Treasures of the Heart

Keri was on her way. She’d been fired up for the past twenty-four hours. She had an extra cup of high-test coffee that morning. Only coffee because she was afraid she might throw up if she ate anything. She was strung as tense as a Wall Street Broker in a bear market.

Wearing her best suit and a new pair of expensive shoes, she plunged in through the front door of the Richmond Historical Museum. And pushed the ornate wooden door that had come from a sunken Spanish galleon, right into a man’s face. He fell straight back to the imported Italian marble floor like a perfectly timed stunt in a movie.

Only it wasn’t one.

“Oh my God! Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Do you need a doctor? Do you need an ambulance? I could call someone. I’m so sorry! I just didn’t see you and then you were there and—” She heard a cracking sound and realize that one of the heels from her new pumps had snapped off. Her purse fell to the floor and half of its contents fell out.

“It’s all right, ami.” He looked down at her woeful countenance and extended his hand to her. “My nose is a little out of joint but otherwise, I will live.”

Keri cleaned up her purse and took his hand. She stood up slowly and blinked back hot tears when she looked at the smudge on her suit and her broken heel.  How could this happen to her on today of all days? After five years, she had finally convinced herself that she was going to have it out with her boss, Mr. Grainger, and now it was all ruined. She was a mess and this man, whoever he was, would probably sue her for disfiguring him.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

“I’m fine. I-I just—” She really looked at him for the first time. He actually didn’t look a bit disfigured. In fact, he looked pretty good. He was tall and broad shouldered, without being a wrestler. His dark brown hair was slightly unruly and a little too long. His deep blue eyes were a shock in his darkly tanned face. They smiled at her, along with his lips. He had nice lips. And that curious accent was— “I-uh-can I help you? I work here, actually. This part of the museum is only offices and research. The curator—”

“I am here to see the curator,” the man replied confidently. “Or whoever is in charge of expeditions.”

“Expeditions?”                                                                                                 

“Oui. I am Armand St. Jacques and I have something in my possession that I think will be of interest to the person in charge of expeditions. I think he,” he smiled at her again, “or she, will want to create an expedition at once!”

"It takes something pretty extraordinary to fund an expedition.”

He shrugged. Very elegant. Very European. “That is not the problem. I will happily fund such an expedition. Money is not the object! The truth is what matters to me.”

“The truth?” She felt dazed and confused. It was one of those rare moments when destiny hits you hard in the head, leaving you dazed and confused.

“Yes!” He put his briefcase on the counter then he opened it and withdrew a carefully wrapped book. “I am the last survivor of a proud family. My great grandpere told my grandmother who in turn told the tale to my mother and then to me. I want only to know the truth. Am I the last descendent of the Bourbon throne?”

“W-what?” She almost swallowed her tongue.

“It is all there in the diary of the woman who cared for the Dauphin after he was brought to America following his mother’s and father’s executions.”

She whispered, “Marie Antoinette and King Louis XXXI?”

“Exactly.”

“T-that’s not possible.” She spouted rhetoric. “He died in France.”

He smiled at her slowly. She felt something slide through her body like quicksilver. Her heart skipped a beat then went back to its normal rhythm. He was a very attractive man.

“Accepted history. Until now. Suppose I could prove to you that he did not die in France, but rather on a small island off the coast of Alabama, in the United States?”

“I-I don’t know.” She didn’t want to explain to the curator that this man had convinced her to speak to him about an expedition because he was attractive. There had to be proof. Hard proof. Even then, the curator might laugh at her. It wasn’t technically her job to find new expeditions. Everything else about them was her job. Just not finding them. Or going out on them.

“I have such proof,” he said finally. “If you will give me a few moments of your time?”

Keri wasn’t just tempted. She was downright seduced by the notion. The dauphin had died in the U.S., not France. This man had some kind of proof. He was looking at her with those very interesting blue eyes. A plan began to form in her brain. She felt like the Grinch before Christmas morning. She got an idea. An awful idea. Keri got a wonderful, awful idea. Hadn’t she been looking for something exactly like this to change her life?

 Maybe it was a hoax. It sounded like a hoax. She saw enough of those and knew how to check them out. That was part of her job at the museum. There would be a lot to check. Her brain ticked all of the requirements off one by one.

But the longer they stood there, the better the chance that Mr. Grainger was going to walk through that door. After that, it would be in his hands. After that, she would have lost her chance forever. She looked at the diary Armand St. Jacques had given her. Take a chance, her brain whispered. What do you have to lose? This could be your opportunity!

“Well, you’ve been knocked over by the right woman.” She extended her hand. “I’m Keri Marsh and I’m in charge of expeditions for the museum. If you’d like to come this way, we can talk in my office.”

Armand’s face lit up. “Oui! Fortune smiles on me!”

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