Free A Daughter's Destiny by Jo Ann Ferguson

“Bless you, child, for all you have done for your mother.”
    â€œI love her. I could have done no less.”
    He nodded before moving to the bed to administer last rites to her mother as Grand-mère came into the room. Brienne put her arm around her grandmother, who was weeping. She wished for words to comfort her grandmother, but could not find any.
    A hand settled on her arm. She did not need to look away from the bed, because the sharp pulse told her that the hand belonged to Evan. Wanting to lean her head against his strong shoulder, she did not move. She had to be here for her grandmother.
    Brienne realized her mother had breathed her last when her grandmother sank to a chair and wept even harder. Going to Père Jean-Baptiste, she whispered, “Thank you.”
    â€œBrienne,” he said, folding her hands between his, “as far as the memorial service—”
    Evan stepped forward. “Father, I will be glad to discuss that with you if Brienne wishes to see to her grandmother.”
    â€œOf course,” the priest said, clearly startled.
    â€œThank you,” Brienne whispered, drawing her hands out of Père Jean-Baptiste’s and putting one on Evan’s arm. “I am so sorry that you—”
    â€œTake care of your grandmother,” he interrupted gently.
    Brienne nodded. She went to help Grand-mère from the room. Now she owed Evan an even greater debt, for he had come to her assistance yet again. How could he be so kind and yet try to twist her into doing as he wished with a cacophony of lies? She had no answer as she brought her grandmother to her feet.
    â€œI thought Madame LeClerc would like the room across the hall,” Evan said quietly.
    Grand-mère shook off Brienne’s hand. Taking Brienne’s face between her hands, she whispered, “Weep, if you wish, ma petite .”
    â€œI will, but …”
    â€œIn your own time.” She walked back toward the bed. “I would like to pray. Père Jean-Baptiste, will you pray with me?”
    Brienne hesitated when Evan put his hand on her arm, then let him steer her into the hallway. He led her to a room at the front of the house.
    While Evan crossed the wide chamber to draw the drapes, she looked about. It seemed strange that she could admire the lovely mahogany furniture and overstuffed chairs as well as enjoy the scent of lavender which must be coming from the washstand next to the tester bed. How could she feel anything but grief? As she walked toward a chair, her toes sank into the thick burgundy carpet.
    â€œIt is so odd,” she murmured.
    â€œWhat is so odd?” He pressed a glass into her hand. “Drink, honey. You look as if you could use it.”
    Because she did not want to argue with him, she lifted the goblet to her lips. Even brandy could not cut through her fog of disbelief. A week ago, her only problems had been ordering mushrooms for her meals and how many bottles of wine she needed for the party that would be dining at her salon before a visit to Vauxhall Gardens.
    â€œIt is so odd,” she repeated.
    His finger under her chin tilted her face up so she could see the worry in his expression. “What is so odd?” he asked again with a patience she had not expected.
    â€œOne minute Maman was alive. She could see and hear and talk. The next minute she is gone, but I can still see and hear and talk. It is so odd.”
    Putting his glass on a nearby table, he dipped a cloth in the bowl on the washstand. He squatted in front of her and dabbed at the soot on her face.
    â€œDon’t do that!” she moaned, pushing his hand away.
    â€œIf you do not wish me to help—”
    â€œStop being so kind! If you keep on being so kind, you are going to make me cry.”
    He stood and walked to an armoire. He opened it as he asked, “Why don’t you go to bed, honey? I will have a light supper sent up to you after I speak with Père