My Brother's Crown (28 page)

Catherine sat down on the edge of the bed. “There have been complications.”

“Oh?”

Catherine didn't want to alarm Amelie. She shrugged. “
C'est la vie, hein?
”

“What is going on?”

Catherine hesitated and then said, “He and I have not been getting along well, that is all.”

Amelie smiled. “You will work things out.” She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I overheard you and Grand-Mère talking about Suzanne's letter. You should go soon and ask her for help.”

Catherine shrugged. “Not yet. Not with the dragoons still here.”

Amelie peered at her for a long moment. “You mean not while I am still so incapacitated.”

Catherine looked away as Amelie continued. “Please,
chérie,
do not wait on my behalf. I am feeling much better. I would be fine. And I have Estelle to help with the baby. We will make do while you are gone.”

“I do not know…”

“Please go,” Amelie said. “Write to Suzanne. I will speak to Grand-Mère. I want to get Valentina out of danger before it's too late.”

Amelie grew silent after that, and when Catherine turned to look, she realized that she had fallen asleep. Just like that, the window had closed again, the old Amelie disappearing back inside the new, ailing version they had rescued from the convent. With a heavy sigh, she rose and went to the desk, where she pulled out a sheet of paper and then selected a quill from the jar. It did not take her long to pen the letter. She simply said they would come as soon as they could and would send a message once they arrived in Paris.

When she was finished, she took another piece of paper and recorded the events of the day in her journal
.
She stopped a moment and ran her fingers along the feather. She knew she needed to trust God with her future—she had been taught that her entire life. But sometimes He seemed like the men in her family—a little slow.

She shook her head, frowning at her own blasphemy. Was she going to choose not to trust the Lord? Was that the sort of woman she was becoming?

Perhaps Jules was right and her impatience would end up being the ruin of them all.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

Renee

M
y cousins and I may have kept everyone else up way too late Friday night with our giggling and talking, but we got our comeuppance the next morning, when we were awakened noisily in return. Between kids running through the hall, pots and dishes clanging in the guesthouse kitchen, and the general volume of voices all around, the three of us were rudely roused from sleep. I had a feeling the noise was intentional, but I supposed we deserved it.

At least the commotion helped get me up and going. I had lots to do before today's ceremony, so I hit the shower first and was ready and done, all decked out in a sleeveless sheath dress with a lace overlay, before my two cousins were even out of their jammies.

Wanting to avoid the noisy crowd in the guesthouse kitchen, I headed for the main house instead, where I was able to enjoy a much quieter breakfast from the family buffet. The rental company showed up just as I was finishing, so I went outside to supervise the setup for the ceremony.

The morning passed in a blur. Amid all my preparations for the event, the reunion recommenced with its influx of relatives ready for
more activities. Eventually, our dignitaires started to arrive, and then it was time for the ceremony to begin. As everyone headed to their seats, I handed the black leather holder containing the facsimile of the pamphlet to Uncle Finley, who was to be the event's emcee and would also be the one to present it at the end, along with Nana.

To my great relief, the ceremony went off without a hitch. The crowd seemed a little restless at first, probably because of the heat, but Uncle Finley was a gifted speaker, and soon his witty opening and warm welcome had helped settle everyone down and give the event just the right tone.

For the most part, the various speakers—the president of the local Huguenot Society, a woman from the DAR, and the director from the Smithsonian—stayed within their allotted time slots. The congressman, to whom I had given the largest single chunk of time, ended up providing the perfect keynote, his talk moving skillfully from lighthearted to serious to downright touching, and it even brought tears to more than a few eyes. Once he was finished, he stayed in place at the podium in order to recognize the efforts of those involved. When he got to me, I had to rise and give a little wave from my seat in the front row while the crowd applauded. As I sat back down, my eyes went to the handsome man standing off to the side, watching me. Thanks to a sexy and expensive-looking pair of sunglasses, I couldn't see Blake's eyes, but by the smile on his lips, it seemed he was impressed—maybe even proud of me.

The congressman acknowledged Nana last, saying that though she may not have been a Talbot by birth, she had become one through marriage and was a vitally important part of the family's legacy.

That brought a standing ovation, during which Uncle Finley helped Nana to her feet and they strode together to the podium. As the applause died down, the two men sat and she remained standing.

She looked regal and beautiful, and as she began to speak, her voice was surprisingly strong and sure. She started by thanking the congressman, the Talbot family both immediate and extended, honored guests, members of the press, and everyone else who was here today helping to celebrate this momentous occasion.

“When Douglas Talbot got down on one knee back in 1956 and asked me to marry him,” she said, her eyes twinkling, “I knew I had landed a real catch.”

The audience laughed, pleased by such a proper woman's use of the vernacular.

“What I hadn't realized at the time was that along with him came a set of extended relatives that numbered not in the tens or dozens but the hundreds.”

More laughter, more cheering, just as I had hoped when we'd written this speech.

“What a wonderful thing that turned out to be, and what a blessing all of you have been to me, especially in this last difficult year.” Her voice nearly broke, but she pressed through. “I would give anything to have my husband still here beside me, but today is about faith—the faith of the brave Huguenots who fled France more than three hundred years ago in search of religious freedom. That same deep faith is what sustains me now, for I know that I
will
see him again someday, in heaven.”

Nods and murmurs came from the crowd.

“In the meantime, I will honor his memory by joining with our oldest son in donating this important gift to the Smithsonian. Thank you.”

I blinked away tears as Nana turned and gestured for the Smithsonian representative to join her. Uncle Finley stepped forward as well, the black folder in hand. He and Nana stood side by side, facing the man together, Uncle Finley leaning toward the microphone.

“In accordance with the wishes of my late father, Douglas James Talbot,” he said, his tone deep and somber, “and on behalf of all the descendants of Emmanuel Talbot, the first of our ancestors to come to America, I now present this historic document, known as the ‘Persecution Pamphlet,' as a gift to the National Museum of American History.”

The crowd erupted into applause and another standing ovation as Uncle Finley pulled from the folder the facsimile of the pamphlet, held it up for all to see, and then handed it to the museum's director, who accepted it graciously.

Uncle Finley closed out the ceremony with a prayer, and then we
were done. Standing beside my seat, I exhaled, thrilled that everything had gone well but so very glad it was over. After a moment, Blake joined me. I expected some sort of sarcastic remark, but I realized his expression was serious.

“Have I mentioned how great I think this whole thing is, your family giving that document to the Smithsonian? In my business, I don't usually pass judgment one way or the other on our clients' valuables, but in this case I can't help it. It's a really generous and special thing to do.”

His words were so sweet and unexpected that they brought tears to my eyes. Glancing around for the purse I had left in my room, I ended up having to wipe them away with my hand as they spilled down my cheeks.

“And now I've made you cry,” he said. “Sorry, I take it all back. This was a terrible thing you guys did, just horribly rude and selfish.”

I laughed even as the tears kept coming. “It's fine. I'm just…”

My voice trailed off. Blake held out a neatly folded tissue, and I took it from him gratefully, dabbing at my cheeks and hoping I didn't look like a raccoon from all the mascara. I managed to pull myself together long enough to shake a few hands and head for the main house behind Nana and the museum director, Blake at my side.

Of course, the waterworks nearly started up again once our little foursome went into the study. I removed the real case from the safe and gave it over to Nana, who paused just a moment before handing it on to the museum's director.

I felt both deep loss and great joy. Granddad had done the right thing in donating our family treasure, I knew that, but tears threatened at the back of my eyes as I grappled with the thought that it would never belong to us again.

Somehow, I managed to keep it together, and soon the director was shaking my hand goodbye and once again thanking me for all I'd done to help make the donation possible. Nana walked him out, and then Blake and I were alone.

With a heavy sigh, I collapsed onto one of the chairs in front of my grandfather's desk, glad at least that my responsibilities had come to an end.

“You okay?” Blake asked, taking the seat next to mine.

“I'm fine. Just exhausted.”

“I can imagine.” He clasped his hands together behind his neck and leaned back in his chair.

“At least my work here is done,” I added.

“Yeah, mine too,” he replied happily. “The butterfly has flown.”

I glanced at him, surprised at the relief that filled his face. Was he really that thrilled to be finished and out of here? Did he expect me to be happy about that?

“Well, good for you,” I managed to mutter, looking away.

“And for you too, I would hope,” he replied. “I mean, think about it. Now that you and I no longer have a professional relationship, it's perfectly appropriate to consider some other kind.”

I turned back to look at him.

“Just one question,” he added with a grin. “If we go out on a date, do I have to leave my gun at home?”

A date. My heart surged with pleasure at the thought. I took a moment to reply, trying to sound matter-of-fact as I held in my smile. “Only if you want to get within ten feet of me. I mean, we could still go out, but if you insisted on bringing the gun, we'd have to take separate limos. Separate tables at the five-star restaurant. Separate boxes at the symphony. You get the idea.”

“Oh, I see. So what you're saying is, separate bicycles, separate booths at McDonald's, and separate couches while we watch NASCAR?”

“Um, something like that.”

“Ten feet with the gun, huh?”

“That's right.”

“Okay, so let's say I leave it at home. How close does that get me?”

He sat forward in his chair, sending all witty repartee from my mind.

“About as close as you are right now,” I managed to say.

“What if I want to get even closer?” He leaned forward, closing the distance between us.

Any closer and I just might do something stupid, I realized, like reach up to brush the hair off his forehead or bury my face against his broad shoulder. He was so close, I couldn't think.

It was all I could do to breathe.

Slowly, he reached up and touched one finger to my cheek, running it lightly along my chin line.

“Blake, I don't think you know what you're getting into here,” I said softly. “Trust me, I'm no prize.”

I didn't know what made me say that, but even as the words came out of my mouth, I realized I meant them. I had too much baggage, too many fears, too many unresolved issues in my life. With other guys I dated, that hadn't really mattered. But this time, with this guy, it did.

It mattered a lot.

“I don't understand,” he said, backing off just a little. “You're the most amazing woman I've ever met, Renee. Beautiful, smart, funny…”

“… emotionally unavailable. Hypersensitive to anyone who doubts me on anything. Scared of my own shadow…”

“Stop. Come on, Talbot. We all have issues.”

I shook my head. “Yeah, except with me it's more than just that. Maybe I didn't realize how bad it was until this weekend. Until I read Catherine's journal and was reminded how brave she was.” I forced myself to meet his gaze. “Until I met you and… wanted to be better. To be whole.” Perhaps I was being a little too honest, but suddenly I didn't care. If letting him know how he'd affected me sent him running, then he wasn't the guy I thought he was after all.