With a sigh, Valérie sat down before the desk and opened the letter. It was, as she expected, the usual bit of nonsense from Camille Beaulieu. The woman worried endlessly about her daughter, asked how Antonina fared.
Valérie hardly knew how to answer. The truth of the matter was she considered Antonina half a savage, though her vulgarity was not truly her fault and must be laid at her mother’s feet. The Beaulieus were an old and wealthy family, and their original home was in the south, in the region of Montipouret. Gaetan’s father had been the eldest child, followed by another boy—Benedict—and two daughters. In an act that Valérie would never be able to comprehend, Benedict had married a nobody, the daughter of a local schoolteacher. As Benedict was the younger, sickly son, his possibilities were more reduced than those of his brother, but he ought to have done better than Camille.
At first glance, a casual observer might have questioned Valérie’s distaste for the woman, since Valérie herself had come from an impoverished family. However, Valérie considered her situation to be utterly different. First of all, although her family had lost practically all their lands and money, they had kept their distinguished name. Valérie was born a Véries, and that alone was a form of currency. Second, Valérie was young, beautiful, and charming, qualities she thought made up for her financial shortcomings. The most charitable point one might make about Camille was that she was plain.
It was no wonder then that Antonina had grown to become a confusing girl. At nineteen she lacked all the skills a young lady making her entrance into society should possess. She could not sing, danced mediocrely, and displayed neither wit nor seductiveness. She was not particularly pretty, having inherited the tall forehead of the Beaulieus coupled with her mother’s strong jaw and heavy-lidded eyes. But no matter, because Gaetan had decided his “darling” cousin deserved the excitement of Loisail and an engagement to a promising young man.
Gaetan was attached to Camille and her daughters, probably as a result of his mother’s death when he was but a four-year-old. When his cousin Madelena had married, he sent the girl a most extravagant diamond-and-pearl necklace in addition to a lump sum of money to help the newlyweds establish their household, even though Madelena’s father had already provided rather nicely for her. Gaetan’s affection for his cousins was likely compounded by his sterility: they could not have children, this they had discovered a few years after their wedding. This biological fault spared Valérie from the presence of crying babies, creatures she did not cherish, but it also ensured that Gaetan’s cousins acquired an even more crucial dimension. They would be his heirs.
Valérie therefore found herself in the uncomfortable position of having to introduce and cart around a girl who was not terribly fit for polite society. She, Valérie Beaulieu, chained to this lump of a child who at times proved annoyingly recalcitrant.
What to write, then? That after three weeks in Loisail, Antonina had not memorized the names, ranks, and particularities of the most important men and women of the city? That despite Valérie’s best attempts, Antonina remained friendless? That she had done her utmost to antagonize Didier Dompierre and the other suitable young men Valérie had introduced to her?
No, Valérie wrote none of that. She clenched her teeth and replied with a brief, polite letter. Antonina was adapting to her new home. Now that the Grand Season had begun, there would be a chance for her to make new acquaintances and there would be the usual diversions that came with it: the opera, the races, the balls.
Afterward, Valérie tackled the rest of her pressing letters, and it was well after noon when she left the office. Antonina had returned by then. Valérie, carrying her thick address book between her hands, paused to look at Antonina, who was sitting at the foot of the stairs, absorbed in an idle thought. This was often the case with her. It was up to Valérie to organize advisable entertainment for the girl, to get her invited to the best parties, to choose the correct soirées, and grind through the name of every eligible bachelor she could think of. Antonina did nothing.
“We are expected at Ledaux’s at two. You do remember, don’t you?” she asked, perhaps more acidly than she intended, but then Valérie still had to come up with the name of a young man who would escort Nina to the races in two weeks. She had been counting on one of the Hamel boys to submit to that pleasure, but she’d heard from a good source that the two blasted young men were chasing after Jeannette Solé.
“I do. Yes,” Antonina said, jumping to her feet and smoothing her dress. It was a dark blue, one of the stiff outfits Valérie had picked. If Nina had had her way, she might be walking around the city in a hideous calico print more fit to be made into a sack and filled with flour than to be worn by any woman.
“Good. Did you have a nice walk?” Valérie asked.
“It was lovely. I ran into someone, in fact.”
“Oh?” Valérie said as she opened the address book, suddenly remembering that Esno had a son who was supposed to be visiting in the spring. Or was it a nephew? She must inquire about this, and quickly. “And who was that?”
“A gentleman I met at the ball thrown by the De Villiers. I’ve invited him to visit Tuesday evening. I hope that is not a problem.”
“Antonina, you should not extend invitations without my approval,” she said.
“But you told me I ought to make friends,” the girl protested.
The right friends, not any friend, Valérie thought. Who knew whom this child had been speaking with. “That is not the same as having a caller. Has he sent his card?”
“No, but I don’t think that should be an impediment. He’s nice and he—”
“Really, Antonina. Inviting a stranger to our home who hasn’t had the decency to introduce himself properly.”
“I’ve asked you before to call me Nina. Nobody calls me Antonina,” the girl muttered in that impertinent tone that irritated Valérie.
“Nina is not a name,” Valérie replied. “Attempting to shorten your name is a horrid habit, one you should outgrow.”
“I don’t like being called Antonina.”
“It is not a matter of what you like. As for this ‘gentleman,’ he has not sent a card and you should not have invited him,” Valérie said. She started walking and hoped Antonina would leave it at that.
Instead, the girl followed her like a yappy dog. “My mother never demanded silly pieces of paper when people made visits, and the children of the Delafois would often appear unannounced to play with us.”
“You are hardly a child to be playing at anything,” Valérie said. She was truly exasperated now and wished nothing more than to hit the girl with the address book, knocking her senseless. “Who is this fellow, again?” she asked.
“His name is Hector Auvray.”
Valérie had been ready to pounce on the chit, but when the name slipped from Antonina’s lips, all the rage poured from her body. She felt weak, almost faint. She took a breath, clutching the address book tight.
Valérie spoke in a neat, sparse voice. “Consider this a singular exception. Ready yourself for Mrs. Ledaux’s, the dress you are wearing is entirely too informal for a visit.”
Antonina nodded before rushing up the stairs. Once the girl had disappeared, Valérie rested a trembling hand against the banister, needing the support. Yes, now she recalled. She had heard he was in the city. Had heard it and dismissed it, done her best to erase it from her mind. There was no point in knowing, though she had wickedly hoped she might catch a glimpse of him at one point.
He was now practically at her doorstep.
And Valérie had invited him in.
Chapter 4
AFTER HIS CASUAL MEETING WITH Nina in the park—which was not the least bit casual, he had been going there every morning after being told she could regularly be found in the area—and securing an invitation to the Beaulieu household, Hector found himself suddenly doubting his resolve. Long ago, he had established that his return to Loisail would entail an inevitable return to Valérie, which was pe
rhaps why, paradoxically, he had stayed away for a long time. He desired both to see her and to thwart their reunion.
Hector looked across the street, at the Beaulieu house. Two stories high, its tall bay windows with their white shutters contrasted with the blue of the façade. It was an elegant, formal home, the initial B carved above the front door. There was also a side entrance emblazoned with a smaller B. He imagined this led to the carriage court. The structure proclaimed its noble roots and the wealth of its inhabitants.
He crossed the street and knocked. When a servant opened the door, Hector handed him his card. “Miss Nina Beaulieu is expecting me,” he said.
The servant nodded, instructing Hector to wait in the foyer. Hector took off his hat, clutching it between his hands before finally daring to set it on the bench designed for visitors to deposit their coats and hats. There was another B emblazoned on this piece of furniture. Very modern, the bench, boldly avoiding the old hat rack or the hall table.
For several panicked minutes, Hector thought he might not be allowed in. He was counting on Nina’s eagerness to meet with him to pave the way for a visit, but there was always a risk that he might be turned away.
It was not the case. The servant returned and told him Miss Beaulieu would see him in the drawing room. This was a massive room of paneled walls painted with a multitude of lively birds of all sizes, but white birds only: swans mostly, along with doves and egrets. The décor was also white. White sofas, a white table against a window, white curtains. Accents of color were allowed here and there, for example, the vase of rich blues and yellows sitting in a corner, or the gilt furniture.
It was as he’d pictured it, this room, this house. Valérie’s touch was evident all around him, almost heady, every artifact and decorative item proclaiming its provenance. There came the rustle of a skirt. He turned his head, too quickly, too eager to see her.
It was not Valérie. Nina stood at the door. Her black hair was pulled back, but a few tendrils hung loose, framing her face. The style did not especially become her, nor did the peach-colored dress.
“Hector!” she said, walking in with a big smile on her face.
“Miss Beaulieu,” he said, giving the girl a slight bow of the head and kissing the back of her hand. “It’s nice of you to receive me.”
“I’m glad you came. It’s nearly three o’clock. I thought you might have had other calls to make.”
“There was other business I had to handle.”
In reality he had spent half an hour circling the area in his carriage, doubting himself.
“What kind of business?”
“Antonina, you forget your manners,” Valérie said as she walked in. “It’s not polite to ask those questions.”
She wore a cream-colored dress with a blue sash at the waist, her hair in a loose chignon, a string of pearls dangling from her neck. He was transported ten years back, to their first meeting, like opening a worn, beloved book you’ve memorized.
She had not changed. He knew she would not, she’d remain suspended in amber, for him and him alone.
Hector’s youth had been a struggle. The grime of the fairs and a belly that was never full marked his first years. When his parents passed away, he’d endured, like a stubborn weed, growing tall and reed-thin. At fourteen he’d learned to escape most scuffles, or use his talent to protect himself, but he still ended up losing a tooth when three men pinned him down and beat him for his money. And then she’d come into his life like an angel from the heavens, and he constructed a completely different life for himself in his imagination. He’d always known he’d escape the narrow cots and stinking guesthouses where he lodged, and she was proof of this, a sign.
How he’d hated the world. Sometimes, when he glanced at men who slaked their thirst and appetites with impunity, he thought of throttling them. He had nothing. Then he had her, and the future was full of possibilities.
Just as quickly she was gone.
He looked at Valérie, stared at her, unable to bow or speak a greeting.
“Mr. Auvray,” she said, extending her hand, her voice cool and composed while Hector felt himself quiver inside.
“Mrs. Beaulieu,” he replied, raising her hand to his lips, but not kissing it, his breath upon her knuckles for a second before he released her. “Always a pleasure to see you.”
Now that he looked more carefully, he realized she was not exactly the girl he’d known. Her face was thinner and had a firmness that had not been there. But she was as graceful as she’d ever been and had grown more exquisite, a feat he had not thought possible. It did not matter, whatever vague changes had taken hold of her physiognomy.
“You’ve met, then?” Nina asked, her voice unwanted, interrupting his reverie.
“I’m not entirely sure. Have we?” Valérie asked.
There was the hint of a dare when Valérie glanced at him. He took it.
“Ten years ago. You were in Frotnac at the time,” he replied. “It was before your marriage.”
Valérie frowned, a fleeting motion of her head. “I do remember you. You performed a trick or another.”
“That was me.”
“That is unfair, Valérie. You never told me you knew Hector! And after I’ve told you of my interest in psychokinetics,” Nina said. She sounded like a doleful child who had been denied sweets.
Valérie’s face was carved marble when she looked at the girl. “An unbecoming interest,” she said.
“Hector, you must tell my cousin that psychokinetic feats are not a horrid crime,” Nina said, playfully tugging at his hand. The gesture might befit a coquette, but he doubted she knew what she was doing.
“Does Mrs. Beaulieu truly think that?” he asked.
“Antonina has it in her head that it is fine for a young woman of her caliber to go around attempting to levitate decks of cards and shuffle them in the air as though she were a common street performer,” Valérie said. “I strongly disagree.”
“You disagree about everything,” Nina replied, sitting on one of the sofas.
Hector smirked, amused by the tart answer, and sat across from her. “I didn’t realize you had the ability, Miss Beaulieu.”
“A little, perhaps. When I was five years old, my mother said I made it rain stones upon our house.”
“Which is precisely why it’s a poor idea to fixate upon such an activity,” Valérie said.
“I don’t intend to rain stones on your house, Cousin. Besides, what else am I supposed to do when you won’t let me collect specimens while I’m here?”
“Specimens, Miss Beaulieu?”
“Pests,” Valérie replied. She remained standing, her eyes fixing on a distant point instead of looking at either one of them.
“Beetles. And a few butterflies. You can’t possibly consider a butterfly a pest,” Nina protested.
“Now is not the time to discuss that. Would you fancy a drink, Mr. Auvray?” Valérie asked, her voice a knife that cut off the girl.
“You need not bother with me,” Hector replied. He looked at Nina instead of Valérie.
Valérie, a marble column, spoke again. “I shan’t have you telling my husband that I am a poor hostess, Mr. Auvray.”
“I wouldn’t dream of speaking such a thing to Mr. Beaulieu. Perhaps a glass of water,” he said.
A servant brought the water and he sat back, admiring Valérie while Nina spoke. He asked her questions he had memorized, questions that would seem both banal and polite: Would she be attending the races next month? Would she have her portrait painted by Herus—the painter of choice for all young ladies? They spent half an hour this way, Nina speaking, Valérie silent, Hector nodding. Finally he thought it enough, smiled, and bade the ladies good-bye.
“You must see me perform,” he told them. “It might amuse you.”
“Could we? Valérie, could we, please?” Nina asked.
“I’ll consider it. Mr. Auvray, let me escort you to the door, and we can discuss this performance you speak of,” V
alérie said.
Valérie walked by his side, her head straight, her steps neither rushed nor too leaden. She walked as if he were not there, guiding him back to the entrance.
“I cannot believe you had the gall to come and see me,” Valérie said, her voice low. Her tone betrayed her anger even if her face was impassive. “It is absolutely improper.”
“I did not come to see you. I came to see Nina,” he said, his tone scratching on insolence.
“What kind of fool do you take me for?”
Hector looked at her, with her spectacular disdain and her golden hair and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. The insolence, he tucked it away, he could not wield it for long.
“I needed to speak to you,” he said, admitting his weakness.
She responded with contempt. “You ought to have written a letter if you felt you had anything to say to me.”
“I didn’t think a letter would get your attention.”
She stopped now, standing in front of a gilded mirror in profile, her hands pressed against her skirt. She was skillfully avoiding his gaze.
“You have my attention now. What do you want? Do you wish to somehow punish me for our hasty separation?” she asked.
“Hasty, yes. You wrote three lines informing me of your marriage. Three lines, Valérie,” he said. He moved from her side to stand in front of her.
She looked up at him with a sigh. “Would you have enjoyed the details?” she asked.
Valérie had never been sweet or simple. Still, the retort cut deep and it must have shown, for her expression changed quickly, her voice softening.
“Hector, it was a long time ago and we were both silly to think we might wed. My family would not have allowed it.”
“No. They needed Beaulieu’s money.”
“What does it matter?” Valérie said. “But you shall not … You will not tell Gaetan about our engagement, will you?”
It would have been a black mark against Valérie’s character. An engagement was a serious matter, and breaking an engagement was poor form. Worse yet, Valérie had been secretly engaged when Gaetan courted her. It was enough to cause a great amount of strife if it became known.
The Beautiful Ones Page 3
