Chapter Thirteen
As Jean-Francois and Marguerite glided about the ballroom that night, pleased with themselves and the reception they were receiving, Céleste couldn’t shake her feeling of unease.
Who was the powerful person Jean-Francois was extorting?
Was he there even then? Was this person someone she interacted with regularly?
The Fortiers will be safer away from Paris. The threat was here in this city, and she didn’t like that she couldn’t identify it.
M. and Mme D’Aubert spoke with Jean-Francois and Marguerite for a brief time, though Céleste didn’t spy their son anywhere.
Not long afterward, the Lapointes struck up a conversation as well.
Céleste had never before had reason to think ill of either family, but she scrutinized their every word now.
“Do attempt to show a little enthusiasm,” Marguerite whispered harshly as they continued their circuit of the room.
Céleste’s efforts to give the impression she had grown more ill seemed to be successful.
“If you hadn’t spent the afternoon wandering aimlessly around a garden,” Jean-Francois said, “you would have energy enough for the evening.”
“I spent most of our visit sitting on benches,” she told him, not for the first time. “And I had not anticipated you objecting to me accepting an invitation to Versailles, especially with the royal family in residence today.”
“The King is not overly popular just now, is he?” This was a new angle for Jean-Francois, though it was not inaccurate.
“Unpopular or not,” Céleste said, “he is still the King. Society still puts importance on his approval and disapproval.”
“I think you had best discontinue spending time with the English visitors,” Marguerite said. “Their influence has you speaking your mind out of turn.”
“My apologies.” Though she wasn’t actually sorry so much as annoyed. And a little bit amused. Céleste had come to play her part so well that her sister-in-law had apparently forgotten how accustomed Céleste had once been to speaking her mind quite freely.
“I see M. Léandre is in attendance tonight.” Jean-Francois looked intrigued.
Céleste followed his gaze. Blazes of candlelight in the otherwise rather dim ballroom made seeing what he was seeing difficult.
But after a moment and a degree of squinting that Society would consider uncouth, Céleste spotted Pierre making his way toward them.
His suit against the Beaulieus and the defection that had led to it had earned him censure, but he’d been welcomed to an increasing number of balls and soirees.
That rebuke did not seem destined to be permanent.
“What is your opinion of M. Léandre?” Céleste asked.
“Opinion?” Jean-Francois seemed to think the question a rather absurd one. “His behavior has not always been above reproach. But he now has possession of most the Beaulieus’ fortune. Making an enemy of him seems foolish.”
That was not at all what Céleste wanted to hear, but it was more or less what she’d expected him to say. How Pierre had made his fortune didn’t matter to Jean-Francois, just that he had money.
“Ah, the Fortiers.” Pierre offered the same slippery smile of greeting he had used the day before. “Such a glittering gathering as this would be rendered flat without this family’s presence.”
Jean-Francois dipped his head in acknowledgment of the compliment.
He seemed genuinely pleased to hear it and not at all surprised.
And the flattery didn’t sound as though it were offered from a place of worry or appeasement.
Neither man showed the other any degree of distrust, though both warranted it.
The younger M. D’Aubert joined them in the next moment, arriving quietly enough to surprise Céleste.
Her vision at night was not so terrible that she was often startled by people.
But her worries over her brother and Pierre combined with the flares of light off the nearby multiarmed candelabra were giving her more than the usual difficulty.
“M. and Mme Fortier, Mlle Fortier,” M. D’Aubert greeted warmly. “I had hoped you would be in attendance this evening.” He offered a bow, which was returned by everyone, even Pierre, whom he hadn’t acknowledged.
“Always a pleasure to see you, M. D’Aubert,” Marguerite said.
M. D’Aubert’s eyes darted very quickly to Jean-Francois before settling on Céleste. “I hope you have dances yet unclaimed.”
“I do not know that I will be dancing this evening.”
That clearly surprised him.
Marguerite jumped in quickly. “You must forgive Céleste if she seems lacking in eagerness.” She looked at both the gentlemen standing with them. “Céleste spent the day at Versailles, as a particular guest of the Marquis de Lafayette.”
That brought looks of amazement to M. D’Aubert’s and Pierre’s expressions. Jean-Francois watched them both with a haughtiness that grated.
“Your family boasts very significant connections,” Pierre said. “Increasingly impressive ones these past years.”
Marguerite blushed a little and smiled with obvious pleasure. “The Fortiers are in great demand.”
M. D’Aubert was watching Céleste. “Versailles can be tiring even when one is in excellent health, but Mlle Fortier has been known to be easily wearied of late.”
Céleste offered a very quick and weak smile. “It was comparatively quiet there today.”
“That is not what the whispers hold,” Pierre said.
“What have you heard?” Jean-Francois asked, watching with rapt attention.
“His Majesty met with M. Necker today, and rumor has it the meeting was not an entirely blissful one.” Pierre’s recounting turned all their eyes to Céleste.
“I did not see M. Necker,” she said. “Nor did I see Their Majesties. I cannot say what transpired.”
“Let us hope,” M. D’Aubert said, “that all involved behaved wisely.”
“I have heard whispers,” Pierre said, “that M. and Mme Necker have left Paris, having been dismissed by the King.”
Good heavens, that would not be received well by the many people who supported Necker.
“These matters needn’t concern the young ladies.” Jean-Francois made the comment more pointedly to M. D’Aubert than to Pierre. Indeed, her brother’s interactions with the younger of the two gentlemen was more openly disapproving and dictatorial.
“I believe I see your brother, M. Henri Fortier.” M. D’Aubert motioned very gracefully to a group not far from them. Céleste couldn’t see if it was Henri and the others.
“Yes,” Jean-Francois said, “our brother is visiting with several very important friends from England.”
Important friends. Mere hours earlier, he had spoken to this very group as if they weren’t important in the least.
“I am so pleased they are in attendance,” Céleste said.
That seemed to bring panic to Marguerite. “You simply mustn’t allow them to monopolize your time, especially with two agreeable gentlemen showing you such kind attention.” Marguerite was many things, but subtle wasn’t one of them.
Céleste offered M. D’Aubert a look of apology. To Pierre, she flashed a look of warning, which only managed to make him smile.
M. D’Aubert offered her a much-needed escape. “If Mlle Fortier is not engaged for this dance, I would very much like to request the pleasure of it.”
Jean-Francois eyed Pierre for the length of a breath. Whatever he’d been anticipating must not have been forthcoming. “Of course,” he said at last.
“Perhaps, M. D’Aubert,” Céleste said, “you would be so good as to accompany me to a seat where I could rest. I have been on my feet since our arrival, and I find myself beginning to be worn quite thin.”
She made the request for a mountain of reasons. Her brother and sister-in-law needed the reminder of her “failing health.” She wished very much to be free of Pierre’s company. And she wanted to see M. D’Aubert’s response to having been offered a means of avoiding dancing with her.
He looked relieved while at the same time glancing nervously at Jean-Francois. It was a telling reaction, one that kept her alert as he walked with her to a small gathering of chairs not too far distant.
“I am sorry to hear you are unwell this evening,” he said. “Your brother seemed to expect your health to have improved.”
“Jean-Francois tends to expect things of people that they are not always in a position to fulfill.”
M. D’Aubert nodded firmly. Another very telling reaction.
After a moment, she was seated in a chair beside a small, dark alcove.
There was unlikely to be a great many people passing by or disrupting the quiet.
It was perfect, though it would be exceptionally boring.
At least until Céleste found the right opportunity to undertake her planned performance in what she hoped was the final battle in her campaign to be dismissed from Paris.
“I will leave you here to rest, Mlle Fortier.” M. D’Aubert offered yet another flawlessly executed bow and retreated. The gentleman clearly had no actual interest in her, yet had shown some for whatever reason. Jean-Francois, she would wager, was forcing his hand, requiring it of him.
M. D’Aubert did not at all seem the violent type.
But he also seemed the most likely victim of Jean-Francois’ extortion schemes.
All the indications were there. His family was exceptionally well-heeled, which would allow for Jean-Francois to receive repeated payments.
The family sat on an exalted rung of Paris Society but still had further to climb, which would make extorting the vulnerable son of the family all the easier.
But was he the sort to turn that extortion into threats? What she knew of him made her think not.
Sitting and looking fragile would help her ongoing performance, but Céleste didn’t feel entirely comfortable being so alone with the marquis’s warning still swirling in her mind.
She could make her way slowly around the ballroom until she found Henri and the others, being certain to fill her movements with exhaustion.
Standing with the brother who actually cared what became of her would feel safer.