Page 80 of Love in a Mist
He made another circuit of the wagon, looking for more damage. Thankfully, he didn’t find any. They were in a tough spot, but they weren’t entirely sunk. He came back around to his side of the wagon, ready to climb back up, when he realized Céleste was sitting up and watching him.
“What did you find?” she asked.
“Broken wheel spokes. I don’t know that we can trust them overly long.”
She looked alert despite the lingering effects of sleep in her expression. “Should we look for another inn?”
“We’ve only been on the road for an hour at most. At the rate we’re going, it will take us a week to reach the coast.” Aldric did his best not to let his frustration sit too heavy in his voice. Adèle was watching him every bit as closely as her aunt was. He switched to English. “We don’t have enough money for a week’s worth of stays in inns. And I suspect this”—he motioned in the direction of the broken wheel—“will have to be repaired, which is another expense.”
The gravity of the situation was not lost on Céleste, but she also didn’t crumble. “Have you noticed anyone following us?”
He shook his head. “Adèle and I decided that you needed to sleep this morning. So we didn’t wake you.”
Céleste looked to Adèle. She switched back to French. “Thank you for letting me sleep.”
“You were tired,” Adèle said.
“I feel much better now.” She glanced down at herself. “Though I’m a rumpled mess.”
“We all are.” Aldric helped her climb down.
“There are flowers at tonton Aldric’s house in England.” Adèle spoke with palpable excitement.
Uncle Aldric.He’d not asked her to call him that; he’d never even suggested it. But he hoped she never stopped.
“And he has a room with windows that has a garden inside,” Adèle continued. “That garden has flowers. One of the flowers is called—” Her brow furled. She made a valiant effort at the English words. “Love a fist.”
It was all Aldric could do not to laugh. He didn’t want to discourage her.
With a smile and a gentle tone, he said, “It’s called love-in-a-mist,ma petite douce.”
As she took her place on the bench beside her niece, Céleste said, “I’m not familiar with that flower.”
“It is a rare one. My mother was fond of it.” He had planted it in the conservatory at Norwood Manor specifically because of its connection to her. “The varieties I have at Norwood are blue and purple. The blue is supposed to be symbolic of freedom and seeking growth.”
“What is the purple variety symbolic of?” Céleste asked.
It was the symbolism of the purple that had led him to choose it for his conservatory in the first home that he’d been able to call his own. “It represents the possibility that something can be either one’s saving grace or one’s downfall, either a source of healing or poison.” The purple love-in-a-mist ought to have been featured prominently on the Benick family crest. “The flower is meant to be a hopeful but hesitant warning.”
He made his way back to his side of the wagon.
“Is it a beautiful flower?” Céleste asked.
“It is.” He sat and took hold of the reins once more. “The leaves all around it are almost like lace. And the blooms are star-shaped, made of row upon row of delicate petals. It’s stunning but also ... ethereal.”
She smiled at him. “Little wonder your mother loved it.”
“She also understood it,” he said. “Healing or poison. I think life often felt that way to her.” It was more than he’d meant to say. He scolded himself for shifting what had been an enjoyable conversation into something so heavy. “Let’s see if we can find an inn and have these repairs made.”
As they continued on, Adèle asked a great many questions about the flowers at his house. He was grateful they would be returning there in the summer while the flowers would still be blooming.
He went slow as they wound their way down the road, paying attention to the catch-and-pull of the wagon and carefully navigating over any ruts or bumps he saw. All the while, he watched the road behind them for signs of anyone following them. He saw no one. It was the strangest thing, knowing they were running from legitimate pursuers but never actually seeing them.
Despite the care he was taking, the wagon felt worse the longer they drove. He didn’t actually know how much farther they could get before they would be in dire circumstances. When he spied what appeared to be a humble farm at a distance, he launched into a great internal debate. Ought he to try his luck there? Most farmers knew how to repair vehicles; their livelihood depended on it. But few were equipped to accommodate travelers, and he had no way of knowing if the people he would find there were trustworthy. That, though, was true of any inn they might stop at, now that they no longer had recommendations to lean on.
A worrisome creak decided the matter for him. If the wagon sustained further damage, it might prove unusable or delay them longer than they dare tarry. They needed to stop and see what could be done.
Céleste didn’t look the least surprised when he guided the horse off the road and along the path leading to the humble house. She must have had the same thoughts and come to the same conclusion. He usually saw eye to eye with the other Gents, and he and Henri were famously in tune with each other most of the time. But he wasn’t accustomed to the immediate and extensive accord he had with Céleste. It was taking some getting used to, but he rather liked it.
