Page 57 of Love in a Mist
“How do we pick a name for a horse?” Adèle hadn’t often chosen to speak with her aunt when she had Aldric as a conversational option.
“Sometimes horses are given silly names,” Céleste said. “Sometimes their names are very bold. Sometimes a person names their horse after someone they love.”
“Oh.” Adèle sat up straighter. “We should call the horse Monsieur Aldric. We love him.”
He glanced at Céleste. “Do you, now?”
Oh, I certainly do.The thought sent a blush stealing over her face. Love him? It was a feeling for him that she’d described in the past tense since Norwood Manor. But her heart hadn’t moved on as much as she’d insisted to herself that it had.
Adèle mentioned the things she saw as they drove—trees, flowers, the occasional farmhouse off to the side of the road, a carriage at a distance behind them, grass, clouds—and she called the horse Monsieur Aldric. Farfrom offended, Aldric smiled every time their little companion used the name.
While Céleste did find Adèle’s choice of names for the horse entertaining, her amusement was dampened by her growing worry over the carriage Adèle had pointed out. At least an hour had passed, and it was still behind them. It was at the same distance still, no matter that a traveling carriage, pulled by a team, could travel much faster than a two-wheeled, single-horse cart.
There were only narrow paths leading off the road to farms and small homes. The carriage hadn’t taken any of those turns. But then, neither had they. Céleste knew that when tensions were high a person could grow anxious about things he or she didn’t need to be concerned about. But it didn’t help when that person also knew that their instincts were usually accurate.
Aldric himself turned off the road down a smaller one, which hadn’t been part of the plan. The road didn’t bend for a long stretch, meaning a quick glance back allowed her to see the carriage turn as well.
“They turned too?” he asked.
She ought to have realized he was as aware as she was that they were potentially being followed.
“They did,” she said. “It is possible they are on this same road purely by coincidence. But I don’t generally trust coincidences.”
“Neither do I.” He glanced at Adèle. She was distracted, having an imaginary conversation with her doll. “We need to decide what to do. I am entirely open to suggestions.”
“That is one of the things that surprised me the most about you, Aldric Benick.”
“That I listen to ideas?”
She shook her head. “That you listen tomyideas. Jean-François never does. Henri doesn’t always. But even when I first met you, during your visit to France seven years ago, you listened when I spoke and didn’t dismiss my thoughts out of hand. It shocked me, I will admit.”
“You are inarguably intelligent and capable. I would be unforgivably foolish to discount that.”
“Then why did—” She cut off her unintended diversion into the topic of his coldness during the Norwood Manor house party. “If we’re being followed, we need to place ourselves somewhere public and visible. That would be safest.”
“I will continue on this road until we find an inn,” he said. “We can stop there and see if that carriage does the same.”
She held her breath as they moved steadily along this unfamiliar road leading to a destination they couldn’t predict. And, behind them, the carriage kept pace.
Chapter Twenty
Anger’s been simmering for generations.But it’s beginning to boil over.
Céleste couldn’t clear her mind of the words of warning offered to her by the woman who’d traded clothing with them. Anger. Directed atherfamily. Anger that had likely already seen her family’s home reduced to ashes.
And now they were being followed.
She glanced back for what felt like the hundredth time. The nondescript carriage was still there. Who was inside? What did they want?
Her eyes met Aldric’s for the length of half a breath. There was concern in their dark depths, but also focus and fortitude.
“The carriage hasn’t drawn any closer.” She was both informing him of the situation and reassuring them all.
“I don’t like it,” he said in quiet, clipped tones.
“Neither do I.”
There’ll be a mob at the door of this house soon, angry with your brother.
