Page 33 of A Stolen Heart

Rhea nodded. “They are different, you know. Sometimes I find myself quite exasperated with them. I can hardly blame Nan for disliking them. Well, it was only a few years ago that we were at war with them, wasn’t it?”

Alexandra would not have considered the almost thirty years that had elapsed since the Revolutionary War only a few years, but she wasn’t going to quibble about a thing like that.

“That’s true,” she agreed. “Still, I suppose they are more like us than any other country. I mean, the same language and all. The same stock.” She paused, then added, “Not like the French, say.”

Her mother looked up sharply. “The French? What are you talking about?”

“I was just saying that the French are more foreign. Don’t you think? Different language, different customs.”

“Yes.” Rhea regarded her a trifle warily, Alexandra thought.

“You have never talked much about the time you and Father spent in France. When he was working with the Ambassador.”

Rhea blinked. “I…well, there was little to talk about.”

“What was it like? Paris, I mean. Everyone says it is beautiful.”

“I—I suppose so.” Rhea looked away, rubbing her forehead. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

“Talk about what?”

“That time. Paris.”

“But it interests me. After all, I was born there.” Her mother glanced at her, then away. She said nothing, and Alexandra prodded. “Wasn’t I?”

“What? Yes, of course. Why are you asking such silly questions?” Rhea reached into the capacious pocket of her skirt, and Alexandra could see her hand through the material, rubbing something in a circular motion.

That silly box, Alexandra thought in irritation. What was in there that her mother was so attached to?

“Mother…” Alexandra leaned forward, looking into her mother’s face earnestly. “Would you tell me about when I was born?”

“What?” Rhea’s agitation increased. She glanced all around the room, everywhere but at Alexandra’s face. “What an odd question.”

“It was in Paris, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Where?”

“Where? Well, at our house.”

“Did you have a midwife?”

“Yes. This is a very peculiar conversation.”

“Not so odd. I would think most people would want to know something about their origins. What was the midwife’s name?”

“Name? I don’t know. How can I remember something that long ago?”

“What was she like?”

“Why are you questioning me like this!” Rhea bounded to her feet and walked away from Alexandra, going to the window and looking out. Despite the warmth of the summer day, she huddled into her arms as if she were cold.

“I just want to know. Mother, it’s important.” She paused, then asked in a quiet voice, “How old was I when the rioting started?”

Rhea whirled and looked at her sharply. “How old were you! What does that matter?”

“It just does. Surely you must know.”