The young man stood before Hector, face aflame. It was not easy for Luc to conceal his emotions; he had the transparency of glass, and it was obvious that he was currently infested with rage. For once, Hector could not blame him for being swayed by his baser instincts.
“I want to know at once if you have my fiancée with you,” he said.
“I’m afraid Nina is my fiancée now,” Hector replied, his voice calm.
“You son of a whore, how dare you look me in the eye?”
Luc stank of cigarettes and alcohol, and appeared as disheveled as a common drunkard outside a tavern who is having a hard time stumbling home.
“Throw a punch, Luc. I won’t begrudge you that,” Hector said, feeling sorry for him.
“Throw a punch?” Luc said. “I am not throwing a punch. I’ll have a duel, you bastard.” Luc Lémy laughed a boiling, forced laugh, which echoed around the apartment.
“Luc, you are drunk. We need to go home,” Étienne said, grabbing his brother by the arm.
Luc shook him off and pointed at Hector, his face a mask of ferocity.
“Listen to your brother,” Hector cautioned him.
“No, you listen to me, Auvray. You will accept my challenge or I swear by all that is holy, the next time you open this door, you shall see the barrel of my gun, for I intend to kill you on the field or off it, and I will not be satisfied until there is a bullet in your chest. Die a coward’s death or die a man, I do not care, but die you will in two days’ time.”
Both men stared at each other, their gaze steady. When Hector performed, there was always a moment before the curtain rose when he paused to prepare himself for the act, and likewise he now paused, knowing he was standing at the beginning of an inevitable moment.
“Choose your second and we shall set terms, if you must,” Hector said. “But I’d rather that you reconsider.”
Luc did not reply, deciding instead to spit at the floor. He left without another word, and Étienne hurried behind him, yelling his name, his hat tight in his hands.
Hector slammed the door shut with a vague movement of his left hand and stared at the ceiling, drawing a deep breath.
“You won’t do it,” Nina said.
He turned around and saw her standing at the other end of the room, in his bathrobe, droplets of water dripping down from the tips of her hair upon the floorboards.
“I said I would.”
“Then take it back.”
“It can’t be taken back.”
“Then do not show up for the duel.”
“You heard him. He will not desist and I would rather not spend the rest of my life fearing a gun suddenly pressed against the back of my head.”
He knew how it went with men like Luc Lémy, and he would not become one of those haunted fellows perpetually looking over his shoulder; he’d consumed enough time running already. Besides, there was the basic question of honor. Hector did everything properly, and he would not cede to cowardice when it came to matters of violence and spite.
“That is ridiculous!” she yelled.
A heavy bookcase groaned and slid across the floor, driven by her thoughts. He moved toward her and seized her hands, but she slipped from his grip and slapped his chest in anger.
“No! You are not going to do something that stupid!”
“Come here,” he said, wrapping her in his arms. “Come here.”
She did not really want to be held, and squirmed in his embrace, but he planted a kiss on her forehead, which calmed her somewhat.
“You might die.”
“Most men don’t die in duels,” he told her.
It depends on the conditions and one’s opponent, he thought, but did not want to dwell on that point.
“Then you’ll be injured! As if that makes it better.”
“It makes it somewhat better, doesn’t it? Give me a kiss, I need it.”
Nina frowned, but after a few seconds stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. He swept her hair away so that he might touch her neck, and her eyes fluttered closed. He placed a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth.
“I have letters to write, to your cousin and to others, and there is breakfast to be had, but if you give me an hour, I’ll take you to the dressmaker and we can have you looking like a proper fiancée of mine. We won’t let this spoil everything, will we?”
She shook her head, but only a little, as if uncertain.
“Put your dress on. I’ll get to these letters at once.”
She was not thoroughly convinced, despite the calm in his voice, but she retreated in the end. Alone, he sat at the table and rested his elbows against its surface, lacing his hands together and pressing his forehead against them.
CHAPTER 23
Hector took her to one of the new shops on Winter Hill, where he instructed her to buy whatever she pleased, then make her way back to his apartment. He had people to meet, he told her, and it was necessary that he proceed alone. He would join her for supper, he promised.
“Make sure you have a nice trousseau,” he told her. “And we can worry about a bridal gown later.”
It was not considered proper for a groom to provide his bride with her trousseau, as it would undermine the lady’s pride: a trousseau indicated a woman’s wealth and social standing. It took time and care to assemble one.
Nina did not have time, she knew this plainly. Her family would want her married forthwith, and since Hector had made no mention of having her return to her great-aunts’ home—and sending for her trunk might have caused the poor old ladies to faint or irritate her kin even further—it stood to reason she needed new clothes.
She tried to be as practical as she could about the matter; truth be told, she had not paid attention to her sister’s arrangements when it came to her trousseau. She settled for a handful of nightdresses, drawers, corset-covers, and petticoats. She stumbled as she had to consider how many pairs of gloves she required, because she often lost them and when she wanted to manipulate objects, she did not use them anyway. She also had a way of misplacing collars.
When it came to gowns, matters were simpler, and she acquired a couple of housedresses, tea gowns, a visiting dress. She did not want to seem like a simpleton who spent all her money on opera gowns in a display of frivolity when clearly what was required were everyday clothes, but she did acquire one evening gown.
Before she left the shop, Nina changed into a blue linen day dress with a narrow skirt and much lace and pin tucking. Dressed like this, she went to another shop, where she purchased necessities for the toilette, including a silver set of brushes.
She had the carriage driver help her up with her numerous parcels to the fifth floor, and once he’d stacked them by the door and departed, she made the lock open with a flick of her fingers—not even bothering with the keys Hector had pressed against her palm—and willed the packages to slide into her new home.
Nina stood in the middle of the living room and contemplated the space around her, a box in her arms. After setting the box on the table, she went to the window and looked outside, observing the clear sky and thinking this was the view she would see from now on. These trees below their windows, this street, that other building in front of their own.
Upon his return, Hector found her in the bedroom in front of the mirror, with one of the new dresses pressed against her body, trying to determine whether she ought to change into something else, doubting her original choice.