Page 90 of Dagger’s Shield

The window closed, and Maëlle shut the laptop.

“Now,” she said, “I tell my father I want Valais.”

“Do you want to do this alone?” I asked in the corridor. I expected her to say no but asked anyway.

She stopped walking. “Will you come with me?”

“Try to keep me out,” I said.

The study door was closed. She knocked.

“Entrez,” Bertrand called out.

He sat behind the desk, with the ledger closed in front of him, and took his glasses off.

“I see you didn’t leave,” he said.

“I did, but my fiancée brought me back.”

“Then, the wedding is on, after all.”

“In May,” Maëlle said. “But, Papa, there’s something I need to speak with you about.”

“And I have something I must say to you. Allow me to go first.” He came around the desk and stood in front of her. “Yesterday, I told you how wrong I’ve been. Talk is cheap. Valais needs someone to take over, Maëlle, and I’m asking you to be the person to do it. Not as Rémy’s replacement. As my daughter, who should have had the opportunity to continue our legacy from the beginning.”

Maybe she was stunned or too emotional to do so, but she didn’t say a word.

“I hurt you. For years, and I’m sorry for it. I know sorry will never be enough, but I hope one day you will find a way to forgive me.”

Her chin came up. “I came in here to ask you to consider me as your successor.”

He laughed. “Then, we are agreed for once.”

“Not everything is forgiven, Papa. Not today.”

The smile left his face. “I know. On Tuesday, I will show you everything Rémy kept from us both. The domaine needs you now, not after my funeral.”

He put out his hand, and she took it.

Chantal’s first treatment fell on a gray Monday. Bertrand drove the four of us.

Marthe packed a basket with enough food for a week and handed it to me on our way out.

At the clinic in Dijon, Chantal settled into the chair while the three of us arranged her blankets, her water, and her view.

She raised her hand. “You are all making far too much of a fuss. Maëlle, we had an agreement. No hovering.”

“The agreement has been renegotiated,” Maëlle said. “Too bad.”

“Get used to it,” I added.

“Whether you like it or not, Maman, I’m going to pamper you. Today, and every third Monday, and all the days between if I choose.”

“And I,” said Bertrand, “am going to pamper my wife.”

When Chantal appealed to me, saying I was the last sane person in the family, I handed her another pillow.

“Very well,” she said and surrendered.