Chapter Twenty-Three
For a moment after waking, Aldric wasn’t certain where he was. But the sway of the cart quickly reminded him. Céleste had convinced him to trade driving duties, and though he’d fought valiantly against the pull of fatigue, he’d obviously lost the battle.
He blinked off the lingering sleep. “How long have I been asleep?”
“About two minutes longer than Adèle.”
Aldric looked down at Adèle, awake in his arms. “Did you sleep well, ma petite douce?”
Her brow pulled, and she hooked her tiny finger, clearly motioning for him to bend closer. He did, and she whispered to him.
“I need—I have to—” She squirmed a little, her expression growing increasingly miserable.
“Ah.” He smiled at his little shadow. “Do you think, Adèle, that now would be a good time to break our journey? We could have a bit to eat, stretch our legs, and see to . . . whatever else needs seeing to.”
She nodded urgently. Poor thing.
Fortunately, there was a large meadow just off the side of the road a bit ahead.
Céleste guided the horse to the edge of it and brought the cart to a stop.
Aldric climbed down, then reached back up for Adèle.
She bounced a little on the bench. Aldric lowered her to the ground, then turned back to hand down Céleste.
“I suspect you have very little time before Adèle is in dire straits.”
Céleste brushed her fingers over his jaw. “You are very sweet with her, Aldric. Thank you.”
She took Adèle’s hand and walked with her away from the cart and road. Just walked casually away, as if her tender and fleeting touch hadn’t sent his pulse pounding through him.
Henri’s sister, he reminded himself firmly. And somehow, it didn’t have the dampening effect he’d hoped. The remembered feel of her touch simply lingered.
He hadn’t entirely pulled himself together before Céleste and Adèle returned. He’d laid out a blanket and a bit of bread and cheese, and he thought he gave the impression of not being entirely upended.
Adèle dropped onto her stomach and took up her carved animals, her little feet kicking in the air. Céleste chose to sit directly beside Aldric, undermining his equilibrium once more.
Henri’s sister.
He set his focus on getting Adèle her bread and cheese. But she wasn’t distracted by it. She simply continued playing as she ate.
“Are we going home?” she asked.
Aldric didn’t want to worry her, but he also didn’t want to be dishonest. That they weren’t returning to Fleur-de-la-Forêt would be obvious soon enough.
“We are going to the home that was my mother’s,” he said. “There are a great many flowers there.”
Adèle’s love of flowers had been well established during the drive from Paris.
“Does your mother like flowers?” Adèle asked, making her wooden dog jump on the blanket.
“She adored flowers. I think she would have liked talking to you about flowers.”
“I like purple flowers.” Adèle launched into the topic with fervor, regaling Aldric with descriptions of all her favorite flowers.
Céleste ate her bread and cheese, watching the little girl with a heartbreaking fondness. Aldric had seen how much she longed for her niece to feel more of an attachment to her. Why the girl felt that attachment for him he couldn’t say.
During a brief pause in Adèle’s discussion, Céleste leaned closer—he told his heart to calm down—and whispered to him, “You look pensive.”
“I am trying to decide whether this area looks familiar.” It was true, simply not the entirety of what was on his mind.
“Is it familiar?”
“Unfortunately, no. We are as far from my mother’s home as I feared we were.”
“We really will be traveling for another two or three days, then?”
He set his hand tentatively on hers. “I can drive for the next portion of our travels so you can rest.”
“You have slept on floors and in chairs. You need rest more than I do.”
He laughed a little. “Are you offering to sleep on the floor tonight?”
“Actually, yes.” Her fingers folded over his. “If we can trade driving duties, surely we can alternate who has the comfortable position for the night.”
“Does your mother’s home have any red flowers?” Adèle asked.
“Oh yes,” Aldric said, careful not to move his hand so Céleste wouldn’t pull back.
“I like red flowers.” Adèle began playing with her carved horse.
“We should probably be on our way soon.” Céleste stood, pulling her hand free of his.
She was being wiser than he was.
Aldric figuratively squared his shoulders and firmed his resolve. Henri’s sister. Adèle’s aunt. A lady I am charged with seeing safely out of danger. He needed to focus on those things.
He stood as well. They each grabbed a few of the things they’d set out for this pause in their journey and walked to the cart.
“Before we left the inn this morning,” she whispered, “I overheard some of the patrons at the inn discussing what they’d heard of Paris.”
She didn’t sound comforted.
“A militia has been established,” she said. “The French Guard is in mutiny. The people have seized control of Les Invalides and the Bastille.”
It sounded like chaos. Violence. Mob rule. And Henri and Nicolette were still there. Were they safe?
“The men also spoke of the need for similar uprisings in the countryside.” Céleste kept her voice quiet; thus far, Adèle hadn’t seemed to pay their conversation much heed. “They cited ‘the happenings at Fleur-de-la-Forêt’ as a good example of what is needed.”
“It is being spoken of this far from the estate?” Aldric shook his head. “That is reason for caution.”
“But we also weren’t recognized,” Céleste added. “Our disguises and playacting must be sufficient.”
He resisted the urge to take her hand again. “Playing your violin seems to help you feel more at ease.”
“It does. I don’t get to play it as often as I wish I could.”
“We’ll make certain you do this evening at L’Auberge du Chêne Vert. It won’t fix everything, but it might help a little.”
“I think it would.”
Aldric tipped his head toward the cart. “We’d likely best be on our way.”
She turned back toward the blanket, still laid out with Adèle atop it. “Time to be going, ma poupette.”
Adèle hopped up and skipped to them.
“Up you go, ma petite douce,” Aldric said.
The little girl smiled broadly at him as he lifted her up to sit with Céleste. He grabbed the blanket they’d been using and, folding it quickly, set it in the cart as well.
“Is your nephew as fond of you as she is?” Céleste asked as Aldric took his place on the cart bench. “I don’t know how you manage it.”
“Play your violin for him, and I suspect he will be as enthralled as Adèle was while dancing last night.”
“If I go to England, I think I will try that.”
“Are you considering going to England?” His heart flipped at the thought.
“I am, though I suspect it won’t actually prove possible. Henri and I are both essentially penniless now. Jean-Francois will, without a doubt, cut both of us off for defying him. Even if that weren’t true, I don’t know that I could leave Adèle.”
Quick as that, his heart dropped once more. He flicked the reins and set the cart in motion, reminding himself that he had a duty to see to and needed to focus on it.
“Jean-Francois will be particularly keen to either require that I live in misery in his household or marry someone who will be of benefit to him, which I think would likely be even worse. That was my mother’s experience, at least.”
“Mine as well,” Aldric said.
“I don’t have a great many memories of my mother. Her face is very vague to me, but I cannot picture her without tears in her eyes. It breaks my heart that she was always miserable.”
He could hardly imagine how much it would hurt if he didn’t have some memories of his mother smiling and happy.
“My mother was often unhappy,” he said. “It is one of my regrets that I was so unable to assuage more of that sorrow.”
Céleste nodded silently.
“I can tell you, though,” Aldric continued, “since I had my mother in my life longer than you had yours, I suspect I have a few more memories of mine. There was happiness among the sorrow. She told me once that having me as her son brought her happiness. That, in turn, has brought me a lot of comfort.”
Her brow creased, and her mouth turned down in a sharp, ponderous expression. “Do you think I brought my mother any happiness?”
“I can guarantee that you did, and I do not guarantee many things.”
“You are proving a surprising person, Aldric Benick,” she said softly.
He liked that reply.
“Will you read to me, Monsieur Aldric?” Adèle asked.
“Horses can’t read, ma petite douce,” he answered.
Both of his dear traveling companions laughed, which he also liked quite a lot.
“Not the horse,” Adèle said with a giggle.
“Our Aldric can’t read while he is driving,” Céleste said. “But I will read to you.”
Our Aldric. While that was a gratifying thing to hear, it was also sobering. They were depending on him, something that had proven a mistake in the past.
Adèle twisted enough to drop into the footwell of the cart and, he assumed, dig through her bag. She returned to the bench, sitting in the small space between Aldric and Céleste, and gave her book to her aunt.
Aldric set his attention fully on the road and the journey ahead. Céleste would keep Adèle occupied, and Aldric would keep them both safe as they traveled. And he would keep himself focused and his heart from imagining foolish things.
“Aldric?” Céleste’s words shook. “We have a horrible problem.”