He was sitting with Stanley but with Céleste’s music floating around them.
“I told you the Gents would be brothers to you.” Stanley’s expression of exaggerated satisfaction was so achingly familiar. “I think you were afraid I was wrong.”
Aldric shook his head. “On the contrary. I was afraid you wereright.”
Stanley speared him with one of his all-seeing looks. “That’s why I wanted you to join us so badly. You deserve to know that family doesn’t have to be painful.”
“Mine always has been.”
“But the Gents’ family isn’t.”
Aldric tried to breathe through the surge of pain that accompanied each beat of his aching heart. “It’s not the same since we lost you. Nothing’s the same. I see grief in all their eyes, and it’s my fault. I failed you, and I failed them.”
Stanley didn’t answer or even acknowledge the admission. He was smiling as he always had, and he was nodding along to the violin music.
“You should never have gone to war,” Aldric whispered, knowing the Stanley his dreaming mind had conjured up wouldn’t hear him. “Henri shouldn’t have stayed in Paris. And I wasn’t able to prevent either one.”
Something woke him. He tried to blink away the lingering sleep that weighed down his eyelids. He had grown quite adept at pushing away the pain that dreaming of Stanley always brought. He tucked it aside and refused to think about it.
Adèle’s nursemaid stepped into the doorway. Had the little girl asked for him? He liked the idea that she’d grown attached to him in some small way.
But thoughts of being a beloved honorary uncle fled at the fear he saw in the nurse’s eyes.
“What has happened?” Aldric asked.
“One of the grooms has rushed back from the local inn.” There was too much franticness in her voice for his peace of mind. “There are people angry with Monsieur Fortier, and they’ve heard the family has returned.”
His heart seized. “How angry?”
Her face paled further. “Maison-du-Verger was set ablaze this morning. The people dislike M. Fortier far more than they dislike the master of Maison-du-Verger.”
Cursed blazes.
“Are they already marching to Fleur-de-la-Forêt?” Aldric asked.
The nurse shook her head. “But they were already speaking of gathering torches.”
Curse Jean-François.
“The inn is not far.” The nurse looked near to panic. “A twenty-minute walk is all.”
“Where is Mlle Fortier?” Aldric didn’t hear her music any longer.
“In the music room,” the nurse said.
Aldric strode from the room, the nurse following him into the corridor.
“Pack a small bag for Mlle Adèle,” he said. “A couple of changes of clothing, nightclothes, a few toys. Also a few blankets. Please ask the stables to hitch a horse to a cart or small wagon, whatever is available that doesn’t draw notice and can move swiftly. And we’ll need food for the journey.”
“Where will you be taking them, Lord Aldric?”
“Away from here.” That was all he knew at the moment. He would formulate a strategy beyond that once he knew Céleste and Adèle were safe. “Bring Mlle Adèle to the back terrace as swiftly as you possibly can.”
The nurse rushed off to see to the tasks. Aldric stepped inside the music room. Céleste looked up from a stack of music sheets.
“How quickly can you repack your portmanteau?”
Her mouth shifted into a slash of concern. “What’s happened?”
