Chapter Eighteen #2
What could Mother possibly have left for him that could fix that?
He turned the parcel over in his hands a few times, as he’d done the past two days.
It would have broken her heart if what she’d left for him didn’t actually prove helpful.
If it did—if the parcel proved to be further evidence that she had understood in her final years the full extent of how miserable life in this family was going to become for him—that would break Aldric’s heart.
Thus, he couldn’t bring himself to open it.
He put the parcel back in his pocket. He resumed his previous posture, eyes closed and ears attuned to Céleste’s music.
A slow breath in. A slow breath out. Aldric felt himself relaxing, which didn’t happen often.
And soon enough, his mind was in that in-between place where dreams interwove with the real world.
He was sitting with Stanley but with Céleste’s music floating around them.
“I told you the Gents would be brothers to you.” Stanley’s expression of exaggerated satisfaction was so achingly familiar. “I think you were afraid I was wrong.”
Aldric shook his head. “On the contrary. I was afraid you were right.”
Stanley speared him with one of his all-seeing looks. “That’s why I wanted you to join us so badly. You deserve to know that family doesn’t have to be painful.”
“Mine always has been.”
“But the Gents’ family isn’t.”
Aldric tried to breathe through the surge of pain that accompanied each beat of his aching heart. “It’s not the same since we lost you. Nothing’s the same. I see grief in all their eyes, and it’s my fault. I failed you, and I failed them.”
Stanley didn’t answer or even acknowledge the admission. He was smiling as he always had, and he was nodding along to the violin music.
“You should never have gone to war,” Aldric whispered, knowing the Stanley his dreaming mind had conjured up wouldn’t hear him. “Henri shouldn’t have stayed in Paris. And I wasn’t able to prevent either one.”
Something woke him. He tried to blink away the lingering sleep that weighed down his eyelids. He had grown quite adept at pushing away the pain that dreaming of Stanley always brought. He tucked it aside and refused to think about it.
Adèle’s nursemaid stepped into the doorway. Had the little girl asked for him? He liked the idea that she’d grown attached to him in some small way.
But thoughts of being a beloved honorary uncle fled at the fear he saw in the nurse’s eyes.
“What has happened?” Aldric asked.
“One of the grooms has rushed back from the local inn.” There was too much franticness in her voice for his peace of mind. “There are people angry with Monsieur Fortier, and they’ve heard the family has returned.”
His heart seized. “How angry?”
Her face paled further. “Maison-du-Verger was set ablaze this morning. The people dislike M. Fortier far more than they dislike the master of Maison-du-Verger.”
Cursed blazes.
“Are they already marching to Fleur-de-la-Forêt?” Aldric asked.
The nurse shook her head. “But they were already speaking of gathering torches.”
Curse Jean-Francois.
“The inn is not far.” The nurse looked near to panic. “A twenty-minute walk is all.”
“Where is Mlle Fortier?” Aldric didn’t hear her music any longer.
“In the music room,” the nurse said.
Aldric strode from the room, the nurse following him into the corridor.
“Pack a small bag for Mlle Adèle,” he said. “A couple of changes of clothing, nightclothes, a few toys. Also a few blankets. Please ask the stables to hitch a horse to a cart or small wagon, whatever is available that doesn’t draw notice and can move swiftly. And we’ll need food for the journey.”
“Where will you be taking them, Lord Aldric?”
“Away from here.” That was all he knew at the moment. He would formulate a strategy beyond that once he knew Céleste and Adèle were safe. “Bring Mlle Adèle to the back terrace as swiftly as you possibly can.”
The nurse rushed off to see to the tasks. Aldric stepped inside the music room. Céleste looked up from a stack of music sheets.
“How quickly can you repack your portmanteau?”
Her mouth shifted into a slash of concern. “What’s happened?”
“There’ll be a mob at the door of this house soon, angry with your brother.”
“Good heavens.” Céleste snatched up the handle of her violin case.
“A groom heard a crowd speaking of marching on Fleur-de-la-Forêt with torches. Another manor house in the area has already been burned.”
She passed by him into the corridor. “I will repack my bag and fetch a coat. Where should I meet you?” She was thinking clearly. That would help tremendously.
“The back terrace,” he said. “We have less than a quarter hour to make good our escape.”
That seemed to only further stiffen her resolve. She moved more quickly, so he did too.
Aldric threw open the door of this borrowed bedchamber and crossed directly to his own portmanteau. He began tossing in only the essentials.
Blast Jean-Francois. Céleste and Adèle were having to run again because of his horridness. This home was supposed to have been a haven to them.
I promised Henri. I told him his sister and niece would be safe.
Aldric had failed the Gents too many times already. He probably should have left years ago, after losing Stanley, to spare them the consequences of his shortcomings.
He grabbed his coat and hat and, portmanteau in hand, sped to the back terrace first. He set his things on the ground, then returned to the house and moved swiftly to the nursery. It was in a frenzy of activity. Adèle watched it all with a growing look of panic.
“Come here, ma petite douce,” Aldric called to her.
She rushed to him. He lifted her from the ground and held her. The nurse emerged from a doorway with blankets under one arm and Adèle’s traveling bag in her other hand. They exchanged silent nods, then left the nursery. They crossed paths with Céleste on their way to the back terrace.
No one spoke.
No one needed to.
A small two-wheeled cart had been brought around, waiting for them.
With the added assistance of the groom, they had their three bags, Céleste’s violin, the blankets, and a basket of food the kitchen had sent tucked into the front of the vehicle.
There would barely be room for their feet, but there were no other options.
Aldric helped Céleste climb onto the bench, then handed her Adèle.
He took his place next to her—the seat was barely long enough for both of them—and grabbed hold of the reins.
Before setting off once more on this new, unplanned leg of their journey, he looked back at the nurse, whose warning had saved all three of them.
“Monsieur Henri and his wife are planning to journey to Fleur-de-la-Forêt from Paris. I have no way of warning him of the dangers here.”
“We will watch for him and warn him,” she promised. “You see our mesdemoiselles to safety. We are depending on you.”
A quick flick of the reins set the sturdy horse into motion, pulling the cart away. Aldric began turning toward the front lane leading away from the estate, but Céleste set her hand on his.
“Anyone watching will be expecting us to go that way. There is a less-known path toward the back.”
She guided him through narrow gaps in hedges and barely distinguishable path markings.
He followed her instructions to the letter, all the while keeping his eyes and ears attuned.
They had only just turned down a very narrow lane tucked on the other side of a very thick stand of trees when angry voices carried to them. Shouts tinged with fury.
Aldric kept his focus firmly on the road. Céleste, holding fast to Adèle, glanced back.
“Do you think they’ll burn the house?” she asked in English.
“I don’t know.”
“Are the staff in danger?”
“I don’t know.”
They had no way of predicting how far the pain of France’s generational struggles, mingled with this area’s resentment toward Jean-Francois, would take the current threat of violence. How far from Fleur-de-la-Forêt did he need to take Céleste and Adèle?
He had no idea the identity of the man who’d grown weary of Jean-Francois’s extortion or whether the riots in Paris were enough to distract him from his purpose.
Aldric didn’t even know if those riots were ongoing or what the streets of the capital city looked like after potentially two days of uprisings.
The Gents depended on Aldric to navigate treacherous waters. Henri, specifically, was depending on that now. This time, though, the pull of ruthless tides threatened to simply tear them all apart.