The Beautiful Ones

by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

  The memory of Hector’s words, when they’d first met, echoed in her mind. Do you talk to all men in this manner?

  “I am sorry,” she replied. “You’ll judge me a flirt and a poor example of a lady now.”

  “Nonsense,” he said. “Nina, Nina, I don’t understand why you must look somber and begin to overthink—”

  “I do not overthink anything, but when I see you looking at me like that, I don’t want you to imagine—”

  “When you see me looking at you like what? Like I want you? By God, I do want you, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I can cross my arms and keep a decorous distance, and perhaps that would make you happy, but that doesn’t change the fact that I want you.”

  His good humor had evaporated, and the naked anger beneath the mask of courtesy made him ugly, which was a feat for someone that handsome. But he was not made for rage, and his lips should not be mouthing words as he did, the teeth tearing at each one.

  She felt the warmth in her cheeks and knew she, in turn, must look a sight, trembling with embarrassment and also excitement that had not yet dissipated. Because she wanted him in turn, but that was not enough. Her intellect told her this, that it would be ruinous to be guided merely by the drum of the flesh.

  She needed more.

  “Do you wish it were him, here, with you?” Luc asked abruptly.

  Nina pressed her lips together and turned her head, but he caught her face and made her look at him.

  “Nina, don’t be evasive.”

  “No, I don’t wish it were him with me now,” she said. “But that does not make everything better.”

  “Why not?”

  “I do not know if we would be right together.”

  “What? We’d be fine together! You’d certainly be better off with me than with that bitter fool, he has the personality of dried codfish. I know him better than you do—three days married to him and you’d slit your wrists.”

  “Luc, be serious,” she chided him.

  “I am serious! I am absolutely serious! Why is he special?” Luc asked, sounding as if he was being denied a particularly tasty treat.

  “I can’t speak with you when you are like this.”

  “How the devil should I be?”

  Nina began making her way toward the lake, ducking under a low tree branch, but he caught hold of her again and pulled her to him, her wrists trapped between his fingers.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry.” Luc smiled at her and pressed a kiss on her knuckles. One moment he was a raging storm; the next he had quieted and spoke gently.

  “I’ll row you around that lake, how about that?”

  She nodded at him. The trip around the lake, however, was not fine. She felt miserable, he looked terrible, and by the time they were walking out of the park, Nina could not make heads or tails of her thoughts. They took a carriage, and she did her best to avoid conversation by looking out the window. He did the same.

  “Nina, I truly am sorry,” he told her when they arrived back at her great-aunts’ home and before she could step out of the carriage. “I’m not used to … Girls, they usually—”

  “Fall in love with you within the hour?” she replied.

  He chuckled and was embarrassed as he nodded his head. Their good-bye was friendly and light.

  When she’d spent her evenings flipping through the pages of romantic books, she’d always been enthralled by the heroes who declaimed their passion at the top of their lungs. Shouldn’t she be happy, then? Luc was eager to play the part of her hero.

  She ought to write to Madelena and ask for her counsel, although she worried her sister might share her letter with her mother, and everyone would make a fuss of the matter. Until now she had avoided mentioning Luc in her letters, preferring to be discreet until she had a firmer foothold on the situation. But by now, Gaetan must have informed the family at Oldhouse that Luc Lémy courted her.

  She went up to her room and wrote a long letter to Madelena. It rambled, but overall she was happy with the final result. When she was done, she opened her desk drawer to look for an envelope and found the first box Hector had sent her in there. She’d placed the others all together in a chest at the foot of her bed, but this one she had left there.

  “A man may change his mind,” she whispered, echoing his words in the dressing room.

  What about a woman? Could a woman change her mind, her heart?

  The answer did not come easily, certainly not in her sister’s reply, which set forth good-meaning sentences and questions that did not assist Nina. Come back home, if you need to, her sister said, and Nina was beginning to think that might be the best course.

  * * *

  NINA AND LUC SAT BEHIND the house, by the canal. She was reading a book; he had stretched himself on the grass next to her, his hat shadowing him from the sun’s rays, a hand clasped behind his head. The afternoon held them in a perfect, quiet spell.

  “Do you ever want to get away?” she asked him.

  “From Loisail? All the time,” he said, and managed to surprise her with his answer. If there was someone she thought belonged in the city, it was he.

  “I have thought to go to Treviste, up north. I want to build a hotel. I think I mentioned this at one point,” he continued. “No one thinks I can do anything, but they don’t know me. I want to build the most fashionable establishment you’ve ever seen, by the sea. It’ll be utterly modern, luxurious, and every night, there will be a party in the ballroom and we’ll drink champagne. Wouldn’t you like that? To drink and be merry every day.”

  “Surely you can’t drink and be merry every day if you’re busy running a hotel,” she replied, but with a smile.

  “Bah! I’ll hire someone to run it for me, but we,” he said, rising to his feet and helping Nina up, “you and I, we can have fun.”

  “One day, in Treviste.”

  “This summer,” he said, and his aloof face grew serious. “Nina, I wish to speak to your cousin.”

  “Luc, please don’t. Please wait,” she said, knowing he meant to ask for her hand in marriage. Gaetan would in turn ask her what she thought of the matter, and Nina did not know what she would say.

  He had slipped an arm around her waist and bent down, breathing against her neck. “Wait why?”

  “Please wait.”

  “I’ll die if I wait,” he told her.

  He sounded like the men in her books, but she grasped his hands and held them tight. “I want to think,” she said.

  Nina knew this wasn’t right, that they kept pressing back and forth, like the current, and one of these days, she was going to be swept away, but she didn’t know what else to do. She wavered and she considered, and Madelena in her letter asked, But do you love him? and Nina could not say. She could not.

  Chapter 14

  NINA HAD SENT HECTOR A short, polite missive, asking if he wouldn’t be available to have tea. He almost wanted to say, I’ll cook you dinner instead, but that was impossible—she could not visit him in his home, her journey to the theater had been bold enough already. It was not that he disliked tea, but it had occurred to him that it would have been nice if it were the both of them tangled in conversation, as in Oldhouse, when they went by the stream and gathered insects. The world had felt small, and he thought of what she’d looked like in the tower with her hair cascading down her shoulders.

  He dismissed that memory, the kiss they’d shared. He did not wish to overstep boundaries. He also didn’t like the way his pulse stirred when he remembered her.

  Hector donned his overcoat with the black velvet collar and stepped outside. A light spring drizzle fell upon his shoulders, and by the time he reached the café, raindrops nestled in the folds of his coat. He ought to have taken his umbrella. He eschewed a hat, and when he walked into the tearoom, he ran a hand through his damp hair.

  The tearoom was one of those narrow establishments found along Acadia Lane, right across from the river that divided Three Bridges Quarter. The tea
room occupied the ground level, a seamstress operated on the second one, and living quarters were found on the third and fourth levels. Hector made his way inside, past the gleaming counter showcasing scones and biscuits, and spotted Nina.

  She had tucked herself in a large, comfortable chair and held up a book between her hands, absorbed in her reading. In front of her there was a low table, and on top of this a yellow teapot and two cups, slices of lemon, and sugar cubes set in blue-and-white dishes.

  “Good day,” he said.

  “Hector,” she said, and smiled at him. “You are never tardy, are you?”

  “Should I be?”

  “No, it’s … Luc is always ten minutes late,” she said. She blushed and put the book aside, gesturing to the teapot. “Do you fancy a cup?”

  He nodded and he watched her hands, the slim wrist with a silver bracelet, as she poured the tea and then with a hint of mischief, made a sugar cube rise and roll into his cup with a tiny plop.

  “You do it well now,” he said.

  “Sometimes,” she said, “and sometimes the talent has a mind of its own, but less so these days.”

  She stirred her tea, looking melancholic, the splash of rain against the windowpanes amplifying the effect. What’s on your mind, Nina? he wanted to ask, but he was afraid to know the answer. He raised his cup to his lips.

  “I’m thinking of leaving Loisail,” she said, as if she’d perceived his silent question.

  “The Grand Season has not ended,” he replied.

  “I know. I may cut it short.”

  Hector nodded. “Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing. Anyone, looking from the outside in, would say everything is perfect.”

  The rain made the street hazy; it distorted it. The shop was empty save for a man who was half-asleep in a corner and the employee behind the counter. In this cocoon of warmth, they sat close.

  He took off his gloves. “I think I’d miss you if you were to disappear,” he said in a low voice.

  “I could write to you,” she replied.

  He realized they’d had the exact same conversation the previous spring, but their roles had been inverse. He chuckled, and likely noticing the irony, she laughed.

  “Don’t worry, Hector. I won’t take off yet, and I wouldn’t leave without saying my good-byes first.”

  “I’m grateful for that,” he said, trying not to sound hurt, trying not to cringe, and he managed it.

  She’d leave him.

  It was to be expected.

  Nina turned her head, in profile, to look out the window. Her hair was pinned up carefully in place, the collar of her pastel-colored dress high. He thought she was imitating another girl, a wealthy heiress out on society calls. She didn’t look like Nina that day. But then, she was a wealthy girl, and he was, likely, one of her calls, even a charity case. By now, Luc Lémy must have taken her to the right parties, introduced her to all the Beautiful Ones in Loisail.

  “I try to imagine sometimes, what it must have been, for you to leave for Iblevad. To take that leap, without knowing if you’d fail or succeed,” she said. “Weren’t you afraid?”

  “I was terrified,” he said. “But I couldn’t have done anything differently.”

  The engine of his actions had been his belief in love, in happiness. The mention of his voyage obliquely included Valérie, and perhaps that was why Nina looked down at the slices of lemon, her brow furrowed.

  “Nor would I have wanted to. I am glad of who I am now. You don’t know that when you begin a journey, and looking back the picture is not always pretty, but I wouldn’t take any of it back.”

  “Not even your heartbreak?” she asked, stirring sugar cubes with her mind.

  “I doubt the tree complains about the arid seasons and the overwhelming rains as it counts its rings.”

  “You are wiser than I, then.”

  “A little older,” he said. “Not much wiser.”

  She was looking outside again, did not seem able to remain with him even if they sat together. Her index finger slowly traced a sliding drop of water against the glass.

  “I do not understand what I want. Do you think that changes as you get older?” she asked.

  She had turned her face toward him again, expectantly. Hector, who was accustomed to being observed by multitudes, felt shy under the scrutiny of those hazel eyes. He demurred because he realized there was another question under the question, and he did not know what the hell to say.

  “I think it is always difficult to determine that,” he said. “And mistakes will be made.”

  “Yes,” she said, sipping her tea.

  If the day hadn’t been gloomy, perhaps their conversation wouldn’t be tinged with this pensiveness. And she’d been happy in Oldhouse, and he’d been happy, too, when she smiled. Although she was the one who provided their merriment, he decided it would fall upon him this time to distract them.

  “Here, now, do you think we can build a house out of these sugar cubes?” he asked, and as he spoke, the blocks assembled themselves into a box.

  “We wouldn’t have enough.”

  “If you pilfer a few more from the table next to us, we might.”

  Nina reached toward the other table, with its matching porcelain jar full of sugar cubes. She set it down, and Hector made the lid slide off and the sugar cubes trailed out at his command, heaping themselves into place.

  “I always find it harder to control small pieces,” she said. “But you make it look easy.”

  “It is harder. But when I was about twelve, I was already earning my living doing things like this,” he said, reshaping his creation, making a horse out of the cubes.

  “When did you handle large props?”

  “I was about fifteen. I joined a traveling show. The owner was an ogre. He overworked us and did not pay on time, but I honed my skills during that time.”

  “What is your favorite trick?” she asked, resting her chin on the back of her hand as she watched him.

  “Chipping a block of ice until it acquires a specific shape. When they advertised it, on the posters, they said SPECTACULAR, twice. In big letters, so you’d get the point.”

  Nina smiled and then she blushed, although he had no idea how he’d caused that reaction. She had rested her free, ungloved hand against the table, and Hector thought of leaning forward and capturing that hand between his own. But like her, he did not know what he wanted, and he was afraid because he always knew what he desired, it was all atrociously simple, until now it wasn’t.

  “I have a busy day ahead of me,” Hector said, lifting himself from his seat. “But it is always good to see you. Please, if you leave the city, let me know.”

  “I … Yes, I will let you know,” Nina said.

  It was still raining, but he stuffed his hands in his pockets and rushed off, mindless of the weather. She was leaving! And, why not? Why would she stay? Perhaps he might have asked … but he had already said he would miss her, and he did not believe there was anything else left to say.

  Chapter 15

  LUC LÉMY STOOD RATHER DRAMATICALLY with his back to her, an arm draped against the mantelpiece, as if posing for a painting. Valérie scrutinized the young man with a raised eyebrow and a dash of contempt.

  “No, I have been hard at work. Three potential investors lined up for the project, and Gaetan seems to like me,” Luc protested. “I think Nina finds me attractive.”

  “Then, what is the problem?”

  “When I am with her, sometimes I feel as though she is not fully there. I don’t think I’ve managed to capture her soul,” he said, turning around and sounding so earnest, it almost made Valérie want to laugh.

  “My dear Mr. Lémy, souls are flimsy. I wouldn’t think you’d be the kind of man who bothers about capturing that specific item.”

  Luc did not seem amused by her comment. Valérie shook her head.

  “Why is she reticent?” Valérie asked, pausing to rearrange the lush roses in a porcelain vase on the
table next to her.

  “She won’t say it in so many words, but it’s that damn Hector Auvray,” Luc affirmed. “Why in heavens should she be fixated on him?”

  “First loves tend to dig deep into one’s heart,” Valérie said, unable to suppress a rawness in her voice, which made Luc give her an odd look. Valérie composed herself quickly, rising from her chair with a rustle of silk, standing cool and firm. “There’s a remedy to every malady, Mr. Lémy, and I think I have the tonic that may cure this patient.”

  “Will you speak to her? Attempt to sway her to my side? She says she wants time to think about me, but I fear she’ll turn me away.”

  “You can trust me,” she replied.

  “I shall be forever grateful,” he said.

  Perhaps the elusiveness of Luc’s prey had burnished Antonina, making her appear more glorious than she was. Or perhaps it was nothing but the novelty of a conquest, but whatever it was, Valérie was aware Luc’s vehemence only increased by the day. Some of that must reach the girl’s heart, surely, rendering her pliable.

  Valérie was not one to leave things to chance. It could well be that Antonina might be driven into Luc’s arms with a modicum of time. However, the matter of Hector Auvray remained troubling. If he was there, distracting her, Antonina might not do as they wanted.

  Since her chat with Agnes Haduier, Valérie had been paying a man to keep watch on Nina. He had mostly reported about her meetings with Luc Lémy, but there had also been occasions when she had been in Hector’s company: a visit to the theater, a tearoom. Each one of those encounters could have been disastrous.

  Valérie knew enough was enough. The Grand Season was not slowing down, and they needed to secure an alliance before the arrival of the summer. Wait too long, and Antonina might drift toward another suitor. Spring was the time to settle this matter.

  Hector Auvray must be dealt with, now.

  The matter decided, there was nothing else to do than to head to the Royal. Valérie took care to wear a white hat with a veil in case she should be recognized. She did not want anyone to know she’d gone there.