“Next time I require twenty beetles, I’ll ask you to accompany me to the shop.”
Her eyes swept over him. Under the bright sun, her hair was so black, it seemed almost blue; it glinted, like a raven’s wing. She dipped her hand in the water again, tracing circles with her fingers.
“Perhaps we might meet again if you’d like,” he told her.
Nina did not speak and he could not begrudge her the caution in her face. There would be no leaps and bounds between them.
He did not wish to assume that she’d care about him anymore, even if she had at Oldhouse. A year had passed. And Hector himself was not sure where all this might lead; he’d had scant practice at the sport of affection. He’d seldom wanted it, preferring to dwell in the pits of melancholy. He was, in short, a jumble of thoughts and feelings, uncomfortably raw for a man his age.
“We could attempt to become friends once more, as you said,” he proposed nevertheless, for he did need her to realize this was on his mind.
Her body was tense, her fingers stilling in the water. She looked at him and he thought it might all come to naught, because she’d suddenly drifted far, her thoughts no doubt wary. But then Nina smiled. It was like looking down and finding the first green sprouts rising from the frozen, black earth. Almost invisible and yet there, heralding spring.
“Perhaps,” she said.
“Perhaps,” he repeated.
Her hazy smile grew more obvious.
It was something. It was something indeed.
CHAPTER 9
Agnes Haduier was older than Valérie and as ugly as a sow, but she attempted to compensate for her inadequacies by purchasing the most expensive, fabulous dresses and sporting an array of highly elaborate hats. Though they moved in the same social circles and had known each other for years, they were not friends. Valérie couldn’t truly trust anyone who was not a member of her family. She reserved her devotion for the Véries, the importance of blood kin and duty to her own imprinted on her since an early age.
“How are your beloved roses doing, Valérie?” Agnes asked.
“Blooming beautifully,” Valérie replied. Agnes had a large garden, but it was tacky and disorganized compared to Valérie’s perfect rose ensemble.
Agnes smiled while Valérie looked at her with a face of flawless alabaster, hiding the disgust that assaulted her in the presence of this woman. Agnes wore a blue hat with a feather sprouting from the back, which Valérie found ostentatious and off-putting.
“I was sorry you could not make it to my party.”
“Yes, I apologize for that,” Valérie said dryly. She had sent the woman a note promptly the morning after the party. She always minded her courtesies—what else could Agnes want now?
“My dear, if you had gone … well, perhaps … This is hard for me to say, but I feel it is my duty to inform you that your cousin Antonina behaved poorly.”
“How poorly?”
“There was some small matter about her doing a few levitation tricks. Very common, I’m afraid. No, but the real issue, and the reason why I come here today, is to warn you about that other matter.”
Agnes paused dramatically, as she was wont to do when she was spreading her poison. Nothing delighted her more than gossip. She had a barbed tongue.
“She was seen leaving the party in the company of a man, my dear. That performer, Hector Auvray. Everyone speaks about him these days, but he’s too quiet in person. I wouldn’t have invited him to the party, but my husband insisted. You know how he is about these sorts of people. Can’t get enough of them.”
It was a testament to Valérie’s self-control that she did not begin screaming at the top of her lungs, for that was exactly what she wished to do. Instead, she managed to stay sitting in her chair and stare at Agnes with cool eyes.
“Did you see them?” Valérie asked.
“No. My friend Bertrand Roge did. Antonina, leaving with that man, and you can be sure he was not her escort to the party, not at all. And he is essentially a theater performer! Dear me, there will be talk of this.”
Yes, there would. Which was precisely why Agnes had come. Not to warn Valérie, but to relish her discomfort knowing how embarrassing the incident could be. They’d say Antonina knew nothing of deportment; they’d gossip about the Beaulieus.
And Hector. Hector, why was he doing this?
I shall kill that girl, Valérie thought. She provides me nothing but woe.
“I am glad you have brought this to my attention. You must understand I would be grateful if you could do anything to mitigate such talk,” Valérie said.
“I will speak to Mr. Roge, but one can’t predict how these matters will go.”
In Loisail, certain things were not said out loud. Secrets were written in the movement of a fan or the gestures with a glove. Innocent words hid the sharpness of knives. Now Agnes and Valérie were speaking in this code.
“I would be eternally grateful for your assistance.”
“I shall try. In the meantime, will you be supping with us next week? My husband was dearly hoping you and Gaétan would come to our Thursday soirée, a last-minute reunion I’ve organized. Gaétan is a busy man, hard to talk to these days.”
Yes. That was it. Tit for tat. Valérie didn’t like Agnes, but now she’d have to make an appearance at her stupid get-together while Gaétan would be whisked away to the smoking room to discuss money matters. The Haduiers were not paupers, but everyone knew they spent more than they should and their extravagant lifestyle was funded with generous loans, which they repaid haphazardly. They owed Gaétan money and would try to defer payment.
Vipers and scorpions, she thought.
“I believe we can make it,” Valérie said.
“Thank you. I have taken up too much of your time. It has been lovely speaking with you.”
“Thank you, dearest Agnes. You will forgive me if I do not rise and escort you out. I suddenly feel rather tired,” Valérie said.
It was undeniably rude not to stand and kiss the woman on the cheek, but then Valérie was trying to make a point. Agnes gave her a stiff nod.
When the perfumed cow had exited the room, Valérie allowed herself to dig her nails into the arms of her chair.
Antonina. That stupid whore. What else could be expected of her? But most important, what was Hector thinking?
They are on speaking terms, but that means nothing, she thought. But, no, it was bad. It could ruin all her plans. Say, for example, that he was merely being polite. That still meant a possible distraction, Antonina’s head turned away from Luc Lémy. And at worst, he was a true rival for her affection.
Valérie needed Antonina to marry Luc. Hector was a wedge between them.
Without meaning to, she also thought about him in other terms. Hector was hers. He was always hers, and even if she wouldn’t have him, he should remain so.
Valérie rose and went to the office, where she wrote a quick, stern missive. She instructed a servant to arrange for it to be delivered right away to the home of Luc Lémy.
Luc did not take too long to arrive, though the minutes were like sandpaper against Valérie’s skin. She gave word that he should be brought to the conservatory, where she paced among her flowers, and there he greeted her with that charming smile of his and a bow.