Chapter Eight
It had been a long time since Céleste had simply sat with Henri, just the two of them. She’d often wondered if it would ever happen again. Henri’s ability to come to France was very limited. Her freedom to leave was nonexistent.
She was only thirteen years old when he’d left for Cambridge.
Though he had insisted he would be home whenever he could be for as long as he could be, she’d known even then that he would grow more distant.
He’d found home and family in England, and she had claimed less and less of his time and attention since then.
But she’d never doubted he loved her. He was the only member of her family who didn’t regularly make her wonder that.
Adèle sat on her bed beside her, growing sleepier. The little girl was very sweet and loving, but she had already taken to Henri with more open affection than she showed her aunt. Céleste couldn’t sort out why her niece kept her at a distance. She didn’t used to.
“I’m going to talk to Jean-Francois,” Henri said.
“You need to be able to rest, and Nicolette and I can offer you that in spades if you come back to England with us. Ours is a relatively quiet life. By the time we return to London for the Season or meet up with the Gents for the annual house party, you will have had months to regain your strength.”
If only he knew how much she would love that. “Jean-Francois will never agree to it.”
“The doctor was very clear that it is what you need.”
“Oh, Henri, when have you ever known Jean-Francois to be motivated by what someone else needs? Especially when that ‘someone else’ is either of us?”
Henri, sitting on the edge of her bed, scooted closer and took her hand.
She was lying back, propped on her pillows with Adèle falling asleep beside her.
“You could simply come with us when we depart Paris. Jean-Francois could attempt to chase you down, but dragging you back to France from England would be far more difficult than he likely realizes.”
She shook her head. “He would cut us both off, Henri.”
Not a single hint of surprise entered Henri’s expression. “Your health is being neglected. You’re being mistreated. They clearly intend to marry you off, and I doubt they would do so with any degree of consideration.”
“If scampering off to England means he cuts off your income and my support and revokes my dowry, which I have no doubt he would do, what would we live on?” She hated putting it so bluntly, but she needed him not to interfere with the groundwork she’d already laid.
“Nicolette’s dowry is gone, thanks to Pierre Léandre.
If you and I are also penniless, we would be in dire straits very quickly.
I know your poetry is doing well; Nicolette whispered to me about that.
I also know it alone would not be enough to support the two of you, let alone the three of us. ”
“I cannot leave you in this situation,” Henri insisted. “We would find a way to make it work.”
She enveloped his hand in both of hers. “I still have hope that Jean-Francois and Marguerite will eventually relent, and I will have the rest I need. But antagonizing our brother will only make that less likely.”
Henri nodded with a sigh. They both knew their brother painfully well.
“While we’re still here,” Henri said, “perhaps you would be permitted to spend some of your days with us. If we can’t whisk you away entirely, we can give you at least a temporary respite.”
“If such a thing can be managed with finesse, it might be worth requesting.” While she was waiting for the opportunity to fully escape, a chance to breathe would be quite welcome.
“Aldric will know how to manage it,” Henri said. “He got Dr. Mercier here, after all.”
“That he did that for me was wholly unexpected, though I am touched by his kindness.” Her foolish heart skipped at the idea.
Henri nodded. “Marguerite’s indifference earlier convinced him an intervention was necessary.”
“Pierre’s obnoxiousness seemed to convince him as well.”
Henri’s brow drew. “He said Pierre was causing trouble. I can’t like that he isn’t making himself scarce now that he has Nicolette’s fortune. What more could he possibly want?”
“Pierre is a pest,” Céleste said. “Pests seldom skitter away when they are unwanted.”
“That is horrifically true.” He smiled a little, but the expression slipped into a frown of concentration. “Is Paris as perilous as the whispers in England make it sound?”
“Perilous isn’t quite the right word.” How could she explain?
“Paris reminds me of a lady at a ball who has been engaged for a dance she does not wish to participate in. She smiles and tries to appear as though all is right in her world, but the look on her face doesn’t match the look in her eyes.
The peace and serenity on the surface of Paris doesn’t run deep. ”
“Trouble is brewing.”
She nodded. “And no one seems to know what that trouble will look like when it eventually takes form.”
Henri squeezed her hand. “Do you feel unsafe, Céleste?”
“Uncertain, but not truly unsafe.”
His gaze shifted to Adèle. “Is she asleep?”
Céleste checked as well. The girl was most definitely sleeping. “She is.”
“I’ll speak in English just in case,” Henri said, and did precisely that. “What are those letters Marguerite asked Jean-Francois about? They seemed to be of some significance.”
Céleste debated for just a moment, unsure how much she ought to tell him. He had escaped Jean-Francois. Telling Henri what she knew would entangle him anew. But she didn’t think she could solve this puzzle on her own.
“Jean-Francois has been receiving ominous letters. I found them earlier today.” She pointed to the drawer of her bedside table. “The letters are tucked inside the book in that drawer.”
“You are the reason they can’t find the letters?” Henri sounded both impressed and amused. He read through the letters quickly. “These are threats.”
“I don’t know what to do,” she said. “They’re too vague to counter but quite specifically mention the family, which means Jean-Francois is not the only one in danger. Suppose the writer of these letters decides to take his anger out on Adèle?”
Henri’s eyes darted to the little girl, then back to Céleste. “Or on you.”
“I don’t dare even hint at the topic with Jean-Francois. You know how easily he prickles up.”
Henri tucked the letters into his pocket. “I will learn what I can.” He stood. “You need to rest, abeille.” He leaned over and gave her a hug. “I have full faith that Nicolette and Julia will convince your prison guards to allow you a few days with us.”
“And if they can’t?” Céleste asked.
“We’ll send Aldric. The General has been known to outmaneuver the cleverest of people, which is not a group our brother belongs to.”
Long after he left, Céleste sat in the quiet of her room, trying to keep her thoughts off far too many difficult topics. Upheaval in France. The unidentified letter writer. Her plan to get out of Paris. Adèle. Henri.
Aldric Benick.
Heavens, he was confusing. And intriguing.
And handsome.
And he would break her heart if she wasn’t careful.