He rose then, cursing her under his breath. His anger gave her the fuel she needed to spark her own rage, and she was grateful. Engulfed with blazing fury, she felt she stood on firmer ground. The words, the reasons, everything came to her easily now.
“You think it is that simple? To bring dishonor to my family? You think I can throw away everything I have ever worked for? You have no understanding of the world. You are as you always were, with your head in the clouds. You do tricks for adoring crowds onstage and forget that it is not all artifice and sleight of hand when you step off. The pauper does not get the princess, Hector Auvray.”
He was comely in his intensity and even comelier as her words struck him, making him lose his grip.
“Artifice, when you are the liar! God, of course you are a liar,” he said.
He paced in front of her, all bitterness and spite. She rested her hands against the arms of the chair, holding tight to it. She wanted to reduce the room to ashes and had to content herself with biting her lips.
“You did not intend to run away with me,” he said, turning to her with narrowed eyes. “You said the words but did not mean them. It was a silly affair for you. You would not have gone with me, would you? Even if I had returned with all the gold in the world, you would not have gone with me.
“You liar,” he said, leaning down suddenly against her arms, against the chair, and looking down at her.
There was untold cruelty in those words, they sliced against her like scissors tearing through paper, and Valérie could not help herself—she spoke.
“I would have gone with you. If you had returned without a single coin in your pockets, I would have gone with you all the same. That is why I married Gaétan. Because I was ready to throw everything away for you. My name and my honor and my family. No one—no one, you hear me—can have that power over me.”
He stared at her, disbelieving. She stared back. She knew he wanted to deny it, to blot out the truth, but it could not be denied, and he believed. He finally understood. She saw him crumble before her, his eyes bright with tears, his pain so clear she thought she might touch it. It was real, solid. His voice, when he spoke, was a murmur.
“You are a vicious, mad creature,” he said.
She wanted to cry and could not. She wanted to weep for that proud girl who had broken her own heart and tossed it to the dogs, and she wanted to weep for the woman who had been left behind with a gaping hole in her soul. But if she could do it again, she knew she’d still retrace her steps. She was not Antonina Beaulieu, who offered herself like a sacrificial lamb, who gave everything of herself to the world for the world to devour. She was Valérie Véries. She hated herself sometimes for it, but she was Valérie Véries, a Beautiful One, not some weakling nor a halfwit.
“And I am a fool,” he muttered. Perhaps he might cry for the both of them, dear Hector.
“Yes, you are,” she said.
He yanked her to her feet and placed a harsh, desperate kiss on her mouth. It had been like this, too, when they were young. This desire, the stubbornness of her theatrical, calculated refusal, the pleas, until she broke against him and kissed him back.
A game they played.
But when they were young they were free, and afterward they could make vows that they intended to keep. Now there were no promises to be made, nor any measure of soothing tenderness.
Valérie kissed him nevertheless. Knowing the hopelessness of it all made her want to hold on tighter to him. She also wanted to hurt him, and she knew well enough that her caresses would wound more than any blows.
His mouth burned her and she knew he wanted to brand her, his fingers were digging too deep in her flesh, and she relished the touch. She thought of biting his tongue, drawing blood.
There came the loud thump of a book falling upon the floor.
They both turned their heads.
Antonina stood at the door. One of her books had slipped from her hands, but she still held on to the other one tight. Her lips were trembling.
Finally, she let go of the book she had been clutching, and at the same time several volumes jumped from the shelves and fell against the carpet, as if echoing her motions. Then the girl turned around and ran out of the library.
Hector meant to follow Antonina, but Valérie held on to his arm, forcing him to turn and look at her.
“It’s all over,” Valérie said.
Hector did not reply, rushing out, looking faintly ridiculous in his distress. She chuckled at this. She rubbed her fingers against her mouth and she chuckled, and then she bit her hand because tears were streaming down her face.
CHAPTER 18
In the summer Nina liked to rise early, sometimes even before the dawn. She’d go to the river and take off her shoes, walking on blades of grass fresh with dew. She’d watch the fireflies and listen to the birds as they began to chirp in the trees. These things brought her joy.
She had been anxious and brittle the day before, unable to understand what had caused Hector to part quickly from her side after they kissed in the tower. He did not come down for dinner, which only added to her woes.
Wrapped in perfect misery, she questioned the stars for any secret answers they might give her, but they could not soothe her. The books talked about men set aflame, pursuing women, but it was she who was burning and knew not what course to take. The only thing the heroines in her books did was weep until a man rescued them. Or kidnapped them, if he was a pirate.
That spark that burned in her, that ember lodged in her heart, pushed her forward, emboldening her.
Close to midnight she grabbed a piece of paper and began scribbling. Her hands trembled at first, but as each word fell in place, she grew calmer. By the time she left the letter at his door, she had erased all doubts, and in the morning, when she woke and traced the margins of the river, she did so with a smile on her face. She was alive that morning, alive with hope and love. Each breath she took, each beat of her heart, every sigh, was meant for Hector. She existed for him alone and knew nothing but him.
Surely he loved her but was afraid to say the proper words! Cousin Gaétan had expressed reservations about him when Hector first began to visit them, unsure if he was a gentleman of high enough stature to deserve the attention of the Beaulieus. Perhaps Hector felt the same, and now faltered.
Whatever the reason for his shyness, Nina knew she’d done right and soon everything would be well. They would be together; this was clear. It was as if she could read the imminent signs in the water and the rustling of the trees. She pressed a hand against her lips and smiled.
Nina took her time walking back to Oldhouse, and when she went past the stables, she heard the dogs barking. Luc Lémy was attempting to shoo them away, but they only barked more.
“Here, now. Here, boys,” she said, and the dogs immediately ran toward her, wagging their tails.
She bent down to pet them.
“Thank you for that,” Luc told her. “I don’t know how you do it. Every time these devilish creatures see me, they try to bite a chunk out of my leg.”
The dogs were huge; they were meant for herding sheep, but gentle with children. She chuckled. “Mr. Lémy, they wouldn’t bite you. They must simply like you.”
“Believe me, Miss Beaulieu, they despise me.”
“Maybe you are a cat person.”