And she wasn’t the only one.
Adèle had immediately found a home in the nursery, playing with joyful delight with the two Jonquil boys. She was happy and joyous, and the weight of past hurts and the dangers of France had lifted.
And Aldric was at peace. It was something more than being out of danger. It was more than being away from his brother. She was certain it was also more than the joy of the two of them being together. A burden had been lifted.
On a particularly rainy day, she happened past the Lampton Park conservatory and heard the unmistakable sound of her beloved’s voice. She’d not seen him all day and, with a smile she didn’t bother to hide, stepped inside immediately.
“I don’t remember this particular variety of flower growing at Lampton Park,” Aldric said.
“Lord Lampton arranged with the gardener at Norwood Manor to have all the love-in-a-mist removed from the conservatory there and brought here to be replanted,” an unfamiliar voice said. “And he’s said we’re to do the same when you remove to a home of your own, Your Lordship. And we’re not to let them die between now and then.”
Céleste rounded a corner and found Aldric, holding Adèle’s hand, talking to a gardener.
“A heroic rescuer of flowers,” Aldric said with a shake of his head. “Lord Lampton is very fond of flowers.”
“I think,” Céleste said, “Lord Lampton is very fond ofyou.”
That pulled their attention to her. Aldric smiled, as he always did when he saw her. Adèle pulled away from him and ran to her.
“Tante Céleste, we are picking flowers for you!”
Céleste hunched down and smiled at her beloved niece. “Because you know I love flowers?”
“Because I love you.” She said it so simply, with no hesitation or emphasis. Yet those four words wrapped themselves around Céleste’s heart. “And tonton Aldric loves you too. He told me so.”
Céleste heard him approach but didn’t look up from Adèle. “I love you,ma poupette. You do know that?”
“Of course.” Again, Adèle was perfectly unaware of how monumental this moment was. “I’m going to find you pink flowers.” She skipped off, wonderfully happy.
Céleste slowly stood, amazement rendering her momentarily unable to so much as speak. Aldric wrapped his arms around her, and she leaned into his embrace. The gardener had gone about his business.
“She said she loves me,” Céleste whispered. “I’ve waited so long to hear her say that.”
“She has told me for weeks that she loves her tante Céleste. I’m glad she’s finally told you.”
Céleste looked into his beautiful, beloved eyes. “The two of you were gathering flowers for me?”
He nodded. “Because we love you and you love flowers and”—he pulled one arm back and reached into his pocket—“to soften the blow of this.” He held out a sealed letter. “It’s from Jean-François.”
They hadn’t had word of her oldest brother or sister-in-law. Céleste had worried about them, yet having this evidence that Jean-François had survived didn’t bring any real relief. He was unlikely to be writing in order to reconcile or apologize for the pain he had caused. He might be writing to demand Adèle be returned to him or to say he and Marguerite were coming to England, which would cause nothing but misery for all of them.
Céleste took the letter and studied it for just a moment. She pushed out a tense breath, then flipped the letter over and broke the wax seal. Aldric tucked her closer as she unfolded it and began to read.
Céleste,
This is inexcusable. Fleur-de-la-Forêt has been turned to ashes, and you did nothing to save it. What was the purpose of you being at the family estate if you meant only to abandon it? Centuries of our family have lived there, gaining status andimportance from the elegance and steadiness of that estate. And it is gone.
You have harmed this family beyond repair.
“Your brother’s a slubber,” Aldric muttered.
“I know.”
We have no choice but to remain in Paris. I refuse to live at the estate meant for a younger son. I have not stooped so low as that, even if the National Assembly means to continue stripping away our rights and privileges.
I will leave it to you to tell Henri that he will never see another livre from me, as that penance does not begin to equal what you deserve for what you have done. And you needn’t write to me begging for your dowry. It is no more.
I hope you are haunted by your guilt.
