Danielle Steel - Legacy (2010)

She took the address out of her bag, and he had remembered it himself. It was only a few blocks away from her hotel on the rue du Bac. They found the number easily and looked up at the house when they got there. It was a once-beautiful building that looked somewhat frayed now. The doors to the courtyard were open, and they walked in. Marc explained to her from the signs that were posted that it was occupied by government offices now, as many beautiful old houses on the Left Bank were. But you could see easily what the house had once been, with stalls for the carriages that were garages now, and tall windows, and Marc explained that there was probably a big garden on the other side of the house. It was a handsome place, and as she looked up at it, Brigitte felt the magic of knowing that Tristan de Margerac had once lived there when he was in Paris, and almost certainly Wachiwi had lived there with him. They had no doubt used it when they went to court and stayed in town.

They wandered back out to the sidewalk, and he walked her to her hotel. He asked if she was going back to the archives the next day, and she said she was. He suggested lunch and she agreed. It was fun having someone to talk to about their projects, as she hunted for Wachiwi, and he researched his book.

Marc was waiting for her in the lobby of the library the next day when she arrived. He had looked up some references for her, and she hit pay dirt this time when she checked them out. She almost squealed with delight as soon as she found them, and went running to find him. She had come across a diary where a lady-in-waiting from the court talked about the Marquis de Margerac and his beautiful young Indian bride. She said that she had been at their wedding, in a little church near their house on the rue du Bac. She reported that there had been a small reception at the house afterward, and the next day the new marquise had been presented at court to the king and queen, and she even mentioned Wachiwi by name.

It thrilled Brigitte to realize that their wedding reception had been in the house that she and Marc had looked at the night before. This was incredible, and it was all so real. It still said nothing about how she had come to France. And then, miraculously, later in the afternoon, Brigitte came across another of the same woman’s diaries on her own, chronicling court life. She mentioned the birth of Tristan and Wachiwi’s first child, and his christening. She said they had named him after the marquis’s dead younger brother, who had accompanied Wachiwi from America to France. The woman said that he had saved her, and was planning to marry her, but had died on the trip over. And eventually Wachiwi had married his older brother the marquis instead. So that was how she had come. The younger brother, Jean the count, had rescued her and brought her from New Orleans to Brittany by ship, as the diary explained. The Frenchman mentioned in the oral histories in South Dakota was probably he. Brigitte couldn’t help wondering if the Crow chief Wachiwi had supposedly killed when she fled was really killed by Jean who rescued her from them. How he had found her no one would ever know. But now she knew how Wachiwi had come to France. And there were also mentions of the Sioux chiefs who came to court from time to time, but apparently Wachiwi was not related to any of them. The woman who had written the diaries found it a little odd that their king was so obsessed with them. She thought the Indians who visited court an unruly lot, but she had nothing but kind things to say about Wachiwi and said she was a lovely girl, and made the marquis an excellent wife.

Brigitte pored through several more of her diaries, but found no further mention of the marquis and his bride. But now Brigitte had it all.

She was wildly excited when she talked to Marc about it at the end of the day, when they went for a drink again so she could report what she’d found. He said he had had a good day too, and had found some excellent diaries himself, about Josephine, written by her ladies-in-waiting, and one dearest friend.

“And what are you going to do with it now?” Marc asked her with an interested look.

“I don’t know, write it up for my mother for her family history. That was the whole purpose of this.”

“That was fine when your ancestors were ordinary people, but they no longer are,” he said with a serious look. “This girl is remarkable. You have to write a book about her. If you fictionalize it a little, it would make an extraordinary novel. Or even just the way it is. Like my grandparents and parents. Sometimes there is no greater romance than the truth.” Brigitte was unsure, but it was certainly more interesting than the women’s vote. That much was sure. But she was scared to tackle Wachiwi’s story and not do it justice.

“I’m fascinated by it because I’m related to her. But do you think other people would be?” Brigitte asked hesitantly. This was way out of her normal realm.

“Of course. You read my book about my father, and he was just a little boy. This girl traveled across continents, oceans, was kidnapped by Indians, married a nobleman. What more do you want? Do you know what happened to them during the Revolution? Were they killed?”

“I don’t think so. Their death dates are later than that.”

“Many of the nobles in Brittany resisted, and escaped the guillotine. They held out, and they were a long way from Paris, which helped. But a lot of the Royalists and nobles in Brittany survived. Some even managed to keep their châteaux. The French call those Royalist resistants after the Revolution Les Chouans.”

“I’ll find out about that when I go to Brittany. I’m going to go down there in a few days.” And then she had a crazy idea, since she hardly knew him, but he had been so helpful so far and they were becoming friends. “Do you want to come?”

He didn’t hesitate for an instant. “I’d like that very much.” And then she looked nervous. She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. She wasn’t propositioning him, she was asking him as a fellow researcher and a friend. He had understood that. He didn’t want to spoil their budding friendship either, and he was equally aware that she was going back to the States in a short time, when she finished her research.

“There’s no romance involved, by the way,” she clarified, and he laughed. American women were so direct. It had shocked him a little when he went to graduate school in Boston. A Frenchwoman wouldn’t have said that in quite that way.

“I understood that. Don’t worry. I can help you with your research there.”

“You’ve been fantastic,” she said, and meant it. He had been invaluable to her, and Providence had brought him to her. If he hadn’t turned up, she would never have been able to work the Bibliothèque Nationale on her own. She would be eternally grateful to him for that. She just didn’t want to get carried away with him romantically. It didn’t make sense, and they’d just get hurt, no matter how appealing she thought he was. They were much better off staying friends, and apparently he agreed.

“I know a nice hotel there, by the way. I’ll make the reservations, and yes, I know, two rooms, and a chastity belt for the lady.”

“I’m sorry.” She blushed a little. “Was I rude?”

“No, you were honest, and I like that. We both know where we stand.”

“It would just be silly to start something, and then I go back, and we’re both sorry.”

“Are you always so sensible?” He was interested in her as a person, and liked what he knew so far.

She thought about it and then nodded. “Probably too much so.”

“You don’t have to go back, you know. You said you don’t have a job. You could work at the American University of Paris, they have an admissions office, and you could write your book here.” He had it all worked out, much to her surprise. He liked organizing people’s lives, and helping them get what they wanted. But she didn’t want to write a book about her relatives, nor stay in Paris. She was going home.