Danielle Steel - Legacy

And then he added some gratuitous information. “Many people blamed Marie Antoinette for the excesses of the time, and the direction in which she led the king. One can’t put it all at her door, but the nobles in those days, and the royals, certainly created a terrible situation for the poor, and didn’t seem to care. They paid for it dearly. Les Chouans were the only resisters, and their neighbors in La Vendée. But they weren’t as overwhelmed by sheer numbers as they were in Paris. It served them well that they were so far away. They were safer in Brittany, as safe as anyone was during the Revolution.” It shocked her to realize that the Revolution had been barely more than two hundred years before, which didn’t seem so long ago. Napoleon had come just after. The monarchy had been replaced by an empire, which wasn’t much better. And Napoleon had been just as excessive in his own way.

“It’s fascinating the role that women played in all that. Marie Antoinette before the Revolution, and Josephine after. It fits into my women’s gender studies. I should write a paper on it one day,” she said, looking pensive. She liked the idea.

“And don’t underestimate the courtesans. They were powerful women as well. The intrigues and manipulations at court were tremendous, and in some cases, women held all the power, and the key. Men are always willing to ride into battle. Women are much more clever, and can be very dangerous at times.”

“What a book that would make,” she said, smiling. “And to think I’ve spent seven years researching women’s right to vote, and I thought that was interesting. It’s nothing compared to all this.” But the French were singularly committed to intrigue, and when she said it to Marc, he didn’t deny it.

“That’s what makes our history so interesting. It’s never what it appears to be on the surface. All the important pieces are on the underside of the story, and you have to search for them to know what really happened.” Not unlike the details she had unearthed about Wachiwi. “How do you feel about having an Indian in your ancestry?” he asked her. He had wondered about it.

“I like it,” she said simply. “At first I thought my mother might be upset, since she’s such a snob about our aristocratic French background, and such a purist. I wasn’t sure being part Sioux, even by a fraction, would please her. But she seems to like it too. And I love the idea that there’s something more exotic in my DNA than a lot of French nobles with titles, with all due respect,” she said, glancing at him apologetically for the comment.

Marc laughed when she said it. “Don’t worry, I don’t have a single aristocrat in my background. My ancestors were all peasants.”

“Whatever they were, they were courageous people, judging by the book about your parents and grandparents.”

“I think going against the tides is in our nature. That’s very French too. We never want to do what we’re supposed to. It’s much more fun to start a revolution, or be in the resistance. We’re oppositional people, and we never agree with each other either. That’s why we love talking politics here, so we can disagree with everyone.” There were heated debates in cafés constantly, and on campuses, about meaningful subjects. It was one of the things Brigitte had always liked about France.

They talked all the way to Saint Malo, and it was too late to visit the château when they got there. They checked into the hotel where he had booked rooms for them, and they walked around the port. The town was old-fashioned and pretty. He told her it had been a whaling town long ago, and he entertained her with more stories about the region.

They stopped and bought ice cream, and sat down on a bench to eat it, looking out at the ocean.

“Can you imagine the size of the boat Wachiwi must have come here on?” She looked dreamy when she thought about it. What a brave girl she must have been. And the man she loved and was traveling with had died on the trip. It must have been terrifying for her.

“I don’t want to think about it,” he said. “I get seasick.” He finished his ice cream, and they walked back to the hotel. They each had a tiny room barely bigger than the bed, and they shared a bathroom, but it was cheap. They each paid for their own room. He had offered to pay for hers, and Brigitte wouldn’t let him. He had come here to help her with her research, and there was no reason why he should pay for her. And she didn’t want to be obligated to him.

They ate dinner at a fish restaurant that night since their hotel served no food. The meal was delicious, and he ordered an excellent bottle of inexpensive wine. And dinner with him was lively and interesting. She always had a good time with him. He was so well educated and knew so many things about history, art, literature. She was astounded at his memory for historical facts and dates. He knew more about some aspects of American history than she did. And he was well informed about politics in the United States too. He was incredibly bright without being pompous, which was rare. So many of the professors she knew in academic life were disconnected from the real world and thought they knew it all. Marc knew a lot but still managed to be humble and make fun of himself. She liked that about him, and he had a good sense of humor. He told her some funny stories about his student days in Boston, and they were laughing when they got back to the hotel, said goodnight, and went to their respective rooms.

She was wearing an old flannel nightgown and brushing her teeth when he walked in on her in the bathroom. She had forgotten to lock the door, and he was wearing boxers and a T-shirt and looked just like any other guy at home. He didn’t look sexy and French, he looked human and real, and she liked that about him. He apologized profusely for walking in, although her nightgown covered her from neck to ankles.

“That’s a sexy-looking gown,” he said, teasing her. “My sister used to have a nightgown like that when we were in school.” He had mentioned her to Brigitte before. She lived in the South of France, was married, and had three kids and he was close to her. He referred to himself as her black sheep brother because he had lived with a woman, never married, nor had kids. She was a lawyer, and her husband was a judge in a small provincial town. “I don’t think she caught her husband by wearing it though,” he continued to tease Brigitte.

“I’m not in the market for a husband tonight,” she quipped back. “I left all my sexy nighties at home.” The truth was that she didn’t have any, and hadn’t bought sexy lingerie or nightgowns in years. She didn’t need them. She’d had Ted.

“What a pity, I was just about to propose.” He put toothpaste on his brush while he chatted with her, and a minute later, they were both brushing their teeth at the sink. It was a funny thing to be doing with a man she hardly knew, but somehow she didn’t mind. They were becoming real friends, despite his teasing her about relationships and proposals. For them, there was no risk of either one, she was determined to be friends.

When they finished brushing their teeth, he said goodnight, and they went to their rooms and locked the doors. Or she did. He left his unlocked just in case. He would have been perfectly happy if she had become overwhelmed by a tidal wave of lust during the night. Instead, she slept like a baby, and felt fresh in the morning. He expressed his disappointment over it at breakfast, and was teasing her again. In fact, he would have been startled if she had turned up in his room. She had made her boundaries perfectly clear to him, and despite what he said, he respected them, and her. He thought her a very impressive woman, and Ted a fool for having left her. No royal mummy he found in Egypt, or pharaoh’s tomb, would be worth it, in Marc’s opinion. Brigitte was a good woman and brighter than anyone he’d met in a long time.