Chapter Twenty-Seven
Aldric had, on any number of occasions, stayed in the most opulent of places, been afforded the most comfortable of beds and warm blankets, with fires kept burning.
Yet, waking the next morning, with Adèle scrunched up against him, so trusting and so tender, and looking across the wagon at Céleste, sleeping as well, with the dim morning light beginning to illuminate the beautiful French countryside, he felt certain any of those fine and enviable homes and beds and rooms could only hope to compare to the quiet perfection of that moment.
But that moment didn’t last. The “why” of their current situation—pressed into the back of a farm wagon, tucked behind a wall and a cluster of trees—landed too heavily on his mind.
His two ladies, as he’d begun to think of them, were in danger, fleeing their flame-engulfed home and depending on him.
He would let himself entertain tender and sentimental ideas once they were safely at Norwood Manor. Until then, he needed to be vigilant.
He sat up, his blanket slipping from his shoulders and allowing the chill of the morning air to hit him.
It was more than merely cold; the air felt wet.
The weather had cooperated up until now.
A quick look at the dim morning sky revealed heavy clouds.
Their luck on that front seemed likely to run out.
He carefully climbed down, doing his utmost not to jostle the wagon too much.
His ladies needed to sleep and rest. Adèle would be more amenable to the continued journey if she wasn’t overly tired.
Céleste needed to sleep as long as possible too.
They’d both been so exhausted at the inn that they’d slept through supper.
A jug had been included in the basket provided to them by the innkeeper two nights before. They’d fled last night’s inn too quickly to refill it with water. Aldric could see to that while his ladies slept.
He found a small stream not very far from where they’d stopped, still within sight of the wagon, and filled the jug. By the time he returned, Adèle was awake and standing in the wagon, looking around frantically.
When she spotted him, she held her arms out. “Tonton Aldric. You were gone.”
He reached up for her and lifted her out of the wagon. “I was only getting us some water, ma petite douce.”
He’d thought perhaps she had simply been confused or a little put out at having awoken without him when she had been accustomed to the opposite the last few mornings. But her arms wrapping tightly around his neck told him she’d been afraid.
“Did something happen?” he asked.
“I had a bad dream.” She leaned against his shoulder. “And then I woke up and you were gone.”
He kissed her little cheek. “I’m here now, and your tante Céleste is here. We have water, and we have food.”
“And we slept in the wagon.” The slightest hint of excitement touched that declaration.
“It was a little adventure, wasn’t it?”
She nodded.
“Do you think your aunt enjoyed our adventure?” he asked.
“She was crying last night,” Adèle whispered.
Céleste had held back her tears throughout their conversation. Had she finally let those tears flow? And had the release been relieving or simply more heartrending?
“I was sleeping,” Adèle continued, “and I woke up, and she was crying.”
It was likely for the best that they always discussed their situation in English, even when Adèle appeared to be sleeping or not paying attention. She saw and heard more than she seemed to.
“I think your aunt is tired,” Aldric said. “She was very sleepy last night.”
Adèle twisted a little in his arms, looking back at Céleste, still sleeping.
“We should let her sleep,” Adèle said. “Then she won’t be so tired.”
“A very thoughtful thing to do,” he said.
Adèle smiled sweetly and a little shyly.
“I can sit by you,” she said. “You can make the horse go. Tante Céleste can sleep.”
“An excellent notion, ma petite douce.”
Aldric saw to the various preparations that needed to be made, ensuring everything was in order and prepared for another day’s journey.
He and Adèle had a quick breakfast. He helped the little girl attend to all her various needs before helping her onto the wagon bench next to him and setting off down the road once more.
“This horse is not Monsieur Aldric,” Adèle said a few minutes into their journey.
“Monsieur Aldric decided to stay at the inn. I suspect he made a friend in the stable.”
That explanation seemed to both satisfy and please her. “Does this horse have a name?”
“If she does, I don’t know what it is.”
“It’s a girl horse?” Adèle asked.
“It is.”
He glanced at her quickly and saw a look of intense concentration pull at her sweet little face. “I will think of a name for her,” she said.
They continued on down the road. The wagon jerked and lurched in the many ruts.
Despite all of that, Céleste continued to sleep.
The feeling of gratitude he’d had at knowing she was resting began to give way to concern.
To be sleeping as deeply as she was on a road in such a state, she must have been beyond exhausted.
They were pushing too hard. She had feigned her illness in Paris, but she would be legitimately ill if they weren’t careful.
But they couldn’t risk drawing attention or allowing their pursuers to catch up to them.
Once in England, she could sleep for months if she needed.
He’d make certain she wasn’t bothered or disturbed.
He and Adèle would name all the horses they could find and tell each other stories and plant flowers all over Norwood while they waited for Céleste to recuperate.
He shook that thought off as soon as he had it. Though he’d come to love this little girl much the way he imagined he would a child of his own, she wasn’t his to claim. And allowing himself to dream of a family was an inarguable mistake.
Benicks ruined families. It was the truth he had known the longest.
“We should call the horse Bouton d’Or.” Adèle made the declaration with a firm nod.
Though Aldrich would never have guessed that would be her suggestion, the moment she made it, he knew she would never have suggested anything else. The little girl was obsessed with flowers. “Do you know what bouton d’or is called in English?”
She shook her head, watching him anxiously.
“Buttercup,” he said.
“Buttercup.” She repeated the word very carefully, her French accent rendering it nearly unrecognizable. “Buttercup.”
She was delightful. Adèle would have an entire flock of adoptive uncles in England who would likely teach her the English names of every flower she could think of. And Aldric would somehow manage to get her actual uncle back to her.
He didn’t allow that thought to remain either. He’d promised Céleste he would put it from his mind, and he didn’t intend to break his word to her.
“I think Bouton d’Or is the perfect name for our horse,” he told her.
She beamed up at him, clearly proud of herself. Did anyone other than Céleste ever offer her compliments and confidence? He suspected the older nurse at Fleur-de-la-Forêt did. But Jean-Francois was in Paris more often than the countryside, which meant Adèle was as well.
“Do you remember when you came to my house in England?” he asked Adèle.
She shook her head no. She had been only three years old, so it would have been far more surprising if she had remembered.
“You came and visited me there when you were very little.”
“Did I like visiting you?”
He smiled. “Oh yes. We had a grand time. We played games, and you and the other children in the nursery sang songs.”
“There were other children?” That, in particular, seemed to excite her.
“A little baby named Philip. And my nephew Roderick, who is a little older than you.”
“Can we visit your house again?” she asked.
He didn’t bother hiding his smile. It was precisely what he’d hoped she would want. “Your aunt Céleste thought you would enjoy that.”
She nodded eagerly. “I want to visit your house.”
“I have a great many flowers growing in the fields around my house. And I have others growing in a conservatory.”
“I do not know what that is.”
“It is a very large room with glass all along the walls. And inside is a garden.”
“With flowers?”
He pulled his eyes wide and nodded. She looked utterly enchanted. Aldric vowed in that moment that one of the very first things he would do when they reached Norwood was take Adèle to the conservatory.
“What flowers do you have?” she asked in an amazed whisper.
“In the glass room, we have roses and violets and lilies and such. I also have others that people don’t know as well, like calamint and love-in-a-mist”—he didn’t know the French name for that particular flower, so had to use the English—“and so many others.”
“I want to see them.” She bounced a little on her seat.
“And I very much want to show them to you.”
She leaned against his arm, sighing with obvious delight. “I love you, tonton Aldric.”
“And I love you, ma petite douce.”
The smile didn’t leave his face as they continued on down the road. She thought of him as an uncle. And she loved him as one. Heaven knew the little girl had permanently claimed a corner of his usually closed-off heart. He almost didn’t recognize himself.
Without warning, the wagon’s frame jutted and twisted with an ominous creak. He didn’t know if they’d hit a rock or a rut, but whatever it was, it didn’t sound good. Adèle looked up at him immediately, obviously concerned.
He reached over and patted her hand quickly but didn’t keep the reins one-handed for long.
The wagon was rolling oddly. He guided the horse to the side of the road and hopped down.
The breeze was heavy with moisture, and there was rain on the horizon.
But he needed to find out what had happened, needed to know what to do.