“Who was it that taught you not to cry, Céleste?” His voice was tender and empathetic.
Taught me not to cry.She’d never thought of it that way, but that was the truth of it. “My father.”
“Would it surprise you if I told you my father taught me the same lesson?”
She shook her head. “They were cut from the same cloth.” She swallowed again. Then one more time. Tears were precariously close to the surface; she fought them furiously.
He tugged lightly at her hand. “It’s very late, and you are tired, no matter that it wasn’t the reason you didn’t take over the driving. Rest will help.”
He kept hold of her hand while she climbed carefully out of the wagon.
“Do you need the lantern extinguished?” he asked. “You said the light makes things worse.”
“It’s more of a problem when I’m facing it. Behind me isn’t as much of a difficulty.”
Adèle, wrapped in a blanket, was sleeping in the very middle of the wagon bed. The hay likely made it more comfortable than it would have been otherwise. And though it would be crushed a bit, they’d also have feed for the horse should they struggle to find grass during the brief pauses in their journey.
The portmanteau they were now all sharing sat at Adèle’s feet. Céleste’s violin lay just below that, and their empty food basket was below that. Aldric had created something of a dividing wall down the middle of the wagon bed. Placing Adèle in the middle meant she was unlikely to climb down and wander off should she wake up first.
“It’s not true privacy,” he acknowledged, “but there’s some degree of separation.”
“If word of this journey and all it has entailed ever reaches Paris or London, you and I will be truly sunk,” Céleste said, climbing with care into the wagon bed.
“We’ll go directly to Norwood Manor,” he said, handing her a blanket. “Niles and Penelope are the nearest Gents to my home at the moment. I’ll send word to them once we’ve crossed the Channel, and they can meet us there. I’m certain they would be willing to say they’d traveled with us through England. Julia and Lucas would make the same claim about our travels through France.”
She sat at the head of the wagon bed and pulled the blanket around her shoulders. The lantern was behind her, still hanging on its hook. She could see him and some of the area surrounding them. But she still felt uncomfortable and frustrated.
“I don’t like the dark,” she whispered.
The wagon shifted a little as Aldric climbed into his side of it. He grabbed a blanket and draped it over himself as he sat.
“I feel compelled to point out that I am not my father, nor yours, neither am I either of our oldest brothers. I do not exact punishments for crying. In fact, I think it a wise thing to do when a person feels the need.”
She looked at him, unable to entirely keep the disbelief from her expression. “When was the last time you permitted yourself to cry, Aldric Benick?”
He was just well enough lit for his grimace to be visible. “Touché. We both learned a very difficult lesson in our childhoods. Such things are not easilyunlearned.”
She sighed a little. “No, they are not.”
“You might find it helpful to talk about what is weighing on you,” he said. “While I am not a great crier, I am afantasticlistener.”
“You remind me a little of Digby just now, and his feigned arrogance.”
“Not everyone realizes it’s feigned,” Aldric said.
“Not everyone’s as intelligent as I am,” she said with a shrug.
“Now you are the one who sounds like Digby.”
Even though unshed tears still hovered in her eyes, she actually smiled. “You won’t think less of me when you hear all the things that are making me emotional? There are a lot, and I admit I’m a little embarrassed.”
“You have experienced a lot of things thatoughtto make a person emotional. I’d be more shocked if you weren’t a little overwhelmed than to learn that you are.”
“Butyouaren’t.”
“I am. I simply keep it hidden.”
Something about hearing him admit that he was fighting with his own worries opened the door for her.
