the scared, lonely teenage girl in her—the part of her that wanted
to disappear into the sanctuary of his strong, familiar arms, to fall head-over-heels into a place where life made sense and she didn't have to worry about proving herself or being proper or being judged.

His breath was hot on her temple. And hers was ragged as she sighed. Then his lips skimmed her cheek, and Margeaux tilted back her head, looking up at him. His eyes were hungry and hooded and the next thing she knew his lips were brushing hers.

The kiss started slow and soft, then ignited into ravenous greed that had her parting her lips so he could deepen the kiss, fisting her hands into the cotton of his shirt, leaning into him as if her next breath would come from him.

For a moment, the whole world disappeared. Until he pulled her tighter, staking his claim, unspoken feelings pouring out in this wordless confession.

He tasted like red wine, chocolate, cinnamon and something exotic. That familiar hint of yesteryear, mixed with the promise of now.

A moment ago she was worried that he might have feelings for another woman, and
now he was kissing her so thoroughly she had no doubt of his loyalty. Feelings inside her that had stirred when she'd seen him in the casino were awakening, blossoming into a passion that threatened to consume her.

She forgot the once logical rationale for protecting her heart. Or maybe she no longer cared. The reasons began to shift and span the gap of years until it bridged the present with the past.

Margeaux had no idea how much time had passed as they held and kissed each other. It was even better than she remembered. Because they were no longer kids, hiding out, stealing moments. This was Henri, holding her close, kissing her lips, rendering the years they'd been apart irrelevant.

“There is so much between us we left un done.” He rested his forehead against hers, his lips a whisper away. “What are we going to do about that?”

That was the burning question.

She knew what she wanted in the here and now, but she still didn't know how much of that undone past she should dredge up.

 

Colbert's funeral was larger and better attended than she'd expected. Her father's body had lain in state in the seventeenth-century chapel on the palace grounds and was transported to the ornate St. Michel Cathedral.

Carabineers lined the path from the palace chapel to the garden's Gate of Honor. The soldiers in red military dress uniforms wore bronze helmets with black plumes that trembled slightly in the cool November breeze. They played trumpet fanfares and beat drums covered with black cloth.

Colbert's coffin was draped with the St. Michel flag. Clad in a black dress with a black veil, Margeaux held Henri's hand as they walked behind the casket. Even though it wasn't traditional for the Queen of St. Michel to walk in the funeral procession, Margeaux was touched when Queen Sophie, who was married to Henri's brother Luc, reached out to her in support. Sophie, Luc and Henri's other brother Alex and his wife, Julianne, along with Margeaux's girlfriends and other members of the Crown Council formed the procession, escorting her to the limousines waiting to transport
them to the St. Michel Cathedral where her father would be buried.

As the Gate of Honor was symbolically closed after Colbert's casket was carried out, Margeaux's heart overflowed with bittersweet appreciation; her father was well respected and she was welcome in St. Michel despite her sixteen-year absence.

The procession drove from the palace, past hundreds of somberly dressed St. Michel residents, to the ancient St. Michel Cathedral.

The cathedral was filled to standing room, with dignitaries and heads of state from all over the world; Europe's royals, nobles, and VIPs rounded out the cast that came to bid farewell to one of Europe's most respected political figures. Everyone was dressed almost uniformly in black, as they waited in the cathedral for the funeral procession.

Heads bowed as his coffin was carried up the aisle; once it reached its destination at the front a sword was placed atop.

Opening the service, the officiating Arch bishop said, “Colbert Broussard, beloved son and servant of St. Michel, loving and loved
father of Margeaux, now joins his late wife, Bernadette, to rest in death's peaceful sleep.” The words
loving and loved father
sliced through the haze of Margeaux's grief and a tear meandered down her cheek. She had a choice—she could wallow in the past and weigh herself down with things that were too late to change or she could push beyond.

Loving and loved father.

The words made her feel claustrophobic and for a brief spell she wrestled with the overwhelming urge to get up and run out of the church. She pulled her hand from Henri's and scooted forward.

Loving and loved father.

Then Henri slid his arm along the back of the church pew, settling it on her shoulder, pulling her close. Margeaux collapsed into him. He kissed the top of her head and her mind found comfort in the memory of his kiss the night of Pascal's reading of the will.