“That would not be wise.” She spoke too swiftly and with too heavy a hint of panic for him to take her response lightly.
Even being away from Jean-François wouldn’t save her from whatever she was being subjected to.
“When you eventually return to his home, he will ‘express’ his disapproval?” he guessed out loud.
As they reached a cluster of chairs, she bumped into one. “Clearly I am either overly distracted or wearier than even I realized.”
“Perhaps you should sit here,” he suggested.
“Rather than simply knock my knees into dozens more chairs before finally sitting in one?”
“It seems you are also a strategizer of strategies.” He saw her seated, watching her closely. All he could say with certainty was that she looked tired. He couldn’t begin to guess what ailment might be underlying it. “Perhaps if you told your brother and sister-in-law that being with your friends would be beneficial to your health, they would be less likely to see it as a defection.”
She gave him a very dry look. “You are assuming they are interested in my health and well-being.”
His gaze narrowed. “What is it theyareinterested in?”
“You are the Gents’ expert observer. You tell me.”
“You are issuing a challenge?” He rather liked the idea.
“Are you equal to it?” she countered.
“Always.” He not only enjoyed solving mysteries, he also now had the perfect opportunity to gather more information about her situation and her oldest brother’s behavior.
Two ladies, approximately Céleste’s age, arrived in the next moment and greeted her. Again, she watched them with eyes a bit squinted but without any indication of actual disapproval or displeasure. If Aldric had to guess, he would say her eyes were bothering her. That could happen when a person was particularly tired.
Céleste made the introductions. Aldric’s status as the son of a duke, even an English one, earned him even more interest from them than he was already receiving.
“His mother was French,” Céleste added. “Clothilde Guillaume. I believe we can claim him as a fellow Frenchman while he is here.”
She likely meant it as a bit of teasing, but he liked the idea.
The ladies sat on either side of her and quickly launched into a discussion he didn’t need to be present for. He excused himself and slipped away. Lucas was being shown off by Jean-François like a prized horse. Anyone watching who didn’t know Lucas well would think he was perfectly content with the situation. Aldric recognized the glint of annoyed amusement in his friend’s eyes. He would need to undertake a rescue before the night was over.
As he made his way slowly in that direction, he caught sight of someone he knew but hadn’t seen in many years. On his last visit to Paris, he had made the acquaintance of the Marquis de Lafayette. The marquis was almost a year younger than Aldric but had lived more life and experienced more things than men twice their age. He was infinitely interesting to talk to. At that moment, he was deep in conversation with Henri and Nicolette. There was an attempt made to appear casual in their discussion, but Aldric’s skills of observation and his knowledge of Henri revealed far more than others would likely see. This conversation involved something of deep importance and, he would wager, secrecy.
Céleste was being closed-lipped about the details of her situation. Henri and Nicolette seemed to be keeping a secret as well.
Aldric’s entire purpose in the Gents was to help them wisely navigate complicated situations. How was he supposed to do that if they weren’t telling him things he needed to know?
Chapter Six
That the heavens hadn’t seenfit to turn Aldric Benick ugly or malodorous or into a miserably ill-behaved person was, in Céleste’s very firm opinion, excessively inconsiderate. She’d very unwisely lost a bit of her heart to him when he’d visited their home, Fleur-de-la-Forêt, seven years earlier. She’d been a lonely eighteen-year-old, and he was the shockingly handsome best friend of her dearly beloved brother. He’d been kind to her, which had been a salve to her isolated soul. He’d also been aloof and reserved, which had made him intriguingly mysterious.
By the time Henri and Aldric had ended their visit, Céleste had been besotted. Somehow those feelings hadn’t entirely abated by the time she saw Aldric again two years ago at the house party held at his English estate. He’d been even more handsome, even more mysterious. He’d also been very clearly uninterested, to the point that he had abandoned her to counter their families’ machinations on her own.
She needed to remember that, or she was going to have her heart broken. Again.
Her thoughts would be put to far better use focused on her plans to escape Paris. She was achingly close. Dr. Mercier intended to call at the house in a couple more days under the pretense of seeing if she was improving. The doctor would, at first, simply suggest more rest than she had been granted. Eventually, he would suggest she quit Paris. She would, in turn, say how much she loved Paris, something which had been true until Jean-François had made it a miserable place. That would reduce any suspicion while slowly creating an argument for exactly what she wanted.
She wandered about the parlor, waiting for Marguerite to be ready to depart for the millinery shop, an errand Jean-François hadn’t permitted Céleste to forgo. She had made several circles around the room when her eyes were caught by a folded bit of parchment poking out of the drawer of an end table.
Curiosity had ever been one of her besetting sins. She opened the drawer. A stack of folded correspondence was inside. She pulled it out. They were all addressed to Jean-François. She unfolded the topmost one.
I am growing impatient. I know you have received my previous demands, yet you have not chosen to heed them.
No salutation, no words of introduction or explanation.
