Henri paced away in obvious frustration. Nicolette’s mouth was an instant outline of exasperation. Julia and Lucas exchanged looks clearly communicating that they wished to do something but didn’t know what. Aldric was across the room at the window, looking out over the Paris streets without paying any of them the least heed.
Céleste had spent all of the Norwood house party rescuing herself. She’d spent the last two years doing the same. She would need to do so again.
“I am looking forward to the ball tonight, Jean-François,” she said. “I don’t wish to further delay the needed preparations.”
She assumed the humble and deferent posture and expression she’d learned to wear when attempting to soften Jean-François’s temper. It worked again, but not as well as usual. She would have to be very careful for the rest of the day, likely for many days to come, if she had any hope of securing herself the ability to retreat to the countryside.
“Let’s return to the house,” she said. “The Fortiers will be watched for at the ball tonight.”
“We will be,” Jean-François said. “I have worked ceaselessly to improve our family’s situation, and you nearly ruined it.” He turned her toward the exterior door and gave her a nudge, one she was grateful was relatively soft. “I will not abide rebellion, Céleste. You have been warned about that time and again.”
“It will not happen again,” she said.
“It most certainly will not.”
She was quickly deposited into Jean-François’s carriage. Her friends would be attending the ball, and she hoped she would be permitted to greet them there, even if she was being denied the moment necessary to bid them a temporary farewell just then.
Jean-François didn’t say a word as they rode swiftly toward his home. Céleste preferred it that way. She took the opportunity to lean lightly on her act of ill health. If she made too much of a show, he would insist she was to blame for her weariness, having spent the day wandering an enormous garden. But a hint of it would play to her advantage in the days to come.
The Fortiers will be safer away from Paris.The marquis’s evaluation of the situation hadn’t fully left her mind all day. Jean-François was extorting someone dangerous, and the threat was spreading to the entire family.
They needed to get out of Paris. Even if her brother refused to leave, she would escape with Adèle.
The ball that night would be full of people whose approval and influence and coffers Jean-François considered necessary to his own aims. He wouldn’t wish to appear heartless or uncaring or foolish in front of any of them. Which meant Céleste Fortier’s health was about to take a very public turn for the worse.
Chapter Thirteen
As Jean-François and Marguerite glidedabout the ballroom that night, pleased with themselves and the reception they were receiving, Céleste couldn’t shake her feeling of unease. Who was the powerful person Jean-François was extorting? Was he there even then? Was this person someone she interacted with regularly?
The Fortiers will be safer away from Paris.The threat was here in this city, and she didn’t like that she couldn’t identify it.
M. and Mme D’Aubert spoke with Jean-François and Marguerite for a brief time, though Céleste didn’t spy their son anywhere. Not long afterward, the Lapointes struck up a conversation as well. Céleste had never before had reason to think ill of either family, but she scrutinized their every word now.
“Do attempt to show a little enthusiasm,” Marguerite whispered harshly as they continued their circuit of the room.
Céleste’s efforts to give the impression she had grown more ill seemed to be successful.
“If you hadn’t spent the afternoon wandering aimlessly around a garden,” Jean-François said, “you would have energy enough for the evening.”
“I spent most of our visit sitting on benches,” she told him, not for the first time. “And I had not anticipated you objecting to me accepting an invitation to Versailles, especially with the royal family in residence today.”
“The King is not overly popular just now, is he?” This was a new angle for Jean-François, though it was not inaccurate.
“Unpopular or not,” Céleste said, “he is still the King. Society still puts importance on his approval and disapproval.”
“I think you had best discontinue spending time with the English visitors,” Marguerite said. “Their influence has you speaking your mind out of turn.”
“My apologies.” Though she wasn’t actually sorry so much as annoyed. And a little bit amused. Céleste had come to play her part so well that her sister-in-law had apparently forgotten how accustomed Céleste had once been to speaking her mind quite freely.
“I see M. Léandre is in attendance tonight.” Jean-François looked intrigued.
Céleste followed his gaze. Blazes of candlelight in the otherwise rather dim ballroom made seeing what he was seeing difficult. But after a moment and a degree of squinting that Society would consider uncouth, Céleste spotted Pierre making his way toward them. His suit against the Beaulieus and the defection that had led to it had earned him censure, but he’d been welcomed to an increasing number of balls and soirees. That rebuke did not seem destined to be permanent.
“What is your opinion of M. Léandre?” Céleste asked.
“Opinion?” Jean-François seemed to think the question a rather absurd one. “His behavior has not always been above reproach. But he now has possession of most the Beaulieus’ fortune. Making an enemy of him seems foolish.”
That was not at all what Céleste wanted to hear, but it was more or less what she’d expected him to say.HowPierre had made his fortune didn’t matter to Jean-François, just that he had money.
