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The girl’s voice was high and piteous.
    “You could ride next to the coachman for a time.”
    “Could I? Oncle Charlot would let me?” Her pale face brightened. “He lets me ride with him when he drives around the estate.”
    Monsieur Emmanuel’s lips twitched, whether to sneer or smile, Catherine wasn’t certain. But he said, “He used to let me ride up there, too, probably before you were born.”
    Soon they were en route again, Catherine alone in the carriage. Through the open sides of the carriage, she could hear the maid chatting with her uncle and the low murmur of his answers.
    Catherine looked around and, not seeing the maid’s hat—surely she had one somewhere—knocked on the little trapdoor and curled her own wide-brimmed sun hat up to shove it through for the girl.
    ****
    Manu agreed when Charlot the coachman said he needed to change the team of horses due to the heat. Some of the guards’ mounts were flagging, too. The gelding Manu was riding was the best of the bunch, and even it needed rest and water. Manu reined in his impatience.
    He’d spent the three hours since they left his father’s home turning his mother’s illness over in his mind. Did influenza strike her harder than the others because she was getting old? He wished he lived closer to her, wondered why she would leave without waiting for him to arrive, wondered if Mademoiselle de Fouet was truly devoted to her. Wondered if Mademoiselle de Fouet was devoted to anything but her own self-interest. If she was like the baronesse’s circle of acquaintances, each of whom was more self-serving than the next, then Manu wasn’t sure he wanted to know her.
    Except to bed her, the insidious voice in his head said.
    He hopped down from his horse in time to open the carriage door at the inn and hand Mademoiselle de Fouet down. She rushed past him into the auberge with nothing more than a nod.
    He was disappointed. Next time, he would let a footman hand her down.
    They had all the horses sorted out, and still she and the young maid hadn’t emerged from the inn. Manu stomped inside, ready to shout.
    He found Mademoiselle de Fouet leaning over the maid, holding out a crust of bread and talking softly as the girl dabbed at tears. Manu couldn’t think of a time when his mother had showed so much care toward a servant. She hadn’t even waited for Mademoiselle de Fouet to recover from her illness before leaving. His sister would be this concerned. Aurore had treated Michel like a brother even before she knew he was one. She had sat by Manu’s bed every time he had a fever when he lived at the château-fort. His mother had never once done so.
    “Come,” Manu called out. “We need to be three leagues further by midday.”
    Mademoiselle de Fouet stood up, her face sour. “In case you have never traveled with ladies, Monsieur de Cantière, you should realize we need to stop more often to refresh ourselves. The burden of skirts and petticoats means we take longer to do so.”
    Manu scratched his head. “Refresh?”
    Mademoiselle de Fouet raised her eyebrows.
    Oh, she was talking about relieving herself. Manu looked away and cleared his throat.
    “Marie is still feeling ill, in spite of being horribly hungry. I have bought her a piece of bread to nibble. Now you must wait until her stomach is settled before we move on.”
    “But the horses are fresh, and we have several leagues before…” He trailed off, knowing the argument lost, given the lady’s expression.
    Mademoiselle de Fouet sighed and looked down at Marie, who said, “I can still nibble this on the coach box. I really am much better, Mademoiselle.”
    She looked up at the lady with trepidation and yet admiration. Manu wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “All right, then, if you’re ready, Mademoiselle?”
    She didn’t even glance at him as she passed, her head held high. Though they were ready to start again, Manu felt he had lost the argument, especially when he saw Mademoiselle de