Céleste didn’t look back as long minutes passed. Neither did she allow her exploration of the Colonnade to bring her back toward him. He had no further clues as to her displeasure when, more than a quarter hour later, the gardener returned with a man of the older generation.
Here, at least, was something he understood and knew how to approach. Aldric moved with determined steps to them.
“You are Marcel Chauvin?” he asked.
“I am. What can I do for you, monsieur?”
Aldric had committed to memory his mother’s instructions. He pulled from his pocket the miniature of himself and his mother, painted not long before she passed. “My mother was Clothilde Guillaume. She told me to find a member of the Chauvin family at Versailles. She instructed me to show you this painting and tell you that I am Lord Aldric Oliver Benick, that she was indeed my mother, and that she sent me here to retrieve a parcel left in the care of your family many years ago.”
Marcel smiled, revealing a mouth only half full of teeth but eyes filled with kindness. “She was a good woman, your mother. Everyone who knew her thought so.”
“She was remarkable,” Aldric acknowledged.
“When Armel told me a gentleman of obviously very high standing was asking for a member of my family who had been at Versailles for years, I thought you might be the son of la Duchesse de Hartley come to Versailles at last.” He pulled from one of his large pockets a parcel wrapped in thick burlap and tied in a double bow. The man held it out to him. “She left this for you, my lord.”
Aldric accepted. “Thank you for keeping this safe all these years.”
The man offered a deep and respectful bow. “La duchesse was good to us. Versailles has not been the same since she left.”
“The entire world has not been the same since she left.”
After another quick bow from the two gardeners, who then departed, Aldric was left holding this last offering from his mother, unsure what came next. His eyes darted between the miniature still in his hand and the parcel in the other. He’d not even known six weeks earlier that this gift was waiting for him, yet obtaining it felt like the culmination of a lifetime, like a moment so many small moments had been leading to. The thought of opening the parcel felt like losing the last moment he would have with his mother.
“I think I will make my way to the Apollo Fountain,” Céleste said.
He’d all but forgotten she was there. He managed a quick response. “I haven’t seen the Apollo Fountain in years.”
“You needn’t accompany me. You need a moment with your mother.” Her enormously insightful comment, offered with such a deep level of understanding, nearly upended him. Nothing ever did.
Aldric looked at her. While her expression was one of sensitivity to what she knew of his situation, the aloofness that had swept over her before the gardener’s return was still firmly in place. Shewasupset with him, and hehad no idea why. He’d not said anything unkind. He’d been considerate of her health. They’d had a pleasant conversation.
It ought to have continued to be a perfectly amicable afternoon. Instead, she was nettled for no obvious reason, and he was left trying to navigate that while simultaneously sifting through the emotions that always accompanied thoughts of his mother.
He couldn’t manage both. At the moment, he wasn’t certain he could manage either.
Aldric tucked both the painting and the parcel into his pockets, each taking up nearly the entirety of the one it was placed in. He set his shoulders, pushing back emotion and sentimentality.
“Let’s go see if there are any benches near the Apollo Fountain,” he said and motioned for her to lead the way.
He would open the parcel when he returned to his lodgings. Perhaps. His father had taught him many lessons beyond how to be afraid. Being in that man’s family had given Aldric ample opportunities to learn how to hide his pain.
He would simply do so again.
Chapter Twelve
Céleste had sacrificed her freedomand, in many ways, her future for Henri’s sake. Given the choice, she would do so again. Aldric’s kindnesses to her as they’d walked the grounds of Versailles had been offered out of loyalty to the very brother she loved with all her heart. Why, then, did the realization hurt so much?
Because my heart has always been foolish where Aldric Benick is concerned.
The ride back into Paris would have been a very quiet one if not for Lucas. Julia had enjoyed her time at Versailles, which meant he was in exceptionally good spirits. Céleste had noticed that about him very quickly at Norwood Manor: though he was delighted with the company of the Gents and made friends quickly and easily, absolutely nothing brought him more obvious and immediate joy than seeing Julia happy.
While Céleste had always hoped to make a match with someone who didn’t mistreat her and was thoughtful, she hadn’t any expectations of marrying for love. It simply wasn’t done. Watching the Gents with their wives, including Henri and Nicolette, had begun to make her long for something like what they had.
The longer she stayed in Paris, the more likely it was that Jean-François would find a way to force her hand and marry her to someone who would help him in his continued pursuit of importance and wealth without regard to Céleste’s happiness or well-being. Marrying for love was a nice dream, but she would be content with simply not marrying into misery.
“I cannot wait to tell the boys about Versailles,” Julia said as the carriage rolled down the streets toward their rented lodgings.
Lucas tucked her even closer to him. “And this new little one when she joins us.”
