she had no idea what to expect from her father or the exam. The fact that she crashed and nearly died on her first solo flight test meant she had to do that much better on her other tests, so she barricaded herself in her room and studied until she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer.
The next morning Marguerite was up before the dawn, poring through her books one last time. She wasn’t due in the main lecture hall until late morning, but she felt there were still a few subjects she could brush up on; propulsion was a big one, and so was maritime aerial law. Plus, she’d never taken an examination before in her life. Her father always provided her with the very latest publications and occasionally a competent tutor. She wanted to get it right and get her failure behind her.
Outil came to life with the morning sun as usual.
“M’lady, would you care for some breakfast?”
“No, I couldn’t eat a thing.” Marguerite didn’t look up from her text.
“It is a fact that you will perform at a higher level if you have a healthy morning meal and a full stomach,” Outil pressed.
“Fine.” Marguerite looked up and remembered herself. “Yes, that would be lovely, please fetch me an egg and some bread.”
“Very good.” Outil left the room quickly, happy to have something to do with herself. Marguerite took a moment to stretch, stare out the window, and get dressed. Today was definitely flight suit time. She didn’t think she could stand one second in a corset and still think clearly. Plus, it was an aviation examination. That called for an aviator’s attire.
She pulled the pants up and buttoned the pretty brass buttons on top. Then she fastened the belt and picked up her bottle of perfume; the original bottle she’d brought from France hadn’t survived the trip. Jacques had purchased her a new one as soon as he’d found out her favorite type from Outil. He was very thoughtful. She had to give him that.
She put on a squirt and set the bottle down, looking out the window absent-mindedly. The door opened behind her. She didn’t turn around. “Thank you, Outil. You can set the meal on the nightstand.” A booming male voice shook her core and scared her to death. She spun around at once.
“I am no automaton, and I’m certainly not serving you breakfast. What in the world are you wearing?”
“Oh! Father!” Marguerite’s first reaction was to run into the old man’s stout arms and hold him tightly. She stopped herself midway, however, suddenly leery of his response to her new life, remembering she was no longer a little girl.
“Come here, then. I won’t bite you.” He beckoned and stepped closer to her.
Relief flooded her heart. He didn’t hate her.
She leapt for him, nearly knocking him over. He returned her affections with a tight squeeze and a rough peck on her cheek. “My dear, dear daughter,” he said reverently.
“I was so afraid you would never want to see me again.” Big salty tears ran freely down her cheeks, soaking his shoulder.
“I’ll admit I spent quite a bit of time ready to disown you—or kill you—for the grief you caused me. But of course, I wanted to see you again. I’d have to see you to knock sense into you.” He laughed at his exaggeration and held her at arm’s length. “What in the world are you doing here?” He gestured to her tiny room and indicated the low status of her life with only the raise of his eyebrows. “Your letters were so vague. I only knew you were alive and nothing more.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t want to trouble you, but I’m so happy here, and I didn’t know how to explain by letter. I feel like I’m finally using my brain and my talents. People respect me because I’m working hard and doing well, not because I’m your daughter or because I have money.”
She knew this wasn’t all true, but it fell off her tongue so quickly and easily, and it just sounded right. She was happy. And wasn’t this what a father