Accidental Heiress (7 page)

Her thoughts drifted to what Maya had said about already having found her true love, and the thought made her stomach turn inside out. But the memory of Maya's suggestion that she be truthful with him flat out made her stomach hurt.

“I'm ready to get out of here, if that's what you mean,” she said.

A lot had happened since that kiss. Her father's funeral, the tabloid article, and, of course, A.J., Pepper and Caroline had been there. Not exactly the circumstances to reconnect. But now they were alone and heading out of town. Together. If anything would test the waters, surely this would be it.

The thought made her equal parts nervous and giddy.

“Here, let me help you with that.” He picked
up the bag. “While I'm putting this in the trunk, you might want to take a look at this.”

He handed her a large envelope.

“Pascal dropped it off this morning. I imagine it's instructions from your father for this leg of the journey.”

She opened it and glanced inside, only to see a series of smaller, sealed envelopes. Each one was labeled with instructions as to when they should be opened. Margeaux's hands only trembled a tiny bit as she drew out the envelope labled “Begin.”

T
hey took the auto ferry across the channel that flowed between St. Michel and France. It was a relaxing ninety-minute ride during which they enjoyed a glass of wine and shared a fruit-and-cheese plate in the boat's café.

“I have news,” he said.

“You do?” Margeaux absently picked up a piece of apple and bit into it. Her gaze was trained on Henri.

He nodded. “Sydney turned in her letter of resignation. Her last day will be the day before we get back from Avignon.”

Margeaux's eyes widened and the thought that the news would make her so happy made Henri smile along with her.

“Where is she going?”

“To Texas, of all places. I think she's going to get in touch with your friends.”

Margeaux shrugged. “Well, at least she'll know someone there.”

“I'm sure she'll become one of the girls in no time.”

Margeaux toyed with the bitten apple slice, looking as if she wanted to say something.

“What?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

Then it was almost as if the words bubbled up and out of her on their own. “I'm surprised she went. I really think she had feelings for you.”

Henri shrugged. “I've made it perfectly clear where I stand on that issue. She's a wonderful woman who deserves someone to return her feelings. I did not.”

“Why not?”

Because I love you.
They were both adults. He should just be able to tell her how he felt.
Say those words he could never say all those years ago.

The boat rocked gently as the pregnant question swayed between them unanswered.

The problem was Margeaux was fragile right now. With her father dying and this fact-finding mission thrust upon her, she had a lot to process right now. The last thing she needed was for him to put more pressure on her.

He would tell her in good time. In the mean time, he would show her.

“How do you explain love?” he asked. “Why is it that two people have chemistry and others don't? If I knew the answers to those questions…”

For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw disappointment register in her eyes. But then she turned and looked out the window, squinting at the vast ocean and he couldn't be sure.

“Did you know she will be working for Pepper's father?” Margeaux asked. Actually, he did. And that was fine.

“I guess it will be a win-win situation for everyone.”

The boat docked in Nice, France. From
there, it was a two-and-a-half hour drive to the outskirts of Avignon.

She'd been rather quiet on the journey. So, he'd opted to give her space, rather than trying to get her to open up or hold her hand like he had at the funeral or kiss her like he had that night after the dinner.

Even though he longed to do all those things.

Just give her room. Everything will sort it self out in due time.

It was after four o'clock when they finally reached Avignon's rampart walls. The sun was falling in the western sky, and the city was beginning to take on a late-day golden hue as evening bathed the ancient buildings and cobblestone streets in light and shadow. It was perfect light for taking photos and Avignon would definitely be a photogenic city. But she didn't have the heart to ask Henri to stop the car now so that she could disappear behind the camera. Photography was such a solitary endeavor, and right now, she wanted to be with him.

The golden light would return tomorrow.
This moment with Henri would never come again.

Inside the city's walls, they passed shops, homes and several bed-and-breakfasts. It was considerably colder and windier here than it was in St. Michel and bundled-up pedestrians and the occasional bicyclist hurried past with purpose.

Since they were staying for two weeks, Henri had rented a two-bedroom house. It would be much more comfortable and private than a hotel or rented room. Colbert had left money for room, board and incidentals. He'd asked Henri to make the arrangements since he would be more familiar with Avignon than Margeaux would after being away.

Henri turned off the busier avenue onto a quiet road, stopping the car on a narrow cobblestone street lined with mature trees and stone buildings. The house was set off from the street by hedges and a wrought-iron gate.

As he and Margeaux got out of the car, pulled on their coats and walked toward the house, they saw a man in a black coat open the front door of the house and approach them from the other side of the gate.

As Henri waited for him, he glanced at Margeaux and it struck him that for the next two weeks they would be living together. Granted they would have separate bedrooms, but it would be just the two of them in this house. It seemed so natural and it dawned on him that neither of them had questioned it.

In many ways it was like a new beginning.

The rental representative made quick order of giving them the cursory tour, collecting the deposit, giving them their keys and getting on his way. He left a business card with his name and number in case they needed anything.

As far as Henri was concerned, he had everything he needed right here.

The place smelled vaguely of lavender and mothballs, with hints of Margeaux's cinnamon chewing gum. It was clean though cluttered with knickknacks and kitsch—lace doilies, porcelain figurines and paintings that looked as if they might have been done by a local artist. The paintings shared wall space with floral painted plates, rough-hewn needlepoint pieces and framed photographs.

The decorating job was not to Henri's taste,
but to him it was more beautiful than any other place on earth, because Margeaux was there.

 

They left their bags in the entryway and decided to go out and look for a place to eat. They hadn't eaten since the snack on the boat several hours ago, and they both agreed they were hungry.

They chose a place around the corner from their house, right on the main road. Lace curtains adorned the café's glass door. Henri started to pull open the door but a wild gust of wind caught it and whipped it open, making the string of bells on the glass sing and dance a frantic jig.

“Whoa!” Henri called, laughing. “That's some wind.”

When he finally got a hold of it, he held open the door for Margeaux. She stepped inside and was immediately greeted by the delicious aroma of something savory. Her stomach growled in appreciation.

It was warm and cozy inside the café, and a pretty middle-aged woman in a black shirt-waist dress appeared from a back room and greeted them with a cheery, “Bonjour! The
mistral opened the door for you. Please don't let him in.”

She laughed.

“Bonjour,” they called in return.

“Sorry about that,” Henri added. “It got away from me.”

“It's no problem,” she said. “Happens all the time. Sit anywhere you'd like. I will bring menus to you.”

They chose the table by the window and took off their coats because it was so warm in there. By the time they were settled, the woman had returned with menus, a breadbasket and a carafe of water. She placed the items in front of them with a practiced efficiency.

Her warm smile was painted deep red and her eyes were the color of well-brewed coffee, a beautiful contrast to her ivory complexion. She had an ageless look.

“Today's special is
boeuf bourguignon,
” she said. “I'll give you time to look at the menu, and I'll be right back to take your order.”

When she returned, Henri ordered the steak and fried potatoes and Margeaux the special. Since it was so cold outside, she needed something hearty to warm her from the inside out.
The justification had her thinking about being warmed from the outside in by Henri. It would be nice to feel his arms around her.

Henri plucked a small baguette out of the basket.

“
Mmm,
it's warm,” he said. “You have to try this.”

She picked up a piece. “I wonder if she baked it herself?”

“Probably.”

“I've always wanted to learn how to bake bread.” Margeaux tore the crusty roll in half, slathered butter on the hot surface and watched it melt into the tender white crevices. “It just seems so homey.”

She swallowed the bite, but rather than devouring the rest of the baguette, she set it down on her bread plate and stared out the window.

Home.
Though she'd done an adequate job of supporting herself over the years, she'd never really made her places feel like home. After her mother died, then especially after her father shipped her off to boarding school, every place seemed so temporary. She'd moved around a lot, looking, searching, but never connecting.

The closest she'd come to feeling at home was not in a house, but when she was with Henri.

His arm was resting on the table and on impulse, she reached out and put her hand over his. The gesture didn't seem to faze him. In fact, he lifted his hand and laced his fingers through hers. His palm was warm and his hand felt strong and safe around hers. The action seemed so natural, it was as if they'd been doing it for the past sixteen years.

Had her father really been gone a week? It seemed like another lifetime. As she held Henri's hand, she gazed out the café window and pondered the situation that had kept them apart for too many years.

The cold day was coming to a close. A couple walked by arm in arm with a cloth grocery bag brimming over with what she imagined were the ingredients for their dinner. Two young boys bundled in coats and scarves rolled by on skateboards. A horn honked somewhere in the distance, across the way, an old, stooped woman stepped out from the shop across the street to sweep the stone walk in front of her establishment.

This place was home to these people.

Sadness, weighty and dark, loomed over her. Even though her apartment was back in Austin and her father's house, which was soon to be her house, was back in St. Michel, neither of them felt like home.

She glanced down at her hand in Henri's and thought,
this is what I miss; this is home.

 

Pleasantly full and a bit drowsy, they made their way back to the house hand-in-hand. Henri felt as nervous as a teenager on a first date—unsure of where to look or what to do, other than to keep holding on.

Funny, he'd always been the one to take the lead with women. This new role of stepping back and following her lead was…different, but it felt right.

“I can't believe how much colder it is here than in St. Michel,” she said. “I'm freezing.”

She slanted into him as they walked, and he slipped his arm around her, pulling her in close. They walked home that way, under the light of a huge harvest moon.

When they finally got back to the house, they carried their bags to separate rooms and
exhausted, they agreed to get a good night's sleep so that they would be rested and ready for whatever tomorrow's visit to the orphanage might throw at them.

Their rooms were right across the hall from each other. As they said good-night, Margeaux lingered in the doorway, looking like an angel in her white nightgown.

“Would you sleep in here with me?” she asked. “Just hold me?”

 

Margeaux must've slept the sleep of the dead, because after she and Henri lay down on the bed, she closed her eyes for what she meant to be just a minute, and the next thing she knew bright sunshine was streaming in through the lace curtains on the windows.

She sat up in the four-poster bed and blinked at the light. Sometime during the night, Henri must have pulled the quilt over her, but he was gone now.

She felt a little silly having asked him to sleep with her, but not
sleep with her.
He was a good sport. But she hoped she hadn't tested his good nature too much.

He'd been a perfect gentleman. The thought
made her wish she could have a re-do of last night, because this morning she wished she would've awakened to his face on the pillow next to her. She could imagine making love to him right here, right now in this big four-poster bed.

“Henri?” she called, but her invitation was met by silence that was broken only by the distant sound of a ticking clock somewhere in the house.

She pushed away the covers and glanced around the room. It was small and bright. The walls were painted simple white and adorned with paintings similar to the ones in the living room. But the bedroom walls were remarkably clutter-free. The room was furnished with an economy of furniture: a mirrored dressing table with a delicate stool, an overstuffed chair in the corner and a bench with a cushion at the foot of the bed.

Her gaze fell on the packet of sealed envelopes. She scooted to the edge of the bed and picked them up. There were ten white letter size envelopes bound together with a rubber band. The instructions on them said to open
them at the end of the week spent at St. Mary's Orphanage.

She slipped one from the bundle and held it up to the light. The stationery was fine ivory linen that didn't give away any clues.

She was going to play the game her father's way. So, she pushed it back into the collection and returned the stack to its larger holder, setting it aside for now.

She set her feet on the cold floor and shivered as she walked to the window and pushed back the curtains. It was another sunny day. The window looked out on the front of the house. The yard was artfully landscaped with plants that seemed to be holding up under the cool weather. There was a birdfeeder hanging from a tree and a birdbath, but it didn't have any water in it. The hedge was tall enough to screen out the street—even though yesterday it seemed to be a sleepy road.

That's when she saw Henri come through the gate with what she hoped were two cups of coffee and a bag of something for their breakfast.

Shivering, she stepped away from the win
dow before he could see her, and pulled clothes out of her suitcase and dressed in haste.

She wanted Henri, but she needed coffee. Not only to warm her up, but to help her think straight. It was time to get her head together so she could get to work.