The aisles were narrow and the books piled high. The trick at the Dandelion was that you needed to have been there before or you wouldn’t find a thing. Nina stood on her tiptoes and brushed her fingers along the spines.
“What are you looking for?” Luc asked.
“Coronel Oudevai has been publishing drawings of the species he has seen during his travels in the Ammunok peninsula. I’m looking for the third volume. It should be out now. Here it is.”
Nina grabbed the slim volume and opened it, turning the pages. She paused at a fine watercolor that showed an armadillo against a blue sky. It was the representative animal of Iblevad, found throughout most of the southern portion of the continent and therefore not so rare as other species, but she thought it a most delightful creature despite its being common.
“There are armadillos large enough, they might carry you on their back, did you know that?” she told Luc.
“I’m not even sure what I’m looking at, and you are saying it’s as big as a horse?” he replied.
“Not so large, perhaps a pony. And there are big turtles, too. I saw a photograph showing a man riding a turtle. I’m not sure if anyone would attempt to ride an armadillo.”
He peered over her shoulder at the book. The shop was stuffy and a bead of sweat slid down Nina’s throat. It was an uncommonly warm spring, her great-aunts had told her. She’d forgotten her fan at home and made a mental note to ensure she carried it at all times.
As if echoing her, Luc raised a hand and tugged at his collar, loosening his tie. “We’ll be cooked alive if we remain here, Miss Beaulieau,” he whispered. “How about we pay for this?”
Nina could have stomached an hour inside the bookshop no matter if it felt like resting inside an oven, but she decided to be merciful, and they headed to the front, where an attendant wrapped the book in brown paper and tied it with a string. Luc said he’d buy it for her, and even though she protested, he ended up paying for it.
“It’s the least I can do for being a nuisance,” he said, handing her the book.
“You are not a nuisance,” she replied.
“Don’t encourage me. I could believe you.”
When they stepped out, they both turned their heads, hearing the clock of nearby Saint Cecily strike three.
“Your club,” she said. “I’ve kept you for a long time. You’ll be late.”
“Who ever heard of a man being late for drinks? The later is always the better,” he said with a shrug.
“How kind of you to say that. Thank you for keeping me company,” she said, and extended her hand to bid him good-bye.
Luc Lémy, however, did not seem ready to go. He held her hand in the polite city fashion but did not release it, instead moving a step closer to Nina and giving her a mischievous look.
“Did I mention that my eldest brother has acquired a motorcar?”
“No. I think not.”
“He has. I’ve been learning how to drive it. I think I ought to take you for a ride in it. It’s entirely safe, I assure you.”
“Doubtlessly there are motorcar enthusiasts more suited for such pursuits than I,” she said.
“Well, you see,” he said, leaning down to speak in her ear, “I can’t think of a single one I’d rather have with me.”
“Mr. Lémy, I can’t imagine you don’t have a dozen names of a dozen other girls scribbled in your pocket book,” she whispered back, mocking him a smidgen.
Luc laughed and kissed her hand, finally releasing her. He reached into his jacket and produced a mother-of-pearl pocket book, the initials LL engraved on the front.
“Write your address in my awful pocket book, and I shall pick you up Thursday morning for a ride,” he said, also handing her a tiny black pencil.
Nina held the pencil between her fingers but did not scribble anything, aware that it was probably not the best idea to agree to the venture. Valérie would have had a fit and declared it improper on a number of levels, and she would have been correct. However, Nina had a hard time adhering to proper behavior, always keen to make exceptions for herself.
What held her back mostly was that Luc was part of Hector’s social circle. She did not think them the best of companions—she’d had the impression that Luc was included in the trip to Oldhouse because of his brother, and not because Hector was particularly friendly with him—but they knew each other. She was sure they talked and dined on occasion.
But what if they did? She was nothing to Hector, and Hector was nothing to her. True, Hector had said Luc Lémy was a ladies’ man, a scoundrel in fine clothes, but she could have deduced that herself.
She scribbled her address.
“There, Mr. Lémy,” she said, returning the pocket book.
“I’m not ‘Mr. Lémy.’ If I have your address in my pocket book, you are bound to call me Luc now.”
Luc Lémy could probably get a bear to remove its own fur so he could make himself a coat, and she smiled, indulging him.
“Luc, then.”
“Thursday, Miss Beaulieu,” he said, doffing his hat and bowing low. The sun glinted in his hair, making it look golden, and she thought wryly that Luc Lémy was the kind of man who might never have known a sad day in his life.
“Nina,” she said, shaking her head, refusing to allow her thoughts to turn dark. “If you have my address in your pocket book, you are bound to call me Nina.”
“Thursday early in the day, after breakfast, Nina Beaulieu,” he said.
He was walking backward, facing her with his hat between his hands, with the result that he almost collided with a couple of people. That did not stop him, and he kept walking backward until the end of the block, when he promptly turned away from her, placed his hat on his head, and rushed off.
When she cut back through the square, she stopped to glance in the direction of the building where he’d said he’d be, and Nina waved at it even though she was sure he could not see her. She took a carriage nearby and headed back to her great-aunts’ home. The old ladies greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and immediately began to talk about the heat, how there had not been a spring this warm in ten years.
Nina sat next to them, her book on her lap. She rested her palms on the cover for a minute, smiling to herself, before she opened it and showed it to her great-aunts.
CHAPTER 2
There was, all around them, the murmur of the theater, the groan of pulleys and chains as they walked behind the stage, the rustle of costumes wheeled down corridors, and the talk of stagehands, milling about like bees. It was Friday and Hector had two performances. It was not a day to entertain a friend.
“It’s nearly two o’clock,” he told Étienne. “That’s not enough time to go out. You ought to have told me you would be visiting.”
He walked with quick, purposeful steps, and Étienne had trouble keeping up and evading the people walking by them.
“If I’d told you I was coming, you wouldn’t have seen me. You spend your days locked up either here or in your home. I’m surprised you even deigned to appear at my wedding.”
Étienne had been married five months before. Most brides preferred a spring wedding, which would allow them to travel in the summer, but Étienne’s new bride knew her name would stand out in the papers if she wed in the winter or fall. She was a tactician, Étienne’s wife.