Did he plan to confront Damien about his intentions once he recovered? Her father usually kept a level head, and surely he wouldn’t be rude to Damien. Yet she couldn’t help the worry niggling in her midsection.
She tapped on the rear door to their chamber and cracked it enough for her voice to carry inside. “It’s me, Damien. And my father.”
“Enter, of course.” His voice sounded stronger than before, more like the man she’d known through most of their travels.
She pushed the door wide and stepped inside, her father following behind her. Damien sat on the edge of his cot, lacing one of his boots. He looked up to offer one of those warm smiles to her and a pleasant nod to her father. “Sir. Good to see you again. I’m sorry for sleeping so long.”
Damien started to rise, but her father waved him down as he pulled a chair over from their table. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m grateful you’re looking much heartier than when we arrived yesterday.”
Damien nodded as her father motioned for Charlotte to sit in her usual chair by the bed. With the three of them settled, Papa leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped overhis middle. His gaze flicked from Damien to her, and if it weren’t for the hint of a smile at his mouth, her own would have gone impossibly dry. What exactly did her father plan to say?
He leveled his focus on her. “Charlotte. You’ve had my curiosity piqued for days now. Are you ready to tell us what you need our help with?”
That dryness in her mouth took over now. This was the moment. With both men watching her, she had to tell all.
“I...” She scrambled for how best to begin. “Let me show you.” The few moments it took to stand and retrieve the damaged chalice from her pack were far too short a reprieve.
When she returned to her seat, the bronze cup cradled in her hands, her father looked from her face to the heirloom, then back to her eyes. No surprise marked his expression. In fact, she couldn’t tell exactly what emotion showed there. His drawn brows revealed intensity, but little more.
She’d been holding the chalice with only a little of the damage facing upward, but now she lifted it to her father, turning the cup so the melted side glared up at him. “I dropped it in the fire. By the time I realized where it was, the damage had been done. I’m so sorry.” A knot pulled in her throat to match the one cinching her belly. Tears sprang up to her eyes, but she forced them back. “I tried to take it to Fort Versailles to see if anyone there might have the skill to repair it.”
She glanced at Damien, whose eyes had grown wide as he took in the awful condition of the cup. “I didn’t make it to the fort, as you know. But along the way, I learned Damien has incredible skill as an artist. I thought perhaps between your abilities with metal and his talent with artistic detail...”
She couldn’t finish the idea. As capable as these two were, how could anyone—or any two—match the skill of the great Titus Trouvé, who had first cast this chalice?
Her father had remained silent throughout her explanation, and when she finally ceased speaking, she could feel his sigh all the way through her. He lifted his gaze from the chalice in her hands to meet her eyes. “I assumed something had happened to it, since it disappeared the same time you did. I wish you’d told me. Given me the chance to help you from the beginning.”
Those tears she’d been holding back would no longer comply. Hot moisture rushed her eyes, blurring her vision. “I’m sorry.” She could say no more as her voice cracked.
Beside her, Damien’s throat cleared. The sound brought a welcome distraction, as they both glanced his way. Did he think her foolish to imagine he and her father could repair such a treasure?
But he was motioning toward something on the floor by her chair. “Could you hand me that pack, please?” A touch of something odd sounded in his voice. Not quite excitement, but close. Were his fingers itching to sketch the scene on the cup?
He took the satchel from her hand, then flipped it open and rummaged inside. Instead of pulling out the leather book with the blank pages, he extracted a small cloth bag. His fingers took an impossibly long time to unfasten the strings, but when he finished, the glimmer of metal inside made her catch her breath.
As he removed a bronze chalice from the wrapping, the world seemed to grow hazy around her. How had their village treasure gotten into his pack? But it wasn’t theirs.She still held the damaged chalice. Yet the cup in Damien’s hands—the one he now held out to Papa—looked identical.
Her father’s sharp inhale finally brought her vision into focus, clearing her mind. Could Damien’s possibly be... ?
She leaned closer and made out the figure of Jesus with a child perched on each leg. The detail was exquisite, showing such an expression of love on the Savior’s face. Few artists could achieve such a feat.
Her father lifted his gaze to meet hers, the awe on his face matching what thrummed through her body. “It’s the pair.” Then he shifted his focus to Damien. “It seems we have much to discuss.”
27
As much as Damien loved having Charlotte at his side, he was grateful she’d left him to work with her father alone. This project was too important for his focus to be distracted.
And she provided too alluring a distraction.
“I’ve recast the cup to make a smooth curve. As we suspected, we lost more of the image in that process.” Chief Durand held out the chalice for Damien to study. Being in this man’s presence was even harder now that he knew he was the chief of Laurent, basically governor of the entire village. Why had Charlotte never mentioned that in all the times she spoke of her father?
Damien took the cup and studied the smoothness of what had so recently been wrinkled, distorted metal. He ran several fingers over the surface, searching for any flat spot or sharper curve that would distort the image he engraved. His touch found nothing but perfection.
He lifted his gaze to the chief with a nod of appreciation. “It seems flawless.”
The older man’s gaze softened. “I hope so.”
Now the weight of the project’s success pressed on Damien’sshoulders. He opened his sketchbook and withdrew several pages he’d already torn out. “I think this one turned out best. I also sketched the other image several times, the one of Jesus with the children. I wanted to get a better feel for the artist’s style.” He laid all the pages on the worktable, including both scenes. “I think part of what made him such a master is that he used the chisel at different depths in the model to create shading. That’s what makes each expression come alive.”
