Luc’s face changed from angry to petulant. He looked now not like a sulking child but a boy who has scarfed down a whole cake, but does not care if he will have a stomachache. It absolutely rankled Hector.
“I have spoken with Gaétan Beaulieu, and he has agreed I may court Nina. I would like to marry her sooner rather than later.”
“Has she been informed of this?” Hector replied, unable to suppress a chuckle. “I’m not sure she knows.”
“Are you making fun of me?” Luc turned to Étienne. “He is making fun of me.”
“I don’t think he’s making fun of anyone,” Étienne replied. “Luc, let’s get you a drink.”
“I don’t want a drink. I want him to stay away from my bride.”
As if to emphasize his point, Luc slammed his hand against the table; then he lit his cigarette and leaned back in his chair, challenging Hector with his gaze.
“She’s not yours,” Hector replied.
“Pardon me?” Luc said.
“She’s not yours. She’s not mine. She’s nobody’s. Stop behaving like a brat.”
Hector spoke sternly, and for a moment he thought Luc might regain the use of his senses and see how utterly peevish he was being, but instead the young man grew more stupid.
“Now, listen to me, Hector. You had your chance. You didn’t take it. This is my time now, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to have you weaseling your way back into her life.”
“What do you want?” Hector asked quietly. “Do you want a fight? Will that make you feel better? I’ve done you no wrong. She wished to go home, I took her in my carriage.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
“I will offer no apologies to you.”
Luc tossed his cigarette at Hector. It was headed toward his lap, but Hector stopped it midair, his talent at work, then flicked it away, crushing it under the sole of his shoe.
Luc did not seem happy with this display, having thought he could pelt him with the cigarette. “I want no apologies, but if I even think you’ve spoken to her again, I’ll break your jaw.”
“Try it now,” Hector shot back.
Luc rose from his seat, ready to put the threat into action. Hector was not one for fistfights, but he had not shied away from physical confrontation when it was necessary. The company he kept had not been the most gentle one in his youth. And though normally the thrill of a fight held little appeal, he was angry and he wanted to throw a few well-placed punches.
Étienne reached out and grabbed his brother by the arm, speaking quickly. “Stop it, the both of you.”
Luc shoved his brother away and straightened himself up. He did not bid either of them good-bye, instead preferring to glare at Hector before stomping off.
For a moment Hector considered tossing the remains of the damn cigarette at the back of Luc’s head.
“That was jolly,” Étienne said, drumming his fingers against the sides of his glass. “You didn’t tell me you were speaking with Nina again.”
“Only recently. You didn’t tell me Luc was pursuing her,” he replied.
“I had no idea. I thought he had a new fancy, but he didn’t say it was her.”
A fancy. Yes, no doubt it was hard to keep track of the women who danced in and out of Luc Lémy’s life, but he did not think this “a fancy.” As far as Hector knew, Luc Lémy had not courted a lady. He’d flirted with a good number of them and even enticed a few into his bed. Étienne had told Hector that one time, Luc had gotten himself into a whole lot of trouble over Mie Karlson, a diplomat’s wife. But then, Luc collected women like other men collected coins or stamps, and ladies—much less marriage—were beyond his interest.
“What now?” Étienne asked, frowning.
“Do you think he is serious?” Hector asked.
“About what, breaking your jaw?”
“Her. Marriage.”
“How am I supposed to know?” Étienne replied.
“He seems serious to me,” Hector asserted.
He recalled what Nina had said, that Luc flirted with her. Gaétan might not have spoken with her about the matter already, but surely he would soon. At this moment, he could be summoning his cousin to let her know that Luc Lémy was interested in her. How would the conversation end?
He thought back to the party and how they’d looked together. They had been at ease, Luc acting his charming self and she interested in the performance. And at Oldhouse, he tried to remember what they’d been like. Nina had spent most of her time with Hector, but they all gathered for games and conversation. They got along well enough, he thought.
They’d make a pretty pair, a study in contrasts, Luc with his blond good looks and Nina with her black hair.
Antonina Lémy, he thought.
It sounded awful.
Étienne, attuned to Hector’s moods, picked up on that thread. He narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Hector, please tell me I’m wrong, please tell me you’re not—”
“I’m heading home,” Hector said. “Suddenly the bathtub seems more appealing.”
“Hector, don’t start with a new madness.”
“Have a good evening, Étienne,” he said, his voice clipped.
As he walked toward a busy avenue, hoping he might find a carriage to take him home, Hector considered paying Nina a visit. He quickly discarded the idea. What would he say? That he and Luc Lémy had almost come to blows over her? And exactly over what?
Hector knew he and Nina were standing on ever-shifting sands. He was unsure where they were headed, too. It was strange because he was always sure of his actions, proceeding with the certainty of an arrow. It had been like that when he romanced Valérie, as he tried to fashion a career for himself, and in a myriad of business matters. The doubt that often clouded him when it came to Nina was odd, like listening to a tune and not knowing the steps of the dance.
At this point, Hector felt he could say nothing. Nina was a young lady in her second Grand Season, and she would be expected to catch the attention of suitors. Luc Lémy was a man of superior breeding—a Beautiful One, for God’s sake, his grandfather was a viscount—ripe for marriage, and that he should have turned his eyes toward Nina could not be faulted.
As Luc had pointed out, Hector threw away his chance. Hector’s pitiful gifts, the attempts at establishing new ties with Nina, colored only more vehemently that truth.
He managed to attract the attention of a coachman and boarded the carriage.
“Boniface, please,” he said.
The carriage moved under the shade of the light green linden trees, trotting quietly.
“Antonina Lémy,” he whispered, and the words left him with a sour taste in his mouth.
CHAPTER 11
Nina’s great-aunts always took a long time to go out. That day, they had spent nearly an hour bickering with one another even though they were paying only one visit, and that was to Penelope Ferse, who lived three streets away. Penelope was a pigeon fancier, and both Lise and Linette, given their interest in birds, found this hobby an exciting topic of conversation.
Once her great-aunts had left with many good-byes and a kiss on her cheek, Nina went to sit on the steps behind the house, reading by the canal. It was a hot day and the house felt stuffy even with all its windows open.