Chapter Twenty
Anger’s been simmering for generations. But it’s beginning to boil over.
Céleste couldn’t clear her mind of the words of warning offered to her by the woman who’d traded clothing with them. Anger. Directed at her family. Anger that had likely already seen her family’s home reduced to ashes.
And now they were being followed.
She glanced back for what felt like the hundredth time. The nondescript carriage was still there. Who was inside? What did they want?
Her eyes met Aldric’s for the length of half a breath. There was concern in their dark depths, but also focus and fortitude.
“The carriage hasn’t drawn any closer.” She was both informing him of the situation and reassuring them all.
“I don’t like it,” he said in quiet, clipped tones.
“Neither do I.”
There’ll be a mob at the door of this house soon, angry with your brother.
Céleste breathed as slowly and deeply as she could, clinging to her calm. She was not prone to panic and refused to succumb to it now.
“That looks like an inn up ahead.” Aldric spoke without any obvious emotion. She unexpectedly appreciated that. “When we stop in front, I’ll take Adèle so you can climb down. Go directly inside.”
“You’ll go directly inside too?” she asked.
“We’ll be on your heels.”
Adèle watched him, a crease forming between her eyebrows. Céleste wished she were the one most able to offer her reassurance and a sense of security.
She bent closer to her niece. “Lean a bit against him again, Adèle. You’ll feel better.”
Adèle did just that, and the tension in her eased. Being with Henri had lifted so many of Céleste’s burdens when she was a little girl. She’d felt less alone, less afraid. It had been such a long time since she’d felt that way.
Aldric stopped the cart in front of the inn. He scooped up Adèle. Céleste grabbed the handle of her violin case and climbed out of the cart. She moved swiftly inside the inn. As promised, Aldric was only a step behind her.
A large bay window at the front of the public room they stepped into offered an unimpeded view of the innyard and the road leading to it.
Céleste set herself there and watched the innyard.
The carriage that had been following them would either arrive and pull in or pass by on the road.
And it ought to happen in the next few minutes.
Aldric talked with the innkeeper. Céleste watched out the window.
And watched.
And watched.
The carriage never appeared. It didn’t pull into the innyard. It didn’t drive past. Nothing.
“I don’t understand,” she said when Aldric joined her at the window, Adèle still in his arms. “I couldn’t have missed the carriage.”
“Perhaps it stopped before reaching the inn,” he said.
She shook her head. “Stopped where? There wasn’t a road branching off in the short distance they would be covering. No houses. No paths.”
Aldric set a key in her hand. “Take Adèle up the stairs. First room on the left of the first-floor landing. Lock yourselves in.”
Lock yourselves in. That caused her lungs to hitch painfully.
“What about you?” She looked back at him. His eyes were on the window.
“The innkeeper tells me the room overlooks the yard. Set yourself at the window and watch for that carriage. I’ll wait down here until you’ve had enough time to begin your watch, then I’ll go out into the innyard and get the horse stabled.”
“I’d already forgotten about the horse and cart.” She shook her head. “I can’t seem to think clearly.”
“Removing to the countryside should have given you the rest you need. Instead, it’s offered you anything but.
” He sounded so . . . guilty. She had been less than truthful with him and Henri and all the others.
Jean-Francois was the reason their time in the country had turned so chaotic.
But Aldric laid the blame for all of that at his own feet.
He handed Adèle over to her.
“No,” the little girl pleaded.
“I’ll be back soon, ma petite douce,” Aldric said. His eyes never left the window.
Céleste kept hold of Adèle’s hand and walked with her to the stairs, her heart breaking at the continued objections the poor girl made. She wanted to stay with Aldric. Céleste knew that pull so well.
They climbed the stairs, nervousness still knotted painfully in Céleste’s chest. Angry mobs. Burnt homes. A suspicious carriage. She tried to appear calm for Adèle’s sake.
First door to the left of the landing.
Once inside, she set down her violin case and released Adèle’s hand, then locked the door behind them. Remembering her instructions, she stood at the window and studied the innyard below and the road just visible beyond.
Aldric stepped out of the inn and returned to the cart. He looked up at the window from which she was watching him. Céleste gave a small wave, though she didn’t know if he could actually see her. He returned his attention to his task.
Looking away from the calm strength of him was exceptionally difficult. She didn’t merely feel safer when he was nearby; she also felt seen and heard and less alone. At Norwood Manor, he’d offered her none of those things. He’d left her to thwart their families alone.
And, though she hated to admit it even to herself, she worried a little about that Aldric making a return appearance.
The carriage that had been following them never passed by and never entered the innyard. It had to have veered off the road. But when? And where?
Aldric had as few answers as she did when he returned to the room. “The groom in the stable said a few other people are staying here already but that no one has pulled into the yard for the past hour other than us.”
Céleste shook her head. “I was absolutely certain that carriage was following us.”
“So was I.” Aldric locked the door once more, then walked to the window.
“Do you suppose the carriage did, in fact, simply pass by?”
“I think you would have seen it,” he said.
Exhausted and confused, she posed the question she knew they both had but neither could answer. “Then where is it?”
“I’ll keep an eye on the yard and road for a bit longer,” Aldric said. “But I don’t think we need to watch all night.”
“Whether or not we need to watch, I don’t know that I will sleep.” She rubbed at her face. “Do you suppose, once we reach Montbergerie, we’ll not need to be so vigilant?”
He moved closer to her. “Are you reaching the end of your endurance?”
“I can endure a great deal,” she said, “but I would very much like to breathe a little easier.”
He touched her hand, the briefest brush of his fingers. “You spend the evening breathing, Céleste. I’ll watch for any trouble.”
She held herself very still, resisting the sudden, almost overwhelming urge to lean against him, hoping he would hold her. The imagined feel of his embrace was too potent a picture. She needed to step away while she could still think clearly.
Céleste gave a quick nod and turned her attention away from the man who’d captured, broken, and recaptured her heart far too many times already.
For the first time, she truly looked around the room.
They were traveling in the guise of a married couple, so it wasn’t a room with multiple beds or any real privacy.
It was larger, though, than the one they had shared with Lucas and Julia on the night they’d left Paris.
Much of the floor was empty, the room being very sparsely furnished.
“There is space in here for you to play,” Céleste said to Adèle. “Shall we fetch a few of your toys?”
“Oh yes.” Adèle brightened in an instant. Seeing the change in her drove home how heavy her spirits had actually been all day. They needed to find a way to offer her respite from the cart during their journey.
If they were, in the days to come, to break their journey and allow her to escape the carriage for a time, they would likely do so in fields and meadows, necessitating that a blanket be spread out to sit on.
Perhaps that would be worth introducing now so Adèle would find it familiar.
Céleste took up one of the blankets Aldric had carried inside and flicked it open, laying it smoothly on the floor.
She then moved Adèle’s bag over to it. Alongside the changes of clothing, the nightdress, underclothing, stockings, and such inside were a few toys and a book.
The doll Adèle had been holding was still in her arms. Céleste pulled all the playthings out and set them on the blanket. She sat on it as well.
Adèle seemed uncertain, so Céleste took up one of the carved figurines from the bag, this one a bird.
She pretended to make it fly while whistling as a bird would.
Adèle giggled a little. Hope bubbled in Céleste’s chest at the sound.
She glanced at Aldric, and though he didn’t look away from the window, she thought she saw approval in his expression.
Adèle snatched up the carved puppy and hopped it around the blanket, making barking sounds and laughing.
It was playful, which was precisely what the girl needed.
“Tante Céleste?” Adèle held her figurines in her hands.
“Yes, dear?”
“Will you play your violin?”
Adèle had never asked her to do that before.
“Of course I will.”
Adèle hopped to her feet, still holding tight to her carved animals. “I want to spin.”
That was also something Adèle had never said. Other than two years ago at the house party, Céleste hadn’t ever seen Adèle bounce or dance.
Quick as that, playing music so her niece could joyously spin and dance became Céleste’s first and most pressing priority.
She stood and moved to where she had set her violin against the wall near the door.
She took it by the handle and set it on the bed.
She opened the case and couldn’t help a sigh of relief at having it near at hand.
She was not the most talented of musicians, and she wasn’t one for whom music was embedded deep in the very soul of her.
But she enjoyed playing. It brought her joy and calm.
She needed both just then. And now it was going to allow her to offer something to Adèle, whom she struggled so often to reach and connect with.
How grateful she was that, when her father had insisted that providing a music tutor for Céleste was a waste of time and money, Henri had been unwilling to abandon the idea.
He had somehow convinced Father to allow her lessons to continue.
Because of her beloved brother, Céleste had this source of peace and would have this moment with Adèle.
She quickly tuned the violin before tucking it under her chin. She struck up “Savez-vous planter les choux,” knowing Adèle would be familiar with it and its sprightly tune would be perfect for the girl to dance to.
She’d only played a few measures when Adèle’s face lit, and she began leaping and spinning about the room. That the sight was so unfamiliar and rare sent an ache through Céleste. Adèle ought to be joyful like this all the time.
Céleste’s gaze happened upon Aldric. His toes were tapping subtly to the beat of the music as he watched the innyard below.
He was not merely listening; he too was enjoying it.
He so often came across as fierce and unapproachable.
She’d seen him participate in games with the Gents and even the occasional quip among their unending jesting, but she struggled to truly imagine him being as lighthearted as they were.
But she had seen inarguable evidence of his kindness and of a gentle heart beneath his fearsomeness. And in that moment, he looked . . . lovely. It was such an odd way to describe a man she knew intimidated most people who met him, but her mind could think of nothing else. Simply lovely.
The next tune she chose was “Il pleut, il pleut, bergère.” She watched Aldric every bit as much as she watched Adèle. His toes kept time to the new selection. His fingers did the same against the arm of the chair he sat in.
Oh, Aldric Benick. There is music in your heart.