While Celeste was in seventh heaven, however, her family was in turmoil.
Everyone was up late and cranky, trying to clean the inn in which the reception had been held. As the men sat and talked and drank (in the case of Javert), the women folded lace tablecloths after shaking them free of crumbs and tried to tend to the children, who were up far past their usual bedtimes and consequently noisy and fussy. Liam was doing what he could to help, but his mood was quite black and in truth he was more of a hindrance than a help because of it. Finally one of the sterner women banished him to the corner with the rest of the men, and he stalked off, brooding.
Cosette was wrestling, on top of it all, her stubborn eldest daughter who refused to sit and rest, despite her condition—fragile she might not be, but her mother feared the consequences of overexertion nonetheless. She knew better than to think that Aimee would actually lose or injure her child. But Aimee was her own babe, and she could not endure even the possibility of such a thing.
“Darling please,” she said as she gathered glasses and silverware onto a tray, “look, I’ve got it—and Sarah and your grandmother—and Gustave’s got the baby—sit, rest—”