What had she done?
The tender moment bespoke regret, a lifetime of missing another, years spent wondering. Fumbling for her handkerchief, she dried her own eyes, unsure what to do next, when the door reopened and he reappeared.
The lines on thecomte’sangular face were carved deep, his eyes the hue of her own, his features echoing her mother’s. In the utterly awkward moment, she nearly forgot what she’d meant to say and the words came out in a staccato rush—
“Sir, I am the only child of Josseline Vérany, your daughter. She no longer lives but I have come from America to meet you if you will allow me the honor.”
The clumsy statement brought the room to a standstill all over again. Never had a moment been so painfully poignant. Slowly, he moved toward her as if she was ethereal as a phantom and might vanish. Touching her arm gently, he turned her around. At the end of the room on the far wall was a painting of a young woman they had both loved and lost. Before Brielle could study the canvas with any appreciation, his hand fell away and he left the room again without a word.
The steward appeared instead, ushering her back to Bleu with a formal unapologetic excuse. “Mademoiselle, thecomteis overcome and cannot meet with you further.”
Numb, she let Bleu take charge. He thanked the steward and they retraced their steps, walking wordlessly and woodenly through the gardens toward the gate and waiting barge. All the while Brielle replayed the brief moments alone with thecomtein tortuous detail, wishing she had done things differently, perhaps given him some sort of warning before her appearing.
Riven with regret, she took a last look at thechâteau’sfaçade as the river swept them out of sight toward Nantes.
They dined atLe Grand MonarqueonRue du Marchixin Nantes. One of the most celebrated establishments in the city, it was not far from the inn where they were staying. Sunset gilded the city’s spires and rooftops and balconettes as it faded to the west. The dying day would soon be over, its humbling memories with it, or so Bleu hoped.
He ordered for them at a corner table to one side of a cavernous, flickering hearth. Though the autumn days were warm, the nights were cool. He doubted Brielle would eat, her appetite likely stolen by what had happened. Clutching her jewelry box, she’d hardly said a word on the way downriver. Now, as they waited for their meal, she sipped a cup of Marseilles tea and began to talk.
“I hardly know where to begin…” She stirred more sugar into her cup absently. “Thecomtewas clearly overcome. He pointed to my mother’s portrait on the salon wall then left the room again. After that, the steward came to tell me he could not see me any longer and ended the matter.”
Bleu studied her, feeling she’d stepped toward him again instead of away from him.
“I was so emotional in that moment that our meeting is a blur.” Her gaze stayed troubled. “I’m sorry I caused him more pain. I don’t think I reckoned with the toll of telling him who I was andMaman’sdeath all at once.”
True, the old man might have cherished the hope of reuniting with his daughter one day. “Perhaps I erred and should have sent word upriver first.”
“It may not have helped.” Her eyes glistened again. “Any meeting under the circumstances is fraught.”
“Are you sorry we came?” He nearly held his breath waiting for her answer.
“Non,” she said firmly. “I have experienced a treasured part of my mother’s past. Perhaps that is enough.”
Enough? He’d hoped there’d be instant acceptance, an invitation, but all had been a gamble and now nothing had been gained but their short-lived reunion. Perhaps too much time had passed. Clearly thecomtehad lived a life without his daughter and entirely without his granddaughter. He might not want to change that, harsh as it was.
Supper was served—beef ragout and a cheese souffle, salat, bread, and fruit. To his surprise Brielle ate everything as if she’d already put the episode behind her while he hadn’t much appetite. As for himself, seeing her in her lovely gown and hat, their idyllic ride beneath the canopy on the barge, and this satisfying meal was something he’d remember for the rest of his life.
She smiled and poured herself another cup of tea as if she’d dealt with the day and dismissed it. Or was she simply trying to put on a brave front and bolster him? “I am ready to return to the Rivanna.”
“Sacré Dieu.” He set down his knife and fork, trying to keep his surprise and pleasure in check. “Already?”
“Oui. Tomorrow, if you can arrange it.”
Her haste was amusing. He almost laughed. “It might take a few days more.”
“Then we’ll continue to enjoy the sights of Nantes till then.” She all but winked at him. “And keep pretending to be Monsieur and Madame Galant.”
“You’re taking this well,mon bonheur.”
“Don’t you miss it? Virginia, I mean.”
Did he? He’d seldom formed such attachments since Acadie. He let that digest along with his meal as he finished what was on his plate and she drained the teapot. Occasionally she stole a shy, almost coquettish look at him.
Suddenly he felthewas being courted. The possibility caught him off guard. Her ongoing regard of him as her hero wassomething he’d thought would pass. But a rough ocean voyage and today’s events seemed only to have fueled her devotion. And the warmth building inside him was something he could no longer ignore.
“As for Virginia…” He finished his wine. “We need to see if Nadine is ready to leave for the colonies or stay on.”
But Nadine was the furthest thing from his mind. His main concern was Brielle. He didn’t want to subject her to another rough crossing so soon. Perhaps the better plan was to confess how he felt about her, propose marriage right here and if she would have him honeymoon on the idyllic isle ofFeydeau.If they tired of that, which he doubted, they could go to Paris and spend the remainder of his monies, saving just enough for their return passage to Virginia.
