Page 108 of Love in a Mist
A nervous knot was twisting itself inside him.
I will address the problem.
It wasn’t the threat that brought his attention back to that sentence. It was the letter I. It was formed with extra swirls. He’d seen that before.
He lowered the letter, thinking furiously. He knew he’d seen this handwriting. Where?
With a sudden flash of horror, he realized the answer: the note left in Adèle’s book.
This was the same handwriting; he would wager everything on it. The same handwriting. The same person.
He dropped his eyes to the salutation and froze.
Pierre Léandre.
Pierre had a significant fortune from winning his court battle against the Beaulieus after a questionable scheme he’d concocted with Aldric’s own father had fallen through.
We can wait to see how Mr. F. proceeds, then determine our best course.
Mr. F.
Mr.Fortier, perhaps?
If Jean-François knew Pierre’s activities were illegal, then he could use that information to extort him and gain access to some of the fortune Pierre had won. Pierre was likely one of Jean-François’s victims.
Pierre not only was connected to the Benicks and to the questionable things the late duke had been involved in; Pierre knew Norwood was Aldric’s home. He would know, would be able to guess, that this was where Aldric would bring Céleste and Adèle.
Pierre knew. And he’d had the advantage of all the money he had won in court to fund a much swifter journey to England than Aldric and Céleste had been able to manage.
Pierre knew.
But Céleste didn’t.
Aldric tucked the letter into his pocket as he rushed to Adèle and scooped her up. She giggled, obviously thinking they were going to play some kind of game. Taking a child on a desperate rush to warn someone against a potential abduction was not the wisest thing, but he didn’t dare leave her alone. The last time he had taken his eyes off Adèle, she’d been stolen. Now his eyes were off Céleste.
In a whirl of activity, grateful that the staff, though they all knew the change in arrangements with Crofton, were still fond of and willing to helphim, he mounted a horse, holding Adèle in front of him firmly in one arm and guiding the horse with the other on his way to the Beaumonts. Had he not been holding the girl, he would have gone at a full gallop. That had seemed the balancing act for so long: how to move with haste without endangering his ladies.
His ladies. They would always feel that way to him, no matter where their futures took them.
He reached the Beaumonts’ estate and dismounted as quickly and carefully as he could. Adèle came very trustingly into his arms when he reached up for her. He hurried with her through the doors and into a scene of chaos.
M. and Mme Beaumont were issuing directives to their staff.
Mme Beaumont noticed him there first. “Please tell me you’ve come because she went back to Norwood.” She spoke in French, though he suspected she didn’t realize.
“She? You mean Céleste?”
Mme Beaumont nodded.
“I came here because”—he switched to English, not wishing to alarm Adèle any more than she likely already was—“Céleste is in danger. I’ve only just pieced it together.”
Mme Beaumont and her husband exchanged looks of alarm.
“She didn’t arrive as we’d expected,” M. Beaumont said. “We sent one of the footmen out to see if perhaps she was lost, but he didn’t find her, onlythis.” M. Beamont motioned to a table pressed up against one of the walls of the entryway. On it was Céleste’s blue cloak, muddied and torn.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Céleste didn’t know where shewas.
