Accidental Heiress. Nancy Thompson RobardsЧитать онлайн книгу.
Papa, how are you?” She ignored the sting of tears. She wouldn’t cry. She couldn’t allow herself that luxury because her father would see that as a weakness. And things were going so well.
He shrugged. “Other than being irritated and inconvenienced by being here, I’m fine. In fact, they say I’ll probably be released tomorrow.”
“That’s great news!” He must not be as sick as he looked.
He waved away her joy. “Lord knows, I don’t have time to spend one more day in this place. I told them if they kept me here I’d probably end up killing myself. So, they’re smart and are doing the right thing by releasing me.”
Margeaux frowned. He’d had a stroke and was darn lucky the episode hadn’t set him back any more than this. His body might be showing the wear of time and toil, but his will was stronger than ever. Impatient as ever. Obviously, that hadn’t changed. Maybe that’s why he was in here. In fact, given the lethal combination of high-stress politics, mixed with his explosive temper, she was surprised he hadn’t found himself in the hospital before. This was a warning he needed to heed. He’d only been in the hospital less than a week, and it seemed awfully fast for him to be going home after suffering a stroke.
“Dad, don’t be stubborn. When it comes to your health, you shouldn’t push it. Business will wait. The Crown Council won’t make any important decisions without you. The only thing that matters is that you rest and allow your body time to heal.”
Again, he waved her off. But this time he seemed too tired to argue the point. He simply turned his head and gazed out the window.
Pink and violet hues of twilight painted the sky, which was crowded with cumulus clouds gilded molten by the setting sun. The window framed the melancholy scene, provoking an air of sadness in Margeaux.
There was something about twilight—that limbo between day and night—that had always unsettled Margeaux. She wasn’t sure if the pull of sadness tugging at her was because of that or her father’s aloofness.
He’d always been aloof. Now, the two were virtual strangers since they’d been estranged for so many years. Margeaux knew her antics certainly hadn’t helped them bond, though until he’d made the quip about her being the tabloids’ favorite subject she hadn’t been certain he’d ever seen any of the sensationalized stories, since his responses to the press were usually, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” or a steely “No comment.”
Now they were face-to-face, trying to reach each other over a rickety bridge of years suspended precariously over oceans of differences. But when she’d decided to come back to St. Michel she’d resigned herself to the fact that it wouldn’t be easy.
He was sick and this wasn’t about her or the past. All that mattered was what happened from this moment forward.
“I’m sure you’ll understand that I need to talk to your doctor as soon as possible. If for no other reason than to make sure I understand your care plan?”
He didn’t answer her, and a food-service attendant broke the silence when she entered with a tray.
“Good evening, Monsieur Broussard,” she said. “I certainly hope you’re hungry. Tonight’s meal is a treat—chicken scaloppini. You’re going to love it.”
She offered him a broad grin as she set the tray on the bed table and rolled it in front of him. “And who is this lovely lady?”
Her father stiffened ever so slightly. It was so subtle that it would’ve gone unnoticed by most, but Margeaux saw the reflex. She wasn’t sure if he was reacting to the woman’s acting so familiar or if he was embarrassed by Margeaux.
“Hi, I’m his daughter, Margeaux Broussard.”
“My name is Nadine. So nice to meet you. For some reason, I was under the impression that the Monsieur did not have family…or at least none close by.”
“Well, I’m all he has. I live in Texas right now, but I came as fast as I could when I learned my father had taken ill.”
“So good of you to come and care for him.”
Colbert cleared his throat, “Excuse me, my dinner is not getting any warmer. Would you please allow me to enjoy it before it becomes any more unpalatable?”
Nadine gave a quick nod and excused herself, and Margeaux settled back into her seat, waiting for him to uncover the tray and take the first bite.
Instead, he cleared his throat again.
“You should go, too.”
His dismissal was formal and impatient.
“Why? I want to stay with you while you eat.”
He shook his head. “You watching me eat would be awkward. Please go. You may come back tomorrow and take me home.”
Margeaux stood, not wanting to leave. He was sending her away so that he could eat dinner alone. She wondered if she should push or comply. He’d always been blunt. In fact, the thing about Colbert Broussard was he always said what he meant—for better or worse. Her mother, Alice, had always been the buffer between father and daughter, smoothing the rough edges of his candid comments. After she died, things fell apart.
In hindsight, Margeaux knew both she and her father had been devastated by her death. But at the time, she’d felt lost and alone. A motherless sixteen-year-old and a despondent widower—not a good recipe for a functional family.
She wondered if Henri, who had once been like the son her father never had, had looked in on him. But the last she knew, her father had banished Henri, too.
Now was not the time to open that box.
Later.
They’d have plenty of time to sort that out in the coming months.
Colbert picked up his knife and fork and carved a small bit of chicken, but he set down his fork rather than taking a bite.
“There’s nothing you can do tonight. The doctor won’t make his rounds until tomorrow, and it will be too uncomfortable for me if you sit there and watch me eat. So go. Come back tomorrow, when you’ll have a purpose for being here. Tomorrow, you’ll take me home.”
Having been relieved of her hospital duty, Margeaux got back to the hotel earlier than she’d expected. She’d left her father only because he’d insisted. She left because she didn’t want to fight with him.
Surrender. That was the name of the game right now. All in the name of keeping the peace. She hadn’t come here to fight. She’d come to make things right.
Tomorrow morning, she and the girls would wind their way up the serpentine road to Margeaux’s childhood home and get the place ready for her father’s homecoming later that afternoon.
Tonight, she was free to enjoy herself.
Though it felt a little wrong to be planning a night in the casino while her father was laid up in the hospital, that’s exactly what she intended to do. The alternative was to spend the evening holed up in her room. That wouldn’t do anyone any good.
Her friends had come with her to act as backup support. Though they understood the situation—on all levels—she wanted to show them how much she appreciated them circling the wagons. They’d met by chance but had remained friends by choice. They were the sisters she’d chosen. Tonight was the perfect opportunity to show them a good time St. Michel–style.
Margeaux had called them on her way back to the hotel. They graciously waited as she raced to clean up and put on one of the many dresses that Pepper had carted over.
“So, now you’re happy I overpacked.” Pepper clapped like a child who’d just found the prize at the bottom of the Cracker Jack box. She addressed her comments to no one in particular, everyone in general. “If I’d been the practical traveler that y’all had tried to convert me into, just imagine the fix we’d be in right now.”