Guillaume hurried away, swinging himself up onto the bench. He whipped the lead and took off at an incredible speed, as if willing the horses to soar instead of run. Ben turned back to the door where Remi stood, now joined by a curly-haired young man. He recognized him from the wake, though he could not recall his name.
“Is anyone going to tell me what happened?” Ben repeated.
“Madame caught her cousin dallying with the footman.”
Ben’s brows shot up his forehead, nearly reaching his hairline. “You mean?”
“They were in the throes of passion, as it were.” Jacques coughed into his hand as if attempting to hide his amusement.
Remi made a noise akin to irritation and embarrassment. “I couldn’t see at first. I only thought someone was hurting Elise.”
Next to her, the man took her hand and patted it. “Why don’t we move this conversation inside, ma cherie?”
Ben sensed a deeper connection between the two. The way she folded into him, and the way he handled her so gently, inspired a glimmer of jealousy. Who was this man and how was it that he came to be in his home, with his arms wrapped around Remi? He seemed familiar, though Ben could not quite place how.
Once inside, Ben could see the distress in the way her shoulders tensed at her ears. She was shaking, but from what, he could not say. Humiliation? Anger? Both seemed possible given the circumstances.
“So how long has this been going on?” Ben asked carefully. Part of him wanted to go to her, but the way her companion cradled her, he could hardly find reason to break them apart. His hands twitched with frustration.
“Months, years,” said the man beside her.
Remi shook her head. “It hardly matters, Leith. She’s engaged.”
Leith, Ben repeated in his mind. He would commit him to memory and be sure to learn all that he could about him later on.
“Matters of the heart are far more complex, ma cherie,” Leith said as if he understood Elise’s situation better than either of them.
“Yes, well, I hope she can explain it to Tante Beline when she discovers their affair.” Remi rubbed at her temples, breaking free of Leith’s hold.
“What will you do?” Ben asked.
Remi whirled, ready to turn her anger on him when she suddenly sagged. She looked lost and confused.
“Remi?” Ben asked again.
“I’m going to have a cup of tea,” she decided. “And ask Sylvie to clean the sheets.”
With that, she turned on her heel and swayed on her feet to the hall that led to the kitchen. Ben made to follow after her, but Leith’s hand pressed lightly against his chest.
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” he said.
There was something about his tone Ben didn’t like, but he nodded. “Thank you.”
The foyer was quiet after their retreat, with just Ben and Jacques left to inhabit it.
“What an exciting morning,” Jacques said, the suggestive tone unmistakable.
Ben tried to hide his annoyance as he watched Remi and her friend disappear. “It’s not what I would have predicted.”
“I might have,” Jacques said.
Ben turned to eye him curiously. “What do you mean by that?”
Jacques shrugged. “I might have seen the young lady and the footman running off to the stables at some point during the wake.”
Ben sputtered with laughter, grateful for Jacques’s presence. “Come on. I need to distract myself.”
“With what?”
“My sister’s room,” Ben said, heading for the stairs.
Jacques tracked behind, falling into step beside him a moment later. “I think now is as good a time as any to start the search.”
With Remi distracted, they could take their time to investigate. The night before led him there and he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a reason for it. It could mean nothing, but it felt significant. Why else would her phantom lead him to the one place she spent most of her time? There were secrets there, buried somewhere in a desk drawer. He was sure of it.
“What about lunch?” Jacques inquired.
“It can wait.” Though Ben felt his stomach gripe in protest at his remark.
“Fine.”
Ben brushed past him. “Come on then. Her room is this way.”
They moved down the hall, following the familiar path to Soleil’s chambers, Ben following the path where his sister’s ghost led. They passed portraits of deceased family members: aunts and uncles, grandfathers and grandmothers, the paint faded and crumbling. There was great-grandmother Mathilde, whose white hair looked like a ferocious street cat had tousled with a puddle of mud in a back alley. Then there was the surly face of an Uncle Bayard and an Aunt Vera, who looked lost and distant with her haunted brown eyes. The largest portrait among them depicted Arthur and his wife, Leyda, the Leones who settled on the Isle and built the manor years ago. They were a serious-looking couple surrounded by three small children.
“Who are they?” Jacques caught him staring.
“More dead family.”
