“Henri?” Céleste’s worried voice broke into the tense silence.
He looked at his sister. The resolution in his expression didn’t waver.
“You cannot stay here, Henri.” She spoke every bit as firmly as Aldric had.
“Céleste—”
“No. You—both of you—are leaving with the rest of us. You must.”
Adèle whimpered a little. “TanteCéleste?” Poor thing sounded worried.
Céleste looked past her. “Julia?”
It was request enough; Julia took the little girl and spoke comfortingly to her. Céleste turned her full attention to Henri and Nicolette and shifted to English.
“Paris is burning,” she said. “And someone is already determined to seek revenge on our family specifically. That is danger enough to justify separating a child from her mother. You—”
“We cannot go,” Nicolette said. “Not yet.”
In a strained whisper, Céleste said, “You could be killed here.”
“We will be careful,” Henri said.
Céleste turned to Aldric. The anguished pleading in her eyes tore into his heart. “You have to convince them, Aldric. They cannot stay here where they are in danger.”
“I don’t know that I can.”
“Henri will listen to you,” she pleaded. “You are the General, the voice of reason when the Gents are on a foolhardy path.”
It was his role; she wasn’t wrong about that. But he’d failed in it spectacularly before.
“Aldric.” Frustration was beginning to replace her pleading.
He looked at Henri once more. Henri met his gaze, firmly and resolutely. How could Céleste not see that? Did she not know her brother well enough to realize there would be no changing his course?
“One week, Henri,” Aldric said firmly. “If you are not at Fleur-de-la-Forêt in one week, I am returning to Paris to fetch you both myself, no matter the state of the city. The army can fire on me all they want; I will drag you out of Paris if I have to.”
Henri nodded.
One week. So much could happen in one week.
Stanley had told them he was leaving for war, and within one week, he had made his departure. And never come back.
Aldric had not been able to convince Stanley to stay out of danger. He knew he couldn’t convince Henri. But if he lost another of the Gents—his closest friend this time—he would never recover.
Chapter Seventeen
Céleste held tight to Adèleas the carriage traversed the streets of Paris. Jean-François and Marguerite had kept to their decision not to leave the city. So had Henri and Nicolette. Adèle was the only family Céleste had with her now, and even she didn’t want to be there. The little girl fussed and fidgeted, asking alternately for her mother and her tonton Henri. Céleste felt painfully alone.
She had learned at Adèle’s age, probably younger even, to push down her emotions and keep her calm. A few deep breaths and thick swallows usually did the trick. But Adèle’s increasingly frequent complaints were undermining what calm Céleste was managing to cling to.
“Let her come sit with us,” Julia said, reaching for their tiny traveling companion. “I think you need a moment’s respite.”
Adèle made the transfer without waiting for Céleste to facilitate it.
My only family and she is eager to be away from me.
Julia held Adèle on her lap while Lucas read to her from a book of tales they’d brought with them from Adèle’s nursery. That settled Adèle a little, but it left Céleste with too much opportunity for thinking.
