The Beautiful Ones

by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

  Nina then grabbed the glass and handed it to Luc. He frowned. Roslyn asked them if they needed anything else, and when Nina said no, she bowed her head politely and exited the room.

  Luc was still frowning, staring at Nina.

  “What?” she asked.

  “The movement, with the pitcher and the glass,” he said. “The maid saw you.”

  “Roslyn? She’s seen me do that plenty of times. I can pour tea, lemonade, and any spirit you fancy. I haven’t figured out how to uncork a bottle of champagne.”

  “Nina, if you want to play these games in the privacy of your room, I will not chide you, but in the presence of others, you should restrain yourself,” he replied.

  “You’ll chide me only when others look at me, then,” she said.

  “With your family, you may do as you please, but outsiders are another matter entirely.”

  Nina crossed her arms against her chest and scowled.

  “Look, you mustn’t take it badly. Surely people have explained this to you. Your cousin Valérie must have—”

  He could not have said a worse thing. Nina snapped her head up, furious at the mention of the woman’s name. “I don’t care what Valérie thinks of me. What is objectionable about it?”

  “It is not normal. It is a performance at a fair, like the freaks they display for a few coins,” he said.

  “The freaks?”

  “I don’t mean you. I mean, in general, these are carnival games, these are things unfit for ladies.” He stepped forward, wrapped his arms around her, and tipped her head up.

  Her cheeks flared at the thought of his lips against hers, but she shook her head regardless of it and would not allow it.

  “Nina, Nina—”

  “No! You can’t kiss me and make everything better anytime I am upset,” she said, freeing herself from his grasp.

  “But it is a ridiculous thing to be upset about!”

  “This is me, Luc Lémy. Like my eye color and my hair, like the mole on my wrist, this is me. Why is it so difficult for everyone to see that?” she asked him.

  “You have lovely hair and lovely eyes. We should not fight,” he said.

  He meant to take her in his arms once more, but then came the voices of her great-aunts as they returned home, and Nina was grateful for the interruption. She was both flustered and annoyed. The old ladies were pleased to see Luc Lémy, and he diligently greeted them, tossing them many choice compliments.

  When he bade all of them good-bye, he held Nina’s hand tight and she blushed, but she was upset.

  During dinner she considered the matter more evenly. He meant well and his comment was not uncommon. Her family had said similar things to her, her mother fretting over the ability. She knew that they’d sent her to the city because the youths nearby, like the Meinard boy, viewed her with suspicion.

  And yet!

  She stood in her room, by the window, contemplating the canal as she twirled a card in the air.

  Chapter 12

  NINA BEAULIEU STOOD ADMIRING THE great papier-mâché horse’s head resting in his dressing room. It reached above her waist and had been damaged a bit during a recent performance: an ear had fallen off. Hector had plenty of people who could repair it for him, but he liked to do these things himself when he had the chance. He’d handled all his props and costumes by necessity when he was starting in the business, and could even mend trousers and shirts.

  “How do you like the reality behind the spectacle?” he asked.

  She’d insisted in taking a look inside the theater, although he had meant to meet her outside of it and head for a walk. He’d offered her a tour of the whole building, Dufren walking with them as a sort of impromptu chaperone, and Hector showed her the inner workings of his show. She seemed pleased looking at the backdrops and ropes, but he saw no harm in asking.

  “It’s wonderful,” she said. “Did you always know you wanted to do this?”

  “I didn’t have a choice, seeing as both my parents performed—but, yes. I enjoy it.”

  “You could have done something else, I’m sure.”

  “Possibly. But why waste my talent?” he asked.

  “True enough. It’s not as if every man you pass on the street can lift an elephant with his mind.”

  She patted the horse’s head. She was guarded. He did not ask what was wrong, feeling no need to rush the conversation. She’d asked to see him, and they were both slowly stumbling along a path, trying to determine whether they could become friends again. He was glad to be silent and let her speak her mind when she felt like it.

  “Did you ever wish you could be normal?” she asked. “Did you ever wish your talent away?”

  “And miss the chance to lift those pesky elephants?”

  She smiled at that and turned around to look at him. “No doubts, then?”

  “Maybe when I was young. I suppose you’ve considered it. I didn’t realize that.”

  “At times. I … I want to control it, but sometimes I want it gone.”

  “You or others?” he asked.

  “Does it matter?”

  “It’s an important distinction.”

  Nina sighed. “Certain days I believe that it might be easier to be like any other, ordinary lady.”

  Hector held both her hands between his and smiled down at her. “Nina, you can never be ordinary.”

  The warmth of his gesture was both genuine and unexpected, and it startled them both. There was a distance, a bracketing of their emotions, that held them at bay. When either of them breached the line that separated them, it was uncomfortable.

  They could speak now, they could even smile at each other, but the wounds were there. These were not old battle scars, but fresh lines upon the flesh. They might mend, one day.

  “It seems I also can’t be a lady,” she said, sounding nervous. She turned away from him, and her eyes alighted on the boxes of insects he’d left strewn across his desk. She drifted toward them, picking one up and examining its contents. “More beetles,” she said.

  “I did say I bought twenty,” he replied, standing next to the desk and glancing down at the boxes, then back at her.

  “But there are so many here. Your numbers don’t add up.”

  “I bought a few more,” he admitted.

  He’d bought a few books, too, trying to determine exactly what he was looking at.

  “Are you purchasing them in bulk now?”

  “I’m starting to appreciate the beauty of insects.”

  “You say that to make me happy.”

  “I do not say things merely to please you,” he replied, rather serious.

  “But you didn’t care about them before,” she countered.

  “A man may change his mind.”

  Again she appeared guarded, silence stretching between them. The discomfort of neither knowing their place, or proper role.

  “I won’t ask you why you’ve come to see me today, but you may always tell me what you are thinking,” he told her.

  Her eyes flicked to him but they were interrupted before she could speak.

  “Hector, a word with you?” Mr. Dufren asked. He was standing at the entrance with papers in his hands. Hector had left the door wide open, thinking it would be less unseemly that way. Nina was an unmarried lady, after all. Appearances mattered. The open door, however, invited conversation from others, like now, Dufren awaiting him.

  “I’ll be back soon,” Hector told her.

  “Soon” turned out to be closer to fifteen minutes. When he returned and walked in, he saw Nina had moved behind his desk and was looking at his books, her fingers drifting across the spines, like a musician teasing the strings of a guitar.

  She stepped back and made a book drift toward her, opening it as if it were a fan, the pages making a soft rustling sound.

  There was something about Nina, something he struggled to name. It had to do with her hair like blackbird feathers and the way her hands fluttered when she was excited and how she bit
her lips when she thought no one was looking.

  Hector was focused. He looked at details. And nothing made him nervous; he could tame a crowd of hundreds with ease.

  Yet he was nervous now, staring stupidly at her, and the force of that something held him in thrall.

  She must have felt the weight of his gaze because she suddenly caught the book between her hands and pressed it against her chest. “Practice makes perfect,” she said, sounding unsure of herself. She placed the book on his desk and pointed across the room, her voice cheerful yet strained. “What is that? I can’t figure it out,” she said. “Is that an ostrich feather?”

  “That’s a pirate’s hat,” he said, glancing at the corner where he kept the changing screen and his clothing.

  “No.”

  “Do you want to try it on?”

  He pushed the screen aside to reveal the mirror and a wardrobe. It was a tattered old screen, faded golden lions against black. He’d had it for a long time. The wardrobe was also a humble piece of furniture, scratched and battered, but big enough to contain an array of clothes.

  The mirror was grander. Gilded, tall, allowing Hector to see himself entirely. He’d had to do with a cracked hand mirror when he was young, enduring costume changes in the back of patched-up tents.

  Back when he thought only of Valérie.

  That had been long, long ago.

  He’d taught himself how to dress properly, how to speak properly, what items to order from a menu, and the fashionable dances. All for that one woman.

  What good had it done him?

  None.

  And now, this woman, nothing of what he knew could help with her. That was the crux of the matter. He’d learned so much and yet so little.

  “Come on,” Hector said, setting the hat atop her head. “There’s a coat to go with it.”

  “When did you dress as a pirate?”

  “Two years ago, maybe. I despise costumes, but Dufren says it can’t always be me in a black jacket. Here.”

  He pulled out a coat of rich, crimson brocade from the wardrobe and set it on Nina’s shoulders. It was far too large for her, but the color was pleasing. It gave her an impish quality.

  “If you ever compete against me, dress in brocade,” he told her. “Though maybe you’ll leave me without any business if you do.”

  He had meant to rest a hand on her shoulder, but at the last second, he stilled himself and his hand hovered but did not touch her.

  He caught her gaze in the mirror and froze.

  He was not used to this.

  Everything about Valérie had been violent, hasty. There wasn’t any time for them. The minutes of the day escaped them, and they suffered each lost second. Swift excesses and even swifter emotions.

  He’d been young. Now that he was older, wiser, he ought to comport himself better.

  He was a man grown, self-assured and seasoned.

  He was behaving worse than when he’d been a boy. At least back then, he understood what he wanted, he could string a sentence together.

  Now it was like stumbling in the dark, like stuffing thorns in his mouth.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling ridiculous.

  What he wanted to say, what he should say, was I keep thinking about you, it frightens me.

  He might have said it, but then she slid the coat from her lean shoulders, straightened herself up, and took off the hat. “Luc Lémy courts me now,” she said in a small voice. “I thought I should say this.”

  He finally understood why she’d been nervous and those uncomfortable pauses between them. He understood why she’d come to see him. It was Luc Lémy.

  The invisible thorn, it bit into his tongue, and yet he found he could speak at last and his voice was cool.

  “You must be pleased.”

  “He’s fun,” she said, and luckily Hector did not wince.

  “I’m sure he is.”

  Hector went behind his desk. His papers were all in their place, but he pretended to look for an envelope so he could keep his eyes down and away from her. He was irritated and he did not want her to notice.

  “He said you fought the other day,” she told him.

  “We had a misunderstanding.”

  “About me.”

  “He’s hotheaded.”

  “Hector, Luc is—”

  He did look up at her now, and his gaze was flat. “Very fond of you. I know. It makes me happy to see you happy.”

  Nina looked confused and also relieved and who the hell knew what else. He could not tell. He also had no idea if he meant what he had said, and that was deeply troubling.

  No, he had. He wanted to see her happy. It was, if it hadn’t … but … Luc Lémy. But Hector had no reason to voice an opinion when he had not been asked to give one, and no reason to be upset after the way he had behaved the previous summer. As Luc had cheekily put it, he’d had his chance. It was Luc who was courting Nina now, Luc who would attempt to win her affections. For a gentleman, it would have been unseemly to interfere.

  For the man who had broken Nina’s heart, it would be even more unseemly.

  Hector had no right to whisper a word or think an ill thought of Luc.

  He swallowed the thorns and smiled at her.

  She smiled back tremulously, like a butterfly testing her wings, and he thought, She does like Luc.

  “I should go. My great-aunts complain that I miss mealtimes and then the maid must warm my supper,” Nina said.

  “It’s been a pleasure seeing you again.”

  “I’ll stop by another time,” she promised. “I’ll send a note.”

  After she’d left, he wondered when that would be and shook his head.

  Chapter 13

  THERE WERE NO PINES AT Pine Lake Park, which rendered the origin of its name a mystery. There was a lake, and one could rent boats and row across it. Unlike most of the other parks of the city, which exhibited a symmetrical arrangement of trees and garden beds with a fountain or an important monument at its heart, Pine Lake Park was a chaotic assemblage of well-trodden paths and clumps of trees.

  “And then he confiscated the motorcar,” Luc concluded dramatically as they approached one of those clumps.

  “Can it be really ‘confiscated’ when it belongs to your brother?” Nina asked.

  “You do not understand. It’s the heartlessness of the matter.”

  From atop the hill, one had a lovely view of the lake, and the trees provided needed shelter from the sun, making it the perfect spot to linger.

  “How heartless, yes, to deprive you of your toys,” she said.

  “You mock me.”

  Nina reached above her head, holding on to an overhanging branch with her left arm while she pointed with her free one at the lake. “We should rent a boat and row across the water.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not a man fit for manual labor,” Luc replied.

  “I’ll row you if you can’t,” Nina said with a chuckle.

  “That would not be gentlemanly.”

  “It would be fun.”

  Luc looked up, frowning. “It’s sunny. I’ll burn.”

  “A few freckles never killed anyone.”

  “I didn’t say they’d kill me. I don’t like them.”

  “You are the vainest man in the world.”

  Perhaps he had earned his vanity. The light filtered through the leaves, making his hair golden, like a halo, and his eyes were of a magnificent blue.

  Luc moved closer to her and pressed her back gently against a tree, bending down for a kiss. She rested a palm against the trunk of the tree, tracing the rough texture of the bark, while her other hand rose to touch his cheek.

  She had forgiven him for their tiff the other day, and quickly at that. He was an expert at begging for forgiveness, contrite words slipping easily from his tongue. Though she accepted the words and the peace offering in the shape of this walk through the park, she felt sad.

  “Someone will see,” she said, turning her he
ad, her eyes on the lake.

  “No one can see us here.”

  He was right. The grove was shady and cool, a wall of leaves and tree trunks shielding them from passersby. Not that there were passersby. No path led by the grove. They were alone. He had, perhaps, chosen this location strategically, knowing they would not be bothered.

  “Maybe,” she conceded. She tried to slide away from him, her eyes on the lake. “We must hurry if we are going to rent a boat, or they’ll all be taken.”

  “There’s time enough for that,” he replied.

  She parted her lips and Luc kissed her again, and this time he was too eager. He pressed her more firmly against the tree; the bark bit into her back, and his hands rested on her waist.

  They’d warned her of men who took liberties with women. Both her mother and Valérie, and her cousins back at Oldhouse. They had not warned her that sometimes she might want to have certain liberties taken. They had also not explained what might happen when her body thrummed, electric, yet her heart remained subdued.

  The books she’d read were of no help either—the heroines in them fainted whenever a man kissed them.

  She did not feel like fainting. Her pulse did quicken, but it was not the same—she did not want to think it, but it wasn’t the same as it was with Hector. When he’d walked into a room, she could not help but smile, and when he stood in front of her, she’d been very alive, heart hammering in her chest. Sometimes she had held her breath in anticipation, thinking he might kiss her, and that day at the tower, he had.

  Luc’s fingers traced her neck now.

  She caught his hand and looked at him. “Luc, stop.”

  “Hmm?”

  She shoved him back, only a smidgen of her talent on display, and he stumbled, frowning. “Luc, I would not want to mislead you,” she said, glad she had the presence of mind to speak firmly.

  “How so?” he asked.

  “I enjoy your company and you are one of the most charming men that I’ve ever met, but I do not want you to think we are sweethearts. Or that anything may come of this.”

  He chuckled, but it was not a merry sound. Even so, he tried to maintain a mask of good humor. “You sound like me. I didn’t think a woman would ever tell me this.”