The Beautiful Ones

by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

  But despite her homesickness, Nina understood that this was a great opportunity. The time spent in Loisail would allow her to refine her ways—there was no place as sophisticated and modern as Loisail, they said in books and newspapers—and it would permit her to make valuable connections. Most of all, the city might yield a suitable husband.

  She knew well the kind of man her mother expected her to marry. A fellow from a decent family, with an excellent reputation and a generous amount of money at his disposal. It was all good and proper to marry a viscount, but when he came with a withered estate in dire need of repair, the coat of arms lost its luster. Nina’s sister, Madelena, had wed a respectable physician and a member of the neighboring Évariste family. It had pleased their mother, but Nina thought their tale lacked romance. Madelena and her husband had played together since they were children. Everyone assumed they would wed. Madelena’s husband hardly even really courted her, knowing the answer even before he asked.

  Nina dreamed a different outcome. The romantic novels she had read imprinted on her the notion of a dashing suitor. She’d read of men who inspired women to blush prettily, who made their hearts hammer in their chests, who could cause a girl to swoon. She’d read, yes, but never experienced it. Montipouret offered her only the well-intentioned neighboring boys from the Évariste estate and the serious, subdued Delafois. Boys who neither caught her attention nor were keen to court her. The city, though. The city could yield the chance of romance. While her mother was expecting only a suitable match, Nina was hoping for the romance of a lifetime followed by the grandest wedding imaginable.

  She’d had no luck. Young, cosseted, she wished for someone dapper, like the men in her books. Didier Dompierre was the only boy who had made any serious attempt to pursue her, and Nina could not possibly picture him in a romantic light.

  But that morning, as Nina dressed with the assistance of Lisette, the lady’s maid Valérie had assigned her, she thought maybe her luck had changed: she could not get Hector Auvray out of her head.

  He’d danced three dances with her. Three! Surely that meant something. She might have asked Lisette for reassurance on this matter, but the maid was prickly and resented being pressed into service of the youngest Beaulieu on account of Nina’s restlessness, which often manifested with the levitation of objects across a room. In particular, Nina misplaced shoes. A single shoe would wind up on a side table, the mantelpiece, or some other place. Nina didn’t intend to do any of this, it was a tic, but that did not mean Valérie screamed any less at Lisette, taking it out on the poor maid.

  Lisette adjusted the collar of Nina’s dress and made sure her hair was impeccable—Cousin Valérie was particular about her hair. Nina was running late, what with her daydreaming, and the maid huffed. Valérie was also keen on punctuality. Nina quickly made her way to Valérie’s room, knocking twice.

  “Come in,” Valérie said. She was still in bed, her hair undone, and in a robe, but she looked practically perfect, as was always the case. Her room, too, was all for show, resembling the displays at the department stores downtown.

  “Good morning,” Nina said. “Lisette said you’re not feeling well.”

  “It’s another one of those dreadful migraines.”

  Valérie had just had a migraine the week before, the night before the De Villiers’ ball. Secretly Nina had been pleased that Valérie decided to stay home. Valérie’s attention to detail, her rules and demands, was stifling. When they went out in public, Valérie expected the world of Nina.

  “Should I head to the park on my own, then?”

  This was one of those city customs that Nina did not understand even though Valérie had explained it to her. It was of the utmost importance that twice a week between the hours of nine and ten they walk or ride around the nearby White Park, which was one of the largest parks in the city. The point, Valérie said, was to be seen. All the notable women in the city would—at least once a week—take a leisurely excursion through one of the popular green areas. Valérie scheduled her visits with rigor and chose the mornings because to stroll in a park in the evening, she confided, would be invariably crude. In the evenings a lady should be attending a party or a dinner, heading to the theater or the opera, not walking around in the semidarkness. Nina, who caught fireflies in the twilight hours during the summer, could only nod.

  “I think you should be able to manage without me,” Valérie said.

  “Are you certain? I could stay and read to you.”

  Valérie pressed a slender, graceful hand against her forehead. “It would do no good. Go on and be sure to return by noon.”

  “I will.”

  Nina kissed Valérie on the cheek to mark her departure, a gesture the older woman did not seem to enjoy. Five minutes later she arrived at White Park, Lisette in tow. Nina might have walked it but took the carriage, as Valérie would have. It was fine to walk in the park, but a lady should reach it by carriage. It struck Nina as a bit ridiculous. She had walked to visit the estates of the Évaristes and the Delafois a number of times, and even walked into the village. Why, it practically took longer to get into the carriage and out of it than to reach the park by foot. But once again, Valérie had laid down the rules for her.

  By carriage it was, then. Rather than walking the perimeter of the park, which was what Valérie did in an effort to be seen, Nina decided to rebel in the absence of the older woman. In the center of White Park, there was a pond. One could rent a wooden boat and row from one side of the pond to the other, or else sit on a bench. That was where Nina went, circling the pond and tossing crumbs to the ducks, sometimes without even touching them. When she ran out of them, she asked Lisette to purchase another bag of crumbs from the boys who sold them around the park.

  The maid rolled her eyes at Nina. “That is for the country folk visiting Loisail for the first time,” Lisette said. She had been born and raised in the city, and now reminded the young girl of this with her huffy tone.

  “I don’t care who does what and who doesn’t. Fetch me a bag of crumbs,” Nina said, trying to imitate Valérie’s imperious voice. She did not succeed. Instead, Lisette took off murmuring under her breath.

  Valérie paid careful attention to the people around her, but Nina would often grow distracted. It was no surprise that, alone and without her maid to swat her arm, she did not see Hector Auvray until he was but a couple of paces from her. She had been occupied following a duck and raised her head too late.

  “Miss Beaulieu,” he said.

  “You are here!” she exclaimed, which was a terrible thing to say, and panicked by this mistake, she could think to add nothing else, staring at him in mute horror.

  “How do you do?” he asked.

  “Fine. I am fine. Very fine.”

  Dear Lord, he’d think her daft. Nina composed herself as best she could.

  “I apologize. I thought you lived in Boniface and did not expect to run into you again this soon,” she said.

  “I do reside in Boniface. I am wasting time before I meet my friend who lives nearby. Are you by yourself?” he asked.

  “Yes. My cousin had a migraine. I’m, ah, here on my own. My maid is about, somewhere.”

  “May I walk with you?”

  “By all means.”

  Nina felt much improved once she was actually moving and comforted herself with the thought that her gaffes had not been witnessed by Valérie, who surely would have had recriminations to share, perhaps even pinched her.

  “Did you have an enjoyable time at the De Villiers’ ball?” she asked, and prided herself on how proper her voice sounded when she spoke this time.

  “Most enjoyable,” he said seriously, as if he were making an oath. It made her chuckle.

  “You are fibbing. You left early,” she replied, lightly slapping his arm, which would have earned her a double pinching from Valérie, but Valérie wasn’t there and Lisette had also disappeared, which meant no tattletales.

  “And how would you know that?”<
br />
  “You mustn’t think I was spying on you,” she said quickly, and blushed.

  She looked horrid when she blushed. Other girls blushed prettily, daintily even, but in Nina’s case it was a series of angry crimson blotches.

  “Do not be mortified, Miss Beaulieu, I meant nothing by it. Yes, I left early. I am a newcomer to the city and knew few people there. It was, to be honest, not most enjoyable.”

  “I understand. I didn’t know the people there either and when I’m introduced to someone, I invariably say something dreadful. I wasn’t dreadful to you, was I?” she asked.

  “You didn’t tell me your name,” he pointed out.

  “I did tell you my name. Antonina, Nina,” she protested.

  “Not your family name. I had to ask others who you were.”

  Rather than blushing this time, she found herself smiling because he had asked about her. It felt like an important detail. They walked in silence around the lake and she looked at him discreetly—or as discreetly as she could manage.

  His hair was longer than was fashionable, brown and with a slight curl. He also eschewed the mustache that was obligatory for all men, thus branding himself as utterly foreign, though she rather liked that he did not know or did not care about the trends the others followed. She thought him noble looking, even if he also struck her as overly serious; a man who was not used to mirth, his handsomeness marred by a vague whiff of melancholia.

  “Your friend lives nearby?” she asked.

  “Étienne’s house is on Jusserand Avenue. Étienne Lémy. I don’t know if that means anything to you.”

  “Lémy? My cousin might know him. And Valérie, his wife, knows everyone. Maybe you’ve met. He is Gaetan Beaulieu.”

  “I haven’t had the pleasure.”

  “He’s well esteemed here,” Nina said, unable to feign modesty. She was proud of Gaetan. He was not only the head of the family, but she thought him a wonderful man besides.

  “You sound fond of him,” Hector said.

  Nina nodded. “We practically grew up together. He used to come to visit us every other summer when I was little. He was like an elder brother to us, though to be fair, his playmate was my sister, Madelena. He is her elder by only a year and I was a small girl. Do you have any siblings?”

  “None.”

  “That seems odd. I have so many cousins, you’d need twice the fingers on your hands to count them all,” she said, and raised her hands as if counting them. “Most of us summered together and thus I had an unending pool of brothers and sisters. It is a rather noisy household. I suppose that’s what bothers me most about Gaetan’s home: It’s awfully quiet. You could hear a pin fall in the hallway.”

  “A museum of a house.”

  “Yes!” she exclaimed, delighted with the comparison. It did seem like a museum.

  “It sounds like you miss your home,” he replied.

  “I do. But my mother says the city will do me good. I cannot believe you hadn’t lived in Loisail before. How is that possible?”

  “Must everyone live in Loisail?” he asked, and his voice was tinged with this delightful sarcasm she found refreshing.

  The crushing blackness of his suit gave him a tragic air, and all put together she was impressed by the flesh-and-blood version of this man whom she had spied in posters throughout the city, spending an inordinate amount of time staring at his face on one occasion.

  She decided then and there that she liked him.

  “They tell me anyone who is anyone should,” she said.

  “I’m afraid I haven’t been much of anyone.”

  “You jest! Why, you have no equal except maybe for Abel Rezo. Levitation of a horse? I’d like Reisz or Pressner to attempt that.”

  Hector frowned. “And you gleaned all this from The Gazette for Physical Research?”

  “Not entirely. As I said, I’m interested in psychokinetics. Your name tends to pop up in that field. I’ve read a bit about you. More than a bit, perhaps,” she said, and wished she’d brought a parasol. It would have given her something to hold on to. She feared any second now she was going to send pebbles splashing into the water with the sweep of her eyes.

  Hector gave her a half smirk and took out his pocket watch, sliding the lid open. “Psychokinetics. You’ll have to explain your interest in the subject when next we meet, but I should set off now if I want to make my appointment. It has been delightful speaking to you again.”

  “Delightful as your time at the ball or truly delightful?” she asked, spotting Lisette, who looked irritated. Their time was about to be cut short one way or another, and she wanted to know.

  “Truly delightful,” he replied.

  “We may become friends, then.”

  He looked at Nina, seeming to take the measure of her. Valérie complained that Nina lacked tact, always talking too much or too little. She wondered if he agreed with the assessment and was about to make a quick escape.

  “Without appearing to impose myself, Miss Beaulieu, would it be acceptable if I paid you a visit on an afternoon of your choice?” he asked.

  A visit. A gentleman calling on her! People called all the time on Valérie and Gaetan, but not on her. To be the focus of attention delighted Nina.

  “I would not mind at all. You could call on us on Tuesday after two.”

  “Though my psychokinetic powers may indeed be impressive, I have not yet grasped the art of reading minds. Where is this house that is a museum of yours?”

  “At Lambal and Avil. It’s the blue house. You’ll recognize it rather quickly,” she said, extending her gloved hand so he might shake it. He kissed it instead. Of course he did. This was the proper way to greet and bid good-bye to a lady. Nevertheless, it seemed to her a wonderful gesture and she wished she had misplaced the gloves, as also happened often. She might have felt his lips against her skin instead.

  “Thank you. I shall see you Tuesday, then.”

  He gave her another one of those half smirks before turning around and walking away. Lisette arrived with a bag of crumbs and recriminations. Nina did not hear a single one of them.

  Chapter 3

  VALÉRIE WOKE EARLY NOT BY inclination but by force of habit. It was in her nature to remain languidly in bed until the sun rose high in the sky, but being a busy woman, she could not afford these luxuries on most days. There were always matters to attend to, and not only the amusements and diversions—shopping, eating, entertainment—a lady of her stature was expected to partake in, but also the myriad social gestures the wife of an important man must know. There was the running of the household, which should not be undertaken lightly, and as of late, the supervision of Antonina, Gaetan’s little cousin.

  That morning, though, Valérie had a chance to indulge herself, dozing in bed until it was late, and missed her walk in the park. Slowly she dressed, slowly she placed pins in her hair, slowly sifted through her jewelry box.

  Readying herself was a long and elaborate process. Valérie was beautiful. She was blond and blue-eyed, and her skin was pale, unblemished by freckles or scars. She possessed a divine neck and the slender figure most favored by society. But nature’s gifts may take a woman only a certain distance. It was not a matter of looks, but of picking the dresses that were the most flattering, the ornaments that drew the eye, in order to rise from mere beauty to perfection.

  She was the kind of woman who started and ended trends, who made heads turn when she walked into a room, whose name dripped all over the society pages. She was a feature of Loisail, as imposing and dazzling as the new opera house. And so Valérie dressed slowly and took meticulous care in her appearance.

  Once she was satisfied with the results, she went downstairs, to the conservatory. Valérie was proud of this feature of her home because, more than anything, it signaled the wealth and position she enjoyed. The city was as it had always been: rather crowded. Space was a luxury, homes rapidly shrinking in size. Important families had to do with reduced quarters, for example, renting th
e top flat of a building and stomaching a view of an alley. Thus, even though conservatories were all the rage, when a household could afford one, it was a modest affair, a piddling thing the size of a closet. Valérie’s conservatory was massive, its walls rising high, iron and glass and greenery dazzling visitors. At one end of the structure stood a fountain with the figure of a kneeling stone boy next to it, a gigantic mirror placed behind it, reflecting the water. Baskets with plants dangled from the roof, and there was a bench where one might sit and contemplate the foliage.

  Taste was the most important consideration in Valérie’s conservatory, not practicality. There was no point in toiling with geraniums in this space. She had dedicated herself to the cultivation of striking plants. Ferns, palms, heliotropes, azaleas, these offered the refinement she sought. Lately she had been taken with the notion of orchids, but these might require the construction of an orchid house, an idea she was still mulling over.

  For now, Valérie bent over her roses, running a finger over the delicate white petals. She employed a gardener who took care of her plants, but Valérie believed in the value of proper supervision, and since her new roses—a delightfully fragrant variety, highly ornamental—were the most precious flowers she owned, she thought it prudent to look after them carefully. These white ones had budded, opening to the onslaught of spring.

  After Valérie was satisfied with the state of the conservatory, she went to her office. Valérie received an infinite number of invitations, thank-you missives, and letters, which must receive a response. Ordinarily she did not mind this activity, but there was a letter from Antonina’s mother that had arrived two days prior and that she had been putting off.