Chapter Six #2
They stepped onto the pavement, but the carriage was not there.
Odd, that. She couldn’t imagine her sister-in-law wishing to walk all the way back to their house or to expend the funds to hire a fiacre.
Jean-Francois had been more flush in the pocket this past year or more than he had been previously, but expenditures that would benefit Céleste were usually avoided.
Marguerite seemed to sense her confusion. She explained, with a single shrug of a shoulder, “I need to visit the ribboner. The carriage will meet us there in another half hour.”
“Is the ribbon shop very far away?”
Marguerite prickled on the instant. “It’s not for you to dictate what errands I undertake.”
“I had not intended to dictate. I’m simply tired and attempting to determine how slowly I ought to walk in order not to run short on endurance before reaching our destination.”
Marguerite eyed her quizzically. “Tired? You sat in the carriage all the way here, then spent the entirety of this visit in a chair, reading. How could you possibly be tired?”
Céleste held her hands up in a show of helplessness. “I can’t seem to summon my usual vigor of late. I have wished more often than anything in recent weeks to simply lie down.”
“Lie down?” Again, her words were repeated in a tone of exasperation. “The social whirl will continue for quite some time in Paris. How can you possibly participate if you need to lie down all the time?”
Exactly.
“I’ll manage somehow.” She walked alongside Marguerite, allowing her steps to shuffle the tiniest bit.
“Good afternoon, ladies.”
Céleste involuntarily flinched at the sound of the gratingly familiar voice.
Pierre Léandre had been a thorn in the side of Nicolette and Henri and, as a result, Céleste for years.
He had very nearly prevented Henri and Nicolette’s marriage.
The suit he had brought against Nicolette’s brother for breach of promise had made him wealthy.
The courts had agreed that Nicolette was at fault for her decision not to go through with the engagement he himself had run from and had granted his petition to be given her dowry as recompense.
Nicolette’s family had retreated to the country, the financial blow their court loss had dealt proving more painful than they’d anticipated.
They would eventually return, once their fortunes had been rebuilt a bit.
It was terribly frustrating that a family as good as the Beaulieus could be treated so horridly. Life was, at times, painfully unfair.
“I fear we haven’t time to stand about,” Marguerite said to Pierre, her expression haughty but also strained. “We’ve a bit to do before returning home.”
“I will walk with you,” he said. “Then you needn’t be delayed.”
“You do not need to accompany us,” Céleste said.
He eyed her up and down. “Why, Mlle Fortier, you look a bit haggard.”
“I’m a little weary is all.”
She and Marguerite continued walking, but Pierre didn’t allow them to do so alone. He kept pace with them, looking frustratingly self-satisfied. “I understand your friend Nicolette is in town. Strange that she hasn’t been by to offer me her greetings.”
His sneered observation was answered not by Céleste or Marguerite but by a voice that still managed to send shivers of awareness through Céleste even after seven years, even after acute heartbreak. Aldric.
“I was under the impression that addressing a married lady by her given name without permission was as uncouth in Paris as it is in England.” He spoke French like a Frenchman.
All three of them stopped and looked back. Aldric eyed Pierre with a look one generally reserved for the remains of a spider.
Pierre had lost a little of his bravado, but not the entirety of it. “You are in Paris as well, Lord Aldric.”
“What an astute observation,” Aldric drawled.
Céleste held back her amusement, not wishing to give Pierre reason to remain. She would far rather he be on his way.
“I heard your father recently passed.” Pierre watched Aldric closely, no doubt wishing to ascertain what his feelings were on the loss. “My condolences.”
“And my condolences on your recent loss.” Aldric stepped past him and offered an arm each to Céleste and Marguerite.
“What loss is that?” Pierre asked.
“The loss of your integrity.” On that declaration, Aldric led them down the pavement and away from the resident pest.
Pierre blustered a bit behind them, but Aldric paid no heed. Céleste understood why. Aldric had just landed a verbal blow and refusing to acknowledge any response would allow him to have the final word between them.
“I do not like that man,” Marguerite muttered.
“Which speaks well of your character, Mme Fortier.”
Marguerite smiled up at him, and for the first time in years, Céleste thought her sister-in-law might have been sincere in the approval she was bestowing.
Usually, Marguerite tempered whatever reaction she had based on whatever was most likely to gain the approval of those she wished would include her in their circles.
The moment of sincerity slipped away, and a calculating glint entered her eyes. “You are so very attentive to Céleste, finding her a place to sit last evening, returning now and then to make certain she was well.”
“Her oldest brother didn’t seem intent on assuring that she was looked after. I felt someone ought to.”
Either Marguerite was horribly lacking in self-awareness, which was often true, or she was far too focused on ensnaring Aldric to realize he had just delivered a stinging setdown of her husband.
“You are so very thoughtful. So many last evening noted how very like your mother you are. She, as I understand, was very much loved and liked in Society.”
“She was the sort of person one could not possibly help loving.”
Marguerite seemed about to say more, but Aldric cut her off.
“You are aware that your sister-in-law grows increasingly tired with excursion. I cannot imagine why she’s being made to walk about the streets of Paris.”
“I need to obtain ribbon,” Marguerite said.
“This ribbon is incredibly important, is it?”
Marguerite nodded emphatically. “Yes, it is. You understand these things, I see.”
“I am beginning to understand that you consider ribbons more important than the well-being of your family.”
Marguerite was taken aback. Céleste, for her part, was too surprised to do much beyond stare.
She knew of Aldric’s tendency to be very forthright and frank.
And she knew he did not suffer fools. But after navigating the house party without him coming to her defense when she’d needed him to, she wasn’t at all prepared to hear him do so now.
“Of course I don’t think ribbons are more important than family,” Marguerite insisted.
“Then why is Mlle Fortier not in your carriage, on her way back home?” Aldric watched Marguerite, giving every indication that he was willing to wait for her to summon an explanation.
“I suppose I hadn’t realized how weary she was growing. She has hardly done anything.”
“Which should secure her your greater concern.” Aldric turned his scrutinizing gaze on Céleste. “How much farther is this very important ribbon shop you’re meant to drag yourself to?”
“I don’t know, Lord Aldric. I was simply told to come along.”
“Lucas and Julia are using our carriage; otherwise, I would summon it and insist you return home swiftly. I am truly sorry I don’t have that option.”
The kindness of his words and the gesture he wished he could offer sent a little flutter through her heart. If she weren’t very careful, he would have her feeling and thinking very foolish things.
“The shop is only a little farther,” Marguerite insisted.
“I will walk with you there and see what can be done to summon your carriage immediately.”
He was as good as his word. Marguerite talked almost ceaselessly during the remainder of their walk and while waiting for the carriage.
He offered the occasional acknowledgment but nothing else.
And though he didn’t appear to be entirely ignoring Marguerite, it was clear most of his attention was on Céleste.
And that attention was solicitous and concerned and kind.
Do not be foolish.
He saw her situated in the carriage. He dipped his head in acknowledgment to Marguerite before looking at Céleste once more. “Take care of yourself, Mlle Fortier. Your brother would be heartbroken should you grow truly unwell.”
Marguerite interjected. “Oh, Jean-Francois would—”
Aldric held up a hand to stop her declaration. “I meant the brother who cares about her.” With that, he stepped back from the carriage and snapped the door closed.
Marguerite was flustered enough not to say anything for long moments. When she finally did, she kept herself to, “I do not know what to make of him.”
Céleste had felt that way about Aldric Benick for years. He was the only person she’d ever known who could constantly upend her.