Accidental Heiress. Nancy Thompson Robards

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      “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.”

      “Oh, horrors, we might’ve had to go shopping so that Margeaux could look presentable.” Caroline sipped champagne from a crystal flute. “Imagine that.”

      The number of bags Pepper Meriweather had brought might suggest that she intended to stay for the summer, rather than the planned two weeks.

      Right now, the fifteen evening dresses and twenty-five pairs of shoes and sandals Pepper couldn’t leave home without were proving to be a lifesaver.

      Margeaux chose a slinky little black dress and a pair of sexy, strappy sandals to complement it. As they made their way down to the casino, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirrored hallway leading to the grand lobby of the Hotel de St. Michel. It had been a while since she’d dressed for a night out. Pepper had styled Margeaux’s long, blond hair into a chignon that looked as if she’d gone to the salon.

      The sexy black dress made Margeaux’s skin look a little paler than she would’ve liked, but she’d been working so much lately that she hadn’t had time to build the deep bronze glow that had been her trademark.

      Even so, seeing her reflection made her check her posture and hold her head a little higher. She was still pushing against the inner struggle of whether going down to the casino was the right thing to do with her father in the hospital. It smacked of fodder for tabloid headlines: Margeaux Broussard Parties while Father Lies in Hospital Bed. Tonight, the only thing better than being anonymous would be rendering herself invisible. But her father was fine. She’d done her duty by him tonight and would follow his wishes to come back and get him tomorrow.

      Besides, this dress was far too fabulous for invisible.

      Bottom line: Margeaux Broussard had never shied away from life, and she didn’t intend to start now. Tonight would simply be a nice night out with friends.

      Nothing scandalous about that.

      “We all look like Bond girls,” said A.J. “I wonder if we’ll meet any spies in the casino tonight?”

      The girls laughed and as they forged ahead toward the casino, Margeaux hung back in the lobby, reacquainting herself with the hotel’s ornate beauty. The chandeliers hung from frescoed ceilings, dripping honeyed light, warming the gold-and-marble atrium. She took in the sculptures, the caryatids and the bas-relief motifs etched into the walls.

      Throughout her youth, she’d seen this place dozens of times. The memory had her gaze shifting until she’d located a certain long, dark hallway that led to one of the seven elevator banks.

      Once on a dare, she’d dragged Henri here; they were only thirteen years old and he was her best friend. They’d hid in the hallway with a bag containing a big, black rattle snake, which he’d trapped in the overgrown orchard that grew between her homes. She’d dared him to let it loose in the lobby during the high-season rush.

      He didn’t want to, but she’d taunted him until he’d buckled.

      “Okay, I will on one condition,” he’d said, and Margeaux had been too full of mischief to even ask about the condition. How bad could it be if he was too chicken to do something like this? All she wanted was for Henri Lejardin, son of the Minister of Security and Protocol, to break out of his shell and do something fun for a change.

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