He nodded. “Riots have broken out. Fires have been set. People have been killed. Nicolette says there’s every reason to believe the violence will spread and increase, perhaps for days to come.”
“Does she think that violence will come here?”
“It is a possibility none of us is willing to dismiss.”
Céleste didn’t dither. “I have been packed since last night. I can lighten what I’m bringing if need be, and I could do so in a matter of minutes.”
“I hope that won’t prove necessary, but this household is now facing a potentialsecondthreat, and we would do well to take both seriously.”
She crossed to where he stood, both of them hovering in the doorway. Her brown eyes studied him, an unexpected mixture of concern and trust in their depths. He liked seeing that, liked it more than he probably should have.
“There are two expectant mothers among us,” she said. “A rushed journey is likely to be tremendously difficult for them.”
“Unfortunately,” he said, “comfort and safety are mutually exclusive aims just now.”
“I suspect Jean-François will choose his comfort over his family’s safety.” She clutched her hands in a tight knot in front of herself.
“He will no longer be permitted to endanger anyone other than himself.” Aldric set his hand lightly on hers but quickly pulled back at the tingle he felt. This was no time for foolishness.
“What if Jean-François insists Adèle must stay in Paris?” she asked nervously.
“Then her aunt and uncle will simply have to kidnap her.”
An almost impish smile pulled at her lips, tugging simultaneously on his heart. “Jean-François might chase after us and accidentally take himself to safety.”
Ruckus down the corridor told him the imbecile was awake and unhappy about it. Aldric moved in that direction. They hadn’t time to allow the man to leisurely ready himself for the day.
Upon reaching the door to Jean-François’s bedchamber, Aldric could hear Henri’s voice inside, strained and tense. Aldric threw the door open. He looked over the scene, Jean-François still clad in his dressing gown, assuming an aggressive and angry posture, little more than inches from his brother’s face. “I will not be lied to, Henri. These dangers you imagine will not—”
“Enough.” Aldric was sick to death of this man. “Paris is in chaos. Your family, which was already in danger, is now in greater peril. There is but one question to answer: whether or not you intend to leave when the rest of us do. Give us your answer quickly so we can proceed.”
Some of the bluster slipped from Jean-François. “Again I am being pushed to leave Paris. Are you attempting to steal for yourselves the fortune I am making here?”
Aldric wouldn’t bother answering such a nonsensical question. “We will leave as quickly as we are able to. Will you be leaving with us?”
“I will not leave Paris.” Jean-François drew out every syllable. “I have worked too hard for too long to retreat now.”
Aldric looked to Henri. “The rest of the Fortiers don’t deserve to die for his greed. We’ll have to leave him behind.”
“It isn’t greed,” Jean-François insisted. “I’m securing this family’s future.”
Henri didn’t look back at his brother. He moved to the doorway, pausing only long enough to hold Aldric’s eye for the length of a breath before stepping through. Aldric knew his friend too well to believe he was at all indifferent to the idea of his brother being in danger. He was having to give up on someone, and that was not something Henri Fortier did easily.
Aldric looked to Jean-François one more time. “Regardless of what you choose, we will be using your traveling carriage and will depart with any Fortier who is intelligent enough to get inside.”
With that, he pulled the door closed. The snap of the latch no doubt reverberated throughout the entire house.
“I don’t actually want him to be in danger.” Henri hadn’t taken more than a few steps from the doorway.
“I know.” Aldric motioned him to walk with him down the corridor. “That is why I am taking the burden of his choices off your shoulders. Whether we depart with or without him will not be your decision to make. I’ll bear the weight of that.” And the guilt.
They took the stairs down to the ground floor and found a great deal of activity. The servants seemed in a frenzy. Whispers of “mobs” and “chaos” and “killing” told Aldric that word of the riots had reached them. Sometimes the fear of violence was enough to produce more violence. Aldric was counting on the goodwill that Henri and Céleste had built with those employed in their brother’s house to safeguard them now. There was no guarantee the servants wouldn’t turn on Jean-François.
In the entryway, they found Lucas and Julia, Nicolette and Marguerite, and Céleste with Adèle in her arms. At Céleste’s feet was a portmanteau, one small enough to be easily carried. Her gaze met Aldric’s. There was determination there, but also pleading.
“This is madness,” Marguerite insisted. “There was difficulty in Paris earlier this year, but it dissipated quickly.”
“This is different,” Nicolette insisted. “Anger is burning hot and fast. People have already died, Marguerite. And the fury is pointed, in part, at those of our class.”
