The Beautiful Ones

by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

  Nina did not understand how this could be, considering that Cousin Gaetan managed to stay in Loisail for many weeks during the summer, overseeing his business affairs, but it seemed that when one could manage, one should abandon the metropolis, and none of the smart ladies would abide to be seen walking down the boulevards at that time of year.

  “I was thinking you might visit us at Oldhouse,” she said. “You could stay for as long as you like. We are hospitable and it is a pleasant place.”

  “I’m sure it is, but I will remain in the city for most of the summer.”

  “But not all of it?”

  “My friend Étienne is going to Bosegnan, where his fiancée’s summer home is located, and I shall be going with him to meet the fiancée in question, who has been abroad for the better part of the year.”

  “That is perfect!” Nina exclaimed. “You must cross Montipouret in order to reach Bosegnan, and a few days in Oldhouse would not alter your course. Your friend is welcome to stay with us. We would all be jolly. I’ve grown accustomed to our talks and would miss you if I were not to see you for months on end.”

  “You may write to me.”

  “Bah. A letter is not the same at all. I’d have to write a dozen a day in order to keep you well informed. You know how I go on. Won’t you join us at Oldhouse?”

  “It’s a serious request,” he said, and his face was grim, as though she’d asked him to witness an execution with her. He was like this; a dark cloud would periodically blot out the sun and drain all mirth from his body. She did not understand it.

  “‘Serious’? It’s a summer getaway in the countryside. Must you be gloomy about everything?” she asked. He was vexing her. She had thought he would be pleased at the idea and now found herself considering that he might not want to spend an extensive number of days with her.

  Hector did not reply and she glanced away, looking at the patrons who sat outside a café in the afternoon sun. Her lips trembled.

  “I’ll go,” he said with a sigh, his hand resting upon her arm.

  “No, you must not feel obligated to me,” she murmured.

  His hold on her tightened and he pulled her aside, under the awning of a hat shop. “Nina, I want to go with you,” he said.

  She knew by now he was the kind of man who, once he had made a choice, would follow the path set down unblinking, but as he looked down at her, she spoke.

  “Are you sure?” she asked. He was close to her; if he but moved a step forward, the buttons of his coat would brush against her chest. She’d seen an illustration in a book where a man held a woman in his arms like this.

  But he did not take that step. He smiled instead. “Yes,” he said.

  His smile was nearly shy, and she beamed at him in delight. “You will like it,” she promised as they began walking again. “It’s beautiful there.”

  “I haven’t been anywhere near the countryside in ages.”

  “Where did you holiday when you were in Iblevad?”

  He shrugged. “I seldom holiday anywhere. I’ve been busy working.”

  “Clearly I’ve come to save you from yourself.”

  “I wouldn’t go as far as that.”

  “You’ll see,” she said, glancing at the street, the restaurants.

  “Indeed. But for now, we should hail a carriage.”

  She sighed. “I wish we could keep talking and sup together. I wish we could go to Castet’s. Wouldn’t that be fun? Drinking champagne and eating oysters,” she said.

  “If you really want oysters, the place to go is the wooden stalls of the open market, early in the day.”

  “You wouldn’t be breakfasting like that at the market, would you?” she asked.

  “Why not?” he replied. “Does it sound too common?”

  She shook her head. “Maybe. But also exciting. I envy you. I think you may do anything you want.”

  “Not anything,” he said, and surely he meant little by it, but a deep note in his voice thrilled her. A promise, a secret, which made her reach out and touch his arm lightly as they crossed the street.

  “There is a bird they call an oystercatcher and it is a mistake to call it thus, since it also dines on crabs, mussels, and echinoderms. Its eggs are darling, with the most handsome markings, but it has the nasty habit of leaving them in seagulls’ nests for the other birds to care for,” Nina said, because when she could not find proper words or gestures, she defaulted to the lines she’d read in books.

  Though they had walked but a few paces, she realized she sounded breathless and likely this was why Hector paused to look down at her, curious, making her blush, which was what she’d been avoiding.

  They stood motionless and then he leaned down, and she thought he meant to touch her, kiss her. Instead, Hector snapped up his head and spoke to a driver waiting by the curb. He helped Nina into the carriage, and when he released her hand, he smiled again, and in that fluttering second she knew she loved him, loved him true, and it wasn’t the coy flirtation of a young woman.

  Chapter 13

  MONTIPOURET WAS A REGION OF rivers and lakes, its water mills constantly churning. It was also a place of forests, thickets, and marshes, which contrasted with the open fields and neatly divided parcels of the northern regions. Much of the travel in the area took place by boat. That was how the Beaulieus made their fortune a couple of centuries before: by ferrying wool upriver to be sold in other regions. Timber, coal, wool, and goats’ milk were the staples of these lands.

  The railway now cut through the region, but Montipouret remained less populous, more isolated, and rougher than the rest of the country. Reaching Oldhouse was still an odyssey. Valérie, used to her fine carriage and the macadam streets of Loisail, could not help but mutter to herself as they abandoned the train at Dijou and boarded a carriage that took them down a bumpy road that grew bumpier as the minutes went by. Soon it was not a road at all but a dirt path.

  Eventually they arrived at Oldhouse, an estate lacking in grace. It was made of rough stones that had been piled upon one another in a manner that ensured it was sturdy, but nowhere near a delight to the eye.

  Oldhouse was divided into two structures, the original Oldhouse having necessitated an annex at a point. A Beaulieu who had a modicum of artistic aspiration had ensured that the main structure and the annex were connected by a long, wide hallway with tall stained-glass windows. These were beautifully rendered but completely out of place, producing a grotesque contrast between the heavy building with small windows and the airy hallway.

  Behind Oldhouse rose a tower, like a bony finger pointing at the sky. It preceded the house, marking the remains of another estate. These sights were not unusual in Montipouret, as the locals were fond of reusing whatever stones they could and building new homes with them. Debris and foundations were left here and there, smudges upon the land. The result was an anachronistic combination, one that only rendered Oldhouse uglier and more haphazard.

  Valérie never relished the days she spent in Oldhouse, and she had loathed the previous summer when she had been forced to endure a month there in an effort to prepare Antonina for the Grand Season, an absolute waste of her time, since Antonina was often out looking for disgusting bugs or ignoring her advice. This year she’d had even less interest in visiting if it meant she’d have to stomach Hector and Antonina together for days on end, but when she had tried to extricate herself from Oldhouse, both her husband and Antonina’s mother balked at the idea. They thought Antonina needed Valérie’s guidance in this matter. An extended visit from a suitor was of the utmost importance and Valérie was a northerner, like Auvray. Who better to counsel the girl and watch over her best interests? Besides, Antonina’s mother was busy running the household, while Antonina’s sister was pregnant with her first child and did not live at Oldhouse anymore, though she had stopped by for a few days. Valérie was reckoned invaluable.

  Valérie simply nodded her head as she always did, her face a pretty mask of porcelain, and declared she would a
ccompany the girl.

  Valérie and Antonina stepped out of the carriage and into Oldhouse. As soon as they entered the structure, four shaggy dogs rushed to greet them and Nina laughed and patted their heads while Valérie pursed her lips together.

  Then came a coterie of aunts, uncles, and cousins. These, like the dogs, were a staple of Oldhouse. The place was always bursting with distant relations and associates of the family. The women clucked and hawed at them. Ordinarily Valérie would have been the center of attention, but they gathered around Antonina, exclaiming at her fine gown and finer looks.

  They were dragged to the cavernous hall, with its ancient tapestries and its great fireplace, where most of the activity in Oldhouse occurred. Two gnarled women—twins, Lise and Linette—sat by the fire. Lise had the annoying habit of calling every woman “sweetheart,” while Linette was almost deaf. They lived in Loisail, but like most of the Beaulieus they came to roost at Oldhouse in the summer.

  Two younger women were also by the fire, in high-backed chairs of studded leather: Camille, Nina’s mother; and Madelena, Nina’s elder sister. Madelena took after her mother, with a trace of the Beaulieu in her. She had light brown hair, fine hands, and her mother’s heavy-lidded eyes, which Nina had also acquired, though Nina’s eyes were hazel instead of brown.

  Camille and Madelena stood up and hugged Valérie and Antonina both, the sisters giggling when they saw each other.

  “Madelena, you are as big as a ship,” Nina declared, looking at her sister’s belly. The woman was quite pregnant. Nevertheless, it was the height of bad manners to remark upon such a thing, and Valérie could not help but glare at Antonina, even if the girl was oblivious to her impropriety.

  “And you look like a lady,” Madelena replied. “Cousin Valérie, you have turned her into a woman fit for Loisail’s society.”

  Valérie had to bite her tongue because all Nina could do was “look” the part.

  “I have tried,” Valérie said tactfully.

  “We are happy to see you,” Camille said. “We are also delighted to have you with us, Valérie. Do you know when Gaetan will be joining us?”

  “Sometime next month. He sends his love.”

  “And when is Nina’s friend going to come?” one of the younger cousins piped.

  “He is her fiancé, silly goose,” another cousin replied.

  “Mr. Auvray will be here tomorrow,” Nina said primly.

  An animated discussion began, but Valérie raised her voice to interrupt the mutterings. “He is not her fiancé,” she said. “Mr. Auvray is but a suitor. We must not get ahead of ourselves.”

  “Nina wrote that she expects to be married to him within the year,” the cousin who had spoken before interjected.

  Nina had the decency to blush and shake her head. “I said he might ask,” she said. “I think he will.”

  More mutterings began. Valérie could feel the beginning of a headache. How irritating these people were!

  She excused herself as quickly as she could, claiming she really should begin to unpack, but truly she could not stomach the commotion and the loud shrieks of Aunt Linette, who kept asking Lise what everyone was going on about.

  Once safely in her room, which was located in the main house, Valérie sat on the massive bed, rubbing her temples with both hands.

  This was the room where she always stayed whenever she visited the estate. It was crammed with heavy wooden furniture carved with patterns of intricate flowers. The bedspread was a sickening shade of green, with a carpet to match it. There was a fireplace with enameled tiles, the most attractive feature of the room because it meant she would not be cold; the house was eternally chilly.

  This was one of the finest rooms in Oldhouse, they’d told her when she’d first arrived. It had been decorated to the taste of the northern wife of a certain Beaulieu and thus was reckoned most appropriate for Valérie, but it was still a sad chamber. The bathroom was better, all green marble with proper plumbing and plenty of towels. Nothing like Loisail, though.

  She wondered what room they’d give to Hector and what he would think of this place. Perhaps he’d find some rustic charm in it, as he apparently found some rustic charm in Antonina. Valérie, grown jealously like a flower in a hothouse, could not see any prettiness in Antonina; her luxuriant qualities were to her an affront. It was like staring at a weed. Her upbringing made her want to stab it with a spade, stomp on it quick, lest it contaminate the garden.

  Valérie began to unpack. She placed her dresses in the wardrobe, then carefully set her perfumes and her hairbrush upon the vanity. She had brought one of her jewelry boxes, though she did not think she’d have the occasion to wear this finery. She pulled idly at her necklaces, feeling the weight of her pearls.

  Her hands found Hector’s ring.

  There was a knock on the door, and before Valérie could reply, Antonina breezed in.

  “Valérie, did you bring that blue sash of yours? I’d love to borrow it for tomorrow.”

  Valérie placed the ring aside and shook her head. “I did not.”

  “That’s a pity. I’ll have to ask my sister if she has one.”

  The girl was ready to bolt again, but Valérie raised her voice. “Antonina, may I speak with you?”

  “Always. What is it?”

  Valérie had thought about her exact words and was satisfied with the speech she had concocted. “Antonina, I can understand how exciting it must be to have Mr. Auvray staying at Oldhouse. Yet I am afraid you are a bit too excitable when it comes to him. Today, for example, you said you expect him to ask for your hand in marriage though he has not made any formal inquiry of the sort.”

  “He brings me flowers every time he visits,” Nina said wistfully, clasping her hands together, as if she were holding an invisible bouquet.

  “Darling child, I am sure during his life he has had plenty of occasions to take flowers to a number of girls.”

  Antonina frowned. Her face was already looking stormy, though Valérie had spoken but a few words. The girl had a temper and wore her heart on her sleeve. “Are you saying he is a cad? He is a perfect gentleman, I can assure you that.”

  “A bachelor of his age—”

  “Valérie, please, I said he was a perfect gentleman,” Antonina said, raising her voice in a way that always made Valérie want to slap respect into her. She spoke when she pleased, she frowned and she cried and she was crude.

  Valérie sat still, her haughty head high, and she looked carefully at the girl. “You must be cautious. A man may change his tune or never sing the tune you expect him to sing at all. You do not know him well enough. It is not advisable to fling yourself at a man simply because he brings you flowers. Be sensible and watch the words that come out of your mouth. You should not have spoken of an engagement without proper assurances.”

  “It was merely … I wrote a few letters to my sister and my cousins, and they asked—”

  “You lack decorum,” Valerie declared, a judge speaking a sentence.

  “Of course you’d say that,” Antonina told her. “You simply hate Hector because he is not one of the boring boys you would have picked for me.”

  “All of them sensible young men.”

  “I do not want to be sensible.” Antonina had begun pacing around the room.

  Valérie gritted her teeth. “I was your age once and know how tempting it is to throw caution to the wind, but I—”

  “I doubt it. I doubt you were ever young at all. Why, you act as though you are older than my great-aunts Lise and Linette combined. You reproach me everything and allow nothing. Why must you be so … so mean?”

  Valérie was not one prone to kindness, though she had, on occasion, been known to be fair. She was attempting to be fair with Antonina, who was, after all, her cousin by marriage. What was she receiving? Nothing but awful words and terrible manners.

  Valérie had viewed Antonina as a piece jostled between Hector and herself, a speck of guilt moving her to speak. Now the guilt
was washed away by pure anger.

  If Antonina defied her, then she was her enemy.

  “Ignore my counsel as you always do, then,” Valérie said. “I waste my breath on the likes of you. You’ll end an old maid.”

  Antonina was contrite for a moment, but this was only a moment. Her eyes soon sparked again with that fire of hers. “He does intend to marry me. You shall see.”

  “I await news of his proposal with bated breath.”

  “You mock me,” Antonina said, sounding affronted.

  “You mock yourself.”

  Finally words failed the girl. She exited the room with a loud bang of the door, which made Valérie wince even if the theatrics were to be expected. She rubbed her temples again, wondering what the next day would bring and the day after that, Hector’s presence surely blotting each sunrise like ink spilled upon a page. And Antonina with her inane twittering, making it worse.

  Chapter 14

  ÉTIENNE DOZED FOR MOST OF the train ride and Luc complained, a pattern that was reenacted once they boarded a carriage and set off for Oldhouse.

  “I hope there is hunting here,” Luc said. “I will absolutely die if there isn’t even any hunting.”

  “I’m sure there’s game enough,” Hector said. He had not been this far south, but he’d had plenty of opportunity to survey the countryside as the train cut its path through the land, his eyes falling upon brooks and dense patches of trees.

  “But would they have proper horses?” Luc wondered, shaking his blond head. He was as handsome as he was spoiled, a prime example of the Beautiful Ones. “There’s nothing worse than a hunt with an old nag to ride. Why did you drag me here, again?”

  “I did not drag you here,” Étienne replied. He had placed his hat upon his face to try to sleep. “Father sent you with me because you were chasing after a dancer.”

  “As if you haven’t chased dancers of your own.”

  “You were spending ridiculous amounts of money on her. Borrowed money, I may add.”