“No.” She smiled and leaned in to kiss his forehead. “You’re definitely not dumb.” She stood as Elise skipped back out and straight into the kitchen, looping her arms around her mother’s neck. Zelie gave her a smile and hooked her own arm around the girl’s waist, then looked back to Marcel. “Henri is out now, seeing who all is still around.”
Marcel could have named them for her—and would, if it came down to it. For now, he nodded.
She went on. “We brought some treats with us from Spain—chocolate, real coffee, whiskey. We thought we’d have a party for New Year’s Eve. Get everyone together.”
A time to regroup, she meant. Plan for the year ahead. “That sounds good.”
“Do you think...” She paused, swallowed, frowned. “Do you think your parents would let me stay here? I can take the sofa—”
“No. To the sofa.” He motioned to the kitchen wall. Or rather, the house on the other side of it. “Tante Charlotte and Oncle Germain have an extra room. You’ll stay there.”
She paled a bit. “Oh, I couldn’t.”
He understood why she’d feel that way. “Please, Zelie. Let them do this for you. When they heard what Emile had done... They need this. They’ve already offered, for whenever you returned.”
“Tante Charlotte makes good cookies. You’ll like them.” Elise gave her a grin of pure innocence. “If you’re scared, I’ll stay there with you, Maman.”
“Thank you, precious. I’d like that.” Zelie kissed her daughter and then struggled back to her feet with a wince.
He was about to ask what was wrong, but Elise beat him to it, spreading her little hands over her mother’s hip. “Is your displaced-ment hurting you? Mine did a little, after I was sleeping in the car.”
Displacement? There was clearly still much he didn’t know about Zelie.
She offered her daughter a smile. “A little. It’ll feel better after I’ve had a chance to walk around. Is yours better now?”
Elise nodded. Then grabbed her mother’s hand and tugged. “Let’s finish the piano.”
“All right.” The two of them left, and a moment later the plunking began.
Marcel looked back to Blaise, who hadn’t budged, other than to look to Marcel again too.
“Make sure she does it,” the boy said. “It’s the only way. I’ve been thinking about it all week.”
Marcel sighed. “I don’t think what I say will really matter, Blaise. But she saw the wisdom in your suggestion.”
“Good. And once we’re safe—then I need you to promise to keephersafe.”
There were many men of Alliance far more capable of that thanhim—men with military training, with daring, with qualifications beyond knowing his way around instruments. Maybe Blaise would ask this of all of the ones he met. It wouldn’t surprise him.
But he could answer only for himself, with a somber nod. “I’ll do all in my power. You have my word.”
Blaise held out a hand and, tamping down his smile, Marcel shook. He expected the boy to hop up after that, but he didn’t. Instead, he frowned. “Don’t be like Père.”
Marcel’s brows shot up. “Pardon?” Was he going to put words to the lecture about not growing too close to them that Zelie had already silently delivered? If so, he wasn’t sure he could take it.
“He yelled at her all the time, when he thought we were asleep. Told her she was a disgrace, that he was ashamed of her. Always asked why she couldn’t be more like other women.” The same hand that had slapped the table now curled into a fist. “But she’s notsupposedto be like them.”
“No. She isn’t.” And all he thought he knew shifted. He’d barely known Colonel Bellerose, but in his mind, their marriage had been strong. Sound. In his mind, she was still mourning him. This was a different picture entirely.
“Before he left for the war, I heard him tell her to stop pretending she was something special and to stay home and take care of us.”
Marcel’s jaw clenched. Stoppretendingto be special? The man had really said that?
When Blaise lifted his chin, he looked so very much like her. Stubborn and determined and too clever for his own good—or no. Perhaps clever enough foreveryone’sgood. “But sheisspecial.”
“She is,” Marcel agreed. “And capable. More capable than any man I know.”
“But she still needs a friend. One who understands her. One who won’t ever tell her she’s not special or is a disgrace or that he’s ashamed of her.” His gaze said in no uncertain terms that he was willing to let Marcel be that friend, as long as he obeyed the terms.
