My Brother's Crown (20 page)

Then again, I knew I had nothing on Maddee. A born mother, she reportedly tended to her classmates' needs when she was still in kindergarten. By age twelve, she'd already chosen the names for her
future children—all six of them. By seventeen, she'd started sewing baby clothes and tucking them away for the future.

“God is the one who gave you all your mommy instincts,” I said. “I'm sure He has something wonderful in mind for you.”

“Yeah, I know. But I'm ready
now
. It's terrible, Renee. Sometimes I think I should just marry the next man I see.”

As if on cue, a male voice called out to us. “Hey, Talbot, there you are. Got a minute?”

We turned to see Blake striding toward us across the solarium.

My heart sank. This was perfect. Not only had the inevitable moment arrived when he was to meet the most beautiful of my young and eligible cousins, but he couldn't have been given a better setup if he'd tried.

“Sure,” I said, my voice strained as I made the introductions. He and Maddee greeted each other, but then he simply took me by the elbow and asked if he could borrow me for a minute.

“No problem,” Maddee replied. “She's all yours.”

Ignoring her bemused smile, I allowed Blake to lead me into the dining room.

“Your Aunt Cissy is looking for you,” he said softly once we'd come to a stop, “to ask if she can sing the National Anthem at the ceremony tomorrow. I wasn't sure if that would be a good thing or a bad thing, so I decided to give you a heads up.”

I groaned. “Oh, that would be a bad thing, a very bad thing. Thanks for the warning.”

He smiled. “Want me to head her off at the pass?”

I thought for a moment. “Nah, that's okay. I'll just tell her the only way we could fit it in would be to cancel somebody's speech, but that I wouldn't feel right doing that on such short notice.”

“Ah, that should work,” he said, eyeing me shrewdly. “See? That's why I like you, Renee. You're not just book smart, you're people smart too.”

With that, he turned and headed for the door, leaving me to watch him go.

His words stayed with me the rest of the afternoon and into the
evening. They were still on my mind once the day's events finally came to an end. Even after Blake was gone for the night and I rounded up my cousins and we set to work dismantling as much of the mini museum as we could—taking down the fabric panels and putting away the chairs and the screen—five words kept ringing around in my head.

That's why I like you. That's why I like you.

What did he mean, exactly, by the word “like”? As a friend? As something else? There was definitely chemistry between us, but did he actually
like
me?

Just as important, did he realize I liked him?

Of course, I got nothing but torment from my two cousins later that night once we were in our room. Like a pair of teenagers, they kept swooning and giggling and teasing me about Blake until finally my older brother knocked on the door and asked us for the third time to please quiet down and go to sleep. Chagrined, we did as requested, turning off the light and climbing into our beds and eventually falling silent.

I thought I'd be awake half the night, my mind swirling with thoughts of Blake. But the exhaustion of the day soon caught up with me, and I was relieved to find myself drifting off to dreamland.

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN

Catherine

A
fter traveling for what seemed like hours, Catherine felt the cart slow. She laid as still as possible under the rags, clutching the whimpering baby to her chest, praying that whatever had caused them to move from a gallop to a trot would not end up with them being apprehended.

“Catherine? Are you okay?” Pierre asked softly, but she didn't dare reply. After a moment, he said it again, this time adding, “You can speak. We're alone on the road. How are you doing? Is the baby all right?”

“We are both fine. What's going on? Why have we slowed down?”

“We're nearing the city and need to travel at a normal speed. We don't want to appear as if we're fleeing.”

“But we are,” she said. “Please hurry, Pierre. Surely the guards have horses and will be along to catch us soon.”

“No, I believe we're safe. Jules is the one who has Amelie, so our hope is that they will follow him. He'll easily outrun them.”

Lying there in the darkness, under the rags, the small weight of the infant atop her chest, Catherine's mind reeled. So Jules had come not to sabotage but to
assist
?

She could scarcely believe it.

The rain started up again, the drops plopping softly against the rags above her, the water eventually making its way through the cloths to her face and body. Instead of acclimating to the stench from the soiled rags, she nearly retched from the smell. Carefully, she shifted her cloak so it covered the infant and would perhaps keep her dry a bit longer. A quarter of an hour later, Catherine could tell from the sounds and the movements of the cart that they were nearly home.

They came to a stop, and she could hear Pierre jump down to open the courtyard doors. Beyond, the bells of the cathedral tolled, commemorating Jesus's Last Supper with His disciples. The bells would not ring again until Easter Sunday.

Seigneur, aide-nous,
she prayed as the wagon shifted under Pierre's weight and they inched forward into the courtyard.

She waited for the telltale
clunk
of the gate before finally sitting up, still clutching the whimpering baby to her chest. Rain pelted her face as she leaned forward, trying to protect Valentina.

Grand-Mère's voiced called out, “Where is she? Where is the
bébé
?” Catherine breathed a deep sigh of relief. If Grand-Mère knew about Valentina, that meant Jules and Amelie had arrived ahead of them.

Turning, Catherine lifted the child toward the side of the cart and into her grandmother's waiting arms. She had never been so relieved in all her life. Not only had they all made it safely home, but now someone with experience could take over with the infant.

“
Merci
, sweet Jesus,
merci
,” Grand-Mère cried, holding the babe close to her face for a good look and then tucking the little one's head under her chin. As she moved toward the house, she called out, “God bless you, Catherine. You did the right thing.”

Overwhelmed, Catherine nearly fell back into the rags.

“Come on,” Pierre said, reaching for her hand. “You need to get dry and warm.”

Water dripped from his hat.

“You too,” she said, taking his hand and rising to a standing position. He gripped her waist and swung her down to the ground. Their eyes met and held, and in that moment Catherine could see the love
in his expression. But there were other emotions there as well, primarily consternation—perhaps even regret—for what they had just done.

“Trust me, Pierre. It was the right thing to do. Now that we know she had a
bébé
, our actions were even more justified.”

He gazed into her eyes and seemed about to pull her into an embrace when Monsieur Roen emerged from the stables.

“I will take care of the horse,” he said, seemingly unaware that he had interrupted their moment.

“I need to return the cart,” Pierre answered, taking a step back and running his hand across his wet face.

“Can't it wait until morning?” Catherine asked.

Pierre shook his head. “I promised the rag peddler—”

“There is a dragoon across the street,” the coachman whispered as he drew closer.

“
Oui
, I saw him,” Pierre replied. “He is an old acquaintance, Waltier Chaput.”

Catherine grimaced. “I recognized him earlier today.”

“I believe he will look the other way.” Pierre turned to Monsieur Roen. “I will return the cart in a little while.”

The man nodded. “I will feed the horse in the meantime.” He clucked his tongue. “You two did a brave thing tonight.”

Tears stung Catherine's eyes. Pierre took her hand, leading her into the house. Even in the cold rain, his skin was hot against hers, and she longed to wrap her arms around him. She resisted, all thoughts of their earlier conflict far from her mind at the moment.

Cook stood by the fire, stirring the pot. “I have a
ragoût
on,” she said as they entered, dragging her plump forearm across her brow. “Get cleaned up and then come eat.”

“Where is Amelie?” Catherine asked.

“In your grandmother's apartment.”

Together, Catherine and Pierre moved from the kitchen into the hallway. When he paused at the door to the study, she braced herself, knowing Jules was likely inside and it was now time for her chastisement.

“I need to check in with your brother,” Pierre said, calming her fears. “I will find you before I leave.”

Catherine gave him a nod and then hurried down the hall toward the sound of a crying baby. She pushed open the door and moved through the sitting area to the bedchamber. By the dim light of the candles, Catherine could see that the drapes of the canopy bed were open, and Grand-Mère was helping Amelie into one of Catherine's nightgowns. The baby was crying loudly, her face red and scrunched up as she wailed on her blanket on the end of the bed. Catherine could not help but smile, grateful that the infant had withheld such a racket until they were safely home, almost as if she had known to be quiet for their escape.

“I have dry clothes for you,” Grand-Mère said to Catherine. “On the chair.”

Catherine stooped to pick up the baby.

“Leave her,” Grand-Mère said. “I will attend to her in just a moment.”

Catherine washed her face and hands, undressed, dried off, and then slipped into fresh undergarments and a housedress. Then she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders.

When she turned back again, Amelie was tucked under the covers and Grand-Mère had the baby unwrapped and was examining her, clucking her tongue as she did. “She is scrawny.”

“I was so ill at first that they brought in a wet nurse for a time. But then as soon as my fever passed, they let the girl go, insisting I was well enough to nurse her.”

“Clearly they were wrong,” Grand-Mère said, her eyes still on the baby.

Amelie sighed. “I tried to convince them to either bring the wet nurse back or find another one.”

Grand-Mère clucked her tongue again, pulling the cloth from the little one's bottom. With her other hand, she unfastened the ring of keys from her skirt and handed it to Catherine. “Go get rags from the housekeeper's cupboard.”

Catherine obeyed, although she hated to leave. As she headed down the hall, she heard a low rumble of voices in the study, their words becoming clearer as she drew closer.

“We should not have been there at all,” Jules said as she passed the closed door, causing her to pause and listen. “Now I will need to petition our solicitor to prove that my guardianship of Amelie supplants what rights those at the convent have over her.” He sighed, loudly. “Not to mention Catherine risked Amelie's life—and her own. And the baby's.”

“
Oui,
” Pierre replied.

Catherine's stomach clenched. Nothing had changed. Jules may have shown up after all, but apparently it had been against his will and his better judgment. Worse, Pierre—who had been so heroic just a short while ago—was again acting as Jules's most dependable pawn.

“But God worked good of it,” Pierre added after a moment. “
Oui?
”

At that, Catherine's heart softened just a bit. Perhaps he was not so much a pawn as a knight, which was another thing entirely.

She did not hear Jules's response over a pounding sound from the kitchen.

She turned that way and had only taken a few steps when Cook yelled, “Monsieur Gillet!”

Moving back toward the study, Catherine called out, “Jules!”

The door swung open. The two men emerged and headed toward the kitchen. She followed, stopping in the doorway. Three dragoons, including Waltier, stood in the middle of the room. They each wore white trousers, a brown coat, and red vest. Monsieur Roen stood behind them.

“
Merci
,” Jules said to Cook. “You may go on to your quarters. I will deal with this.”

“I would rather not,” she said.

Jules put his hand on her shoulder. “I insist.” He gave her a gentle nudge and pointed in the direction of the stairs to the servants' floor.

When Cook left, Jules asked what the dragoons wanted. Waltier stepped forward. “We have been assigned to
billet
in this home.”

Jules laughed, something he rarely did, and then asked, “Our home?”

“
Oui
,” Waltier responded.