Page 60 of Love in a Mist
She was not the most talented of musicians, and she wasn’t one for whom music was embedded deep in the very soul of her. But she enjoyed playing. It brought her joy and calm. She needed both just then. And now it was going to allow her to offer something to Adèle, whom she struggled so often to reach and connect with.
How grateful she was that, when her father had insisted that providing a music tutor for Céleste was a waste of time and money, Henri had been unwilling to abandon the idea. He had somehow convinced Father to allow her lessons to continue. Because of her beloved brother, Céleste had this source of peace and would have this moment with Adèle.
She quickly tuned the violin before tucking it under her chin. She struck up “Savez-vous planter les choux,” knowing Adèle would be familiar with it and its sprightly tune would be perfect for the girl to dance to.
She’d only played a few measures when Adèle’s face lit, and she began leaping and spinning about the room. That the sight was so unfamiliar and rare sent an ache through Céleste. Adèle ought to be joyful like this all the time.
Céleste’s gaze happened upon Aldric. His toes were tapping subtly to the beat of the music as he watched the innyard below. He was not merely listening; he too was enjoying it. He so often came across as fierce andunapproachable. She’d seen him participate in games with the Gents and even the occasional quip among their unending jesting, but she struggled to truly imagine him being as lighthearted as they were.
But she had seen inarguable evidence of his kindness and of a gentle heart beneath his fearsomeness. And in that moment, he looked ... lovely. It was such an odd way to describe a man she knew intimidated most people who met him, but her mind could think of nothing else. Simply lovely.
The next tune she chose was “Il pleut, il pleut, bergère.” She watched Aldric every bit as much as she watched Adèle. His toes kept time to the new selection. His fingers did the same against the arm of the chair he sat in.
Oh, Aldric Benick. There is music in your heart.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was a good thingCéleste hadn’t discovered Aldric had a love of music seven years earlier, or she would have fallen so entirely in love with him that his indifference at Norwood Manor would have absolutely shattered her rather than simply teaching her to exercise greater caution in matters of the heart.
She finished “Il pleut, il pleut, bergère” with a flourish. A fleeting hint of a smile touched his face. He kept this aspect of himself very well hidden, and she was inordinately pleased to have discovered it.
“Another one!” Adèle eagerly requested.
For once, the dear girl was turning to Céleste for enjoyment and happiness. She so often felt like a disaster of an aunt.
From the window, Aldric asked, “Why didn’t you bring your violin to the house party two years ago? Everyone would have enjoyed hearing you play.”
The unexpected compliment made her blush. She pressed forward, hoping the color stealing up her cheeks wasn’t too obvious. “Jean-François wouldn’t permit me to bring it.” She offered the explanation in English so Adéle wouldn’t understand.
Aldric chose to answer in English, likely for the same reason. “He was controlling even before you made your devil’s bargain with him?”
“The men in my family have, with one very significant exception, been tyrannical for generations. I don’t know how Henri managed to become a decent person. I can only assume it was our mother’s influence for as long as we had her.”
“Is her influence the reason you also aren’t a jackanapes like Jean-François?” He had an inarguable knack for delivering ringing setdowns of people in ways that sounded like simple statements of fact.
“I don’t remember her very well. Henri was who I looked to in deciding the type of person I wanted to be. My other brother served mostly as a cautionary tale.”
“With Jean-François already such a tyrant, you must have known that your agreement to live your life under his thumb in exchange for Henri’s freedom and income would be a truly horrid arrangement for you.”
“I understood what I was agreeing to,” she said quietly. “I held out hope for a time—he had seemed to improve a little during the house party—but that didn’t last.”
“You should never have been placed in a position in which agreeing to such a thing was necessary,” he said. “And you should not have been made to remain in it these past two years.”
His voice was not one of someone merely acknowledging injustice. This was a man who understood the pain that family could cause and how unfair and unjust that pain often was.
“And I am sorry that your family and brother are not much different,” she said.
“You’ve stopped the music.” Adèle lodged the complaint in French and with a pout.
“I am neglecting you, little one,” Céleste said, returning to her niece’s language. That was likely to be their pattern while the three of them were together: English when discussing things Adéle needn’t be privy to and French when including her. “My sincerest apologies.”
“May I request a tune?” Aldric asked.
“Of course.”
“‘À la claire fontaine.’ It was a favorite of my mother’s. I don’t hear it often.”
His expression and tone always softened when he spoke of his mother. Did he realize that?
