Another swift and sudden turn of the carriage tossed her against Aldric once more. Again, on what appeared to be pure instinct, he braced her against further battering. But he didn’t speak. Only Lucas and Adèle did. Julia still held the little girl, but she was watching the window.
And the air tasted of smoke.
“We shouldn’t have left Henri and Nicolette,” Céleste whispered. “We should have convinced them to come with us.”
“They wouldn’t have agreed.” Aldric’s unbending focus was frustrating. There was no regret in his expression, no concern. He couldn’t possibly not realize the danger his closest friend was now in. He had to know the possible outcome of that. But it wasn’t enough to spur him into action on Henri’s behalf.
Céleste pushed away the uncharitable thought. She didn’t actually believe Aldric was indifferent to Henri’s well-being. And though he hadn’t known Nicolette as long, he most certainly cared what happened to her as well. That he had abandoned his efforts to convince them to leave Paris as quickly as he had was both baffling and maddening, but she would not allow her worries to make her hate him.
She shifted back to the other end of the bench they shared, putting space between them once more. She peeked through the gap in the curtains on that side of the carriage. This was not an area of Paris she recognized, and it was not the path they usually took when leaving the city for Fleur-de-la-Forêt. And the streets they took were far from empty. Other carriages and carts and people on foot attempted to weave around each other. There was a franticness to the movements that only added to Céleste’s unease.
Smoke in the air. Fear on everyone’s faces.
We left them.
That thought would not leave her mind as the miles and hours passed, as they left Paris far behind.
Julia fell asleep with her head resting on Lucas’s shoulder. Adèle slept on his lap. Aldric was watching through the windows.
“How likely do you suppose it is,” Lucas asked her, “that the violence in Paris will spill beyond its borders?”
Céleste thought back on the conversations she’d overheard amongst those more attuned to the political situation. She thought back on the Marquis de Lafayette and his description of Paris as a powder keg.
“The anger in this country is not confined to its capital,” she said. “I doubt the violence will be contained much longer either.”
“According to accounts in the papers,” Aldric said, “fears of famine and the belief that it is being orchestrated are rampant in the countryside.”
That was entirely true. “France is ready to tear itself apart,” she said.
“You have a family to think of, Lucas,” Aldric said. “Once Adèle and Céleste are safe at Fleur-de-la-Forêt, you and Julia should continue on to Calais without delay. You need to get home to your sons.”
“But Henri is still—”
“I will go back for Henri, and I will get him home as well. You will have to pass through some tense areas of this country. You would do better to do so before the violence spreads.”
“What if something happens to you or Henri?” Lucas pressed. “I can’t abandon you.”
Here was the conviction and determination that Céleste had wanted to see in Aldric when Henri had insisted on remaining in Paris.
“I won’t lose another Gent,” Aldric said. “That includes you. That includes Julia. Not everyone has a family worth saving; I won’t endanger yours.”
“What about mine?” Céleste asked quietly. “Henri and Nicolette are my family, and they are in danger.”
That neither Aldric nor Lucas answered immediately didn’t calm her concerns. Worry knotted her stomach and twisted painfully in her chest.
“I won’t lose another Gent,”Aldric had said. But Céleste very much feared she was about to lose nearly all her family.
Aldric had been watching for any sign of an inn from the moment Paris had disappeared behind them. They came upon one several hours later. The night was dark, and the inn was the only bright thing to be seen for miles. The coachman didn’t hesitate when Aldric thumped the carriage ceiling in the rhythm they had agreed would mean “stop.”
He had no idea what they would find when they stepped inside, but it was the only option they had. A quick assessment told him they were not the only people who had fled Paris that day and traveled precisely this far. Most were of the working class—not truly poverty-stricken, but not well-to-do either. Some in the public room looked to be of a station closer to theirs.
The innkeeper stepped over to him. His smile of greeting was a little strained.
“Do you have any rooms available?” Aldric asked, not feeling the need to prolong the discussion.
“Only one,” the man said. He then added, in warning tones, “It’s plain, not overly fine.” The man had assessed Aldric’s station very quickly.
“I’m traveling with three others and a small child. Could a meal be procured as well?”
