The Beautiful Ones

by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

  He should be pleased about this, she thought as she signed the letter.

  She was pleased, too, knowing the venture that they were pursuing could proceed. Nevertheless, she wished she could have married off Antonina to a repulsive codger instead of that golden boy.

  She doesn’t deserve anything, she thought.

  At least Antonina wouldn’t have Hector Auvray, and perhaps most important, Hector Auvray could see whatever notions of happiness he was attempting to thread together undone between his fingers. Valérie assumed that after the wedding, Luc Lémy would want to oversee the construction of the hotel. Valérie would recommend that he take Antonina with him to ensure she would not cross paths with Hector. Newlyweds should not be apart.

  That would be the end of that tale, an aborted romance. In years to come, Antonina could look back and wonder about lost opportunities.

  Valérie folded the letter and slid it into an envelope. The motion caused the shawl to slip from her pale shoulders, and she saw in the mirror her arms, the marks from the roses.

  Chapter 17

  SHE HAD NOT STEPPED INSIDE Gaetan’s house since the past spring and now to be back, with Valérie sitting next to her cousin, was excruciating, especially considering the topic of their conversation. Nina had already suggested this matter might be discussed between Gaetan and her alone, but he had brushed the comment away. Valérie remained with them.

  “I asked Mr. Lémy for time,” Nina said, unable to disguise the irritation in her voice.

  “It is not Luc who has called for this meeting,” Gaetan told her firmly. “It is I.”

  Nina sat in the armchair, quiet. The drawing room was brightly lit, but there was no warmth in this place. Even her cousin acted coldly.

  “I have written to your mother, and she agrees with me that Luc Lémy is a suitable, well-bred young man. I see no reason to deny him your hand in marriage. However, I shan’t force the matter. Suffice it to say we have spoken and he is enthused with the idea. If you’d like to speak to him first, if it would help, I can call for him. He awaits in the library.”

  “Cousin, in my heart I do not know whether marriage to Luc Lémy is the best for me,” she replied.

  “Nina, your mother and I agree this marriage would suit you fine.”

  “If the matter has been thus resolved, why even bother asking me?” she said, her voice rising.

  Gaetan looked most displeased. Her cousin was of a rather positive disposition. Nina had no idea what could have him in this state and why he looked at her harshly. Did he think her spoiled? It was her second Grand Season and he had been sure she’d be engaged during her first one, but that could not possibly be it.

  “I realize now I have been too indulgent with you,” Gaetan said. “I should have made you a match from the beginning.”

  “Cousin—”

  “Why don’t you fetch Luc?” Valérie suggested, turning to her husband and interrupting Nina. “Formalities may be formalities, but perhaps these matters are best discussed by the youths themselves.”

  “Yes, yes, indeed,” Gaetan agreed with an exasperated sigh.

  He stepped out, leaving Valérie and Nina alone. Gaetan had never spoken to her like this. They’d had disagreements, but her cousin was kind, generous. Nina was wounded by his attitude. But was she the one in the wrong? Wasn’t Nina supposed to do the bidding of her elders, of the head of the family?

  “That went poorly,” Valérie said.

  The woman was more than pleased. She was practically purring. Nina did not look at Valérie, but she felt her sardonic gaze all the same like a suffocating mantle.

  “You are waiting for a man who will never set his eyes on you, Antonina. Don’t be foolish and toss away a first-rate offer,” Valérie told her, sounding casual.

  To utter a word would be like baiting a hungry bear, but Nina’s silence and her stillness betrayed her all the same, poignant with fear.

  “I know Hector Auvray does not love you,” Valérie said in a whisper.

  Nothing more, speak no more, Nina thought.

  “I have seen him,” Valérie said.

  Nina did not wish to ask the question, but she found it escaping her lips before she could prevent it. “You’ve seen Hector?”

  “Yes. We are on speaking terms once more. He has expressed his utter, undying devotion to me. Poor man, he cannot live without me.”

  “You lie. He wouldn’t speak to you. He does not want to see you again,” Nina said.

  Valérie raised her head, her eyes bright. Her smile deepened and her voice was silk and honey over Nina’s reopening wounds. “In his dressing room, on his desk, he keeps those beetles. I’ll have them tossed out, I dislike them.”

  Nina was unable, for the life of her, to form a reply. The words withered in her mouth; it was as if she’d been struck. She felt herself shrinking in her seat, her head bowing to evade the triumphant sneer on Valérie’s face.

  “No, why would he do that? He wouldn’t do that, he wouldn’t lie, he—”

  “He lied once, easily enough,” Valérie said with a shrug. “You must not take it too hard. He was trying to put me out of his mind. But those times you’ve met, it’s been me he wished to be with, as always. And then, the last time, when you spoke at the tearoom, afterward he came to—”

  It took every ounce of effort in Nina’s body to keep herself from flinging Valérie across the room, and the older woman must have noticed this, the way Nina pressed her palms against her forehead and then her sharp, angry voice.

  “Stop! Stop speaking to me!”

  “I have nothing more to say,” Valérie told her.

  No. No need at all to add another word. Hector had told Valérie about the beetles, he’d told her about their talk in the tearoom, he had probably divulged all Nina’s secrets. They must have laughed at her. Silly child! Trusting and silly and ever forgiving.

  The door opened and Luc Lémy walked in. Valérie greeted him on her way out, her voice courteous, beautiful.

  Nina sat with a closed fist nestled against her bodice, her breath burning in her throat. She had not ever fainted in her life, and whenever she’d seen a lady roll upon a divan, she’d thought it funny, people fanning her and bringing smelling salts.

  She felt she could faint now.

  “Miss Beaulieu,” Luc said.

  “Mr. Lémy,” she replied.

  There were tears in her eyes. She felt like an idiot, forcing herself to blink them away. Madness! She was mad and stupid for having ever thought that Hector … that they … What a fool!

  “What is wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing. My nerves,” she lied. Nina pressed her hands together, against her skirts, to keep them from shaking.

  Luc, seemingly concerned a second before, must have judged this was the behavior of a silly, blushing girl overcome with emotion, because he smiled broadly and was pleased. “You should not be nervous. This is not an arithmetic test.”

  “I’m not bad at arithmetic,” she said.

  Luc stood with aplomb. He was dressed finely as usual, but there was a special vehemence to him that evening, the strut of a conqueror as he began to speak to her. “Miss Beaulieu, we both know exactly what I’m going to ask, as I can see by your beautiful face. I must therefore cut to the chase, as it may be, and inform you I find you most pleasant and would be delighted if you’d agree to be my wife.”

  “Thank you. It is sweet of you. I—”

  “You will agree to it?” he replied.

  His eagerness was almost grating. She did not wish to converse with him. She did not wish to discuss this, not now. Every nerve in her body hurt, and she wanted only to rush back to her room and to be alone.

  “I cannot … I cannot say whether I should accept your proposal.”

  Her answer did not seem to dent his resolve, and he looked only mildly curious, not offended by her reply. “Why would you refuse a marriage proposal from a man as charming as myself?”

  “Some might say you a
re conceited, too,” she remarked.

  “Some might be right. Is that a terrible impediment?”

  He sank suddenly to his knees and clasped her hands in a display of exaggerated romanticism, kissing them both. He resembled the illustrations of sentimental novels she had read, but in real life, it was too theatrical and she shook her head.

  “Please stand up,” she told him.

  “Nina, I would make you perfectly happy. If you marry me, you’d never have a sad day in your life ever again,” he said. “You’ll never cry another tear.”

  “You cannot possibly promise that.”

  “I am promising it.”

  He might promise her the moon and the stars, and not care for a moment that he couldn’t pluck them from heaven. He might do that before the clock struck nine.

  “That is the problem,” she said, spreading her hands and rising from the armchair. “I’m not sure you ever take anything seriously, and you spout all these pronouncements, but have you truly considered what life with me really means?”

  “It means kisses in the morning and at nights, and a mighty number of embraces. I don’t think you are ill-disposed to my embraces.” He stood up quickly and, as if to demonstrate his point, placed his hands on her waist, pulling her close.

  “I’d lie if I said I was,” she said, sliding his hands off her, “yet I’d lie if I didn’t say there’s more to life than kisses and embraces.”

  She walked toward a window, away from him. Distance at this moment was necessary; she was all raw nerves and raging emotions. She did not even know how she was able to summon the willpower to speak to him, though the conversation was helping to calm her down.

  “Like what?” he asked.

  “You hate my talent, for one.”

  “I do not hate it,” he clarified. “I don’t see a need to have you juggling apples in the air for the enjoyment of the servants.”

  “You are a ladies’ man, and do not try to protest the point. Would you be satisfied with one woman alone when there’s a city full of them, awaiting your attentions?”

  “Dear Nina, when that one woman is as pretty as you are, yes.”

  “Don’t ‘pretty’ me,” she muttered. “It’s the only thing you ever say. How pretty I look and what a fine dress I’m wearing.”

  “I’m sure you are very fine without your clothes on, too.”

  She could do nothing but blush at that, and he took it as a point in his favor, immediately moving to her side.

  “I’ll buy you a most extravagant engagement ring,” he promised. “I’ve already spotted a couple at Duveras, both with enticing emeralds, to match those enticing eyes of yours. We can go try them on tomorrow. You’ll be the envy of the city with that ring on your finger. Marry me for the jewelry if it pleases you.”

  She smiled at that. “I don’t like jewelry.”

  “Nonsense, all women do. I’ll buy you a horse. There.”

  Only a man like Luc Lémy would think to bribe her with a horse and a ring. She turned on her heels, away from him, but then he wrapped his arms around her from behind and she felt his lips against her hair, his chest pressed against her back.

  “Why won’t you marry me? It’ll be fun,” he whispered.

  “I always thought I’d marry for love,” she whispered back.

  “I love you,” he said so effortlessly, she thought it could not be true.

  If it was a lie, was it so bad? If love was the terrible misery coursing through her veins and nothing but vain longing, perhaps it was not so wonderful as she had presumed. And whatever it was, with Luc, he was there, with her, with smiles and jokes and embraces.

  And her family wanted this, Gaetan was pushing the point, and Hector had made a fool of her once more.

  She closed her eyes and the tears returned. She recalled Oldhouse and her tricks with cards and the trips to the Devil’s Throne, and how hard she’d tried to scorch Hector Auvray from her mind. It had not worked, and there she was again, like standing atop the rocks, ready to shatter once more.

  Luc Lémy turned her around, and she was weak, she felt like she might fall, but he held her up. “Don’t cry,” he said.

  “I’m not … It’s … If you’ll give me a moment,” she said in a paper-thin voice.

  He gave her a kiss instead. He constantly did that, ambushing her with caresses, and she realized he’d always be like this, that he’d attempt to wash away any hurt and any sin with a kiss on her lips, but it didn’t matter now.

  He said he loved her, and it had sounded pretty.

  And when he kissed her she didn’t think, she simply felt, and it was better than to have to deal with the anger, the sadness, the despair.

  She buried her face in his chest.

  “Let me make you happy,” Luc said. “Let me take you away.”

  It almost did not matter that Hector did not love her. Except it did. It absolutely did. But to heap on top of heartbreak the humiliation of having been twice passed over for Valérie, twice fooled. Loisail was poisonous; it made her sick. She wished to be far from it, and when Luc spoke, she listened. She really listened this time.

  “You asked me if I ever wanted to get away. If you want us to go, we can go.”

  “I do want to go away,” she told him. “Far from everyone, until I remember nothing from this city.”

  She thought that for all his swagger and his posturing, Luc could be kind, and perhaps he was right, he could make her happy. And she wanted, more than anything in that moment, for someone to come and save her. For a hero to vanquish her fears and set the world right, and he looked the part of a knight in a book, he spoke the part.

  “Then that is what we shall do,” he said.

  Nina nodded.

  “You’ll marry me, then?” His hand rose, coming to rest lightly against her cheek, and he smiled.

  “I’ll marry you,” she said.

  Chapter 18

  HE CUT HIMSELF SHAVING AND uttered a loud blasphemy at the mirror, sending his razor spinning against the tiles with a flicker of his eyes.

  Hector enjoyed certainty. He followed a rigorous schedule; he paid attention to the tick of the clock, marking the proper hours for appointments and activities. Lately, though, he found himself terribly uncertain, and the feeling was not improving. That morning he felt as if he were sinking into quicksand.

  More than a week had passed since Valérie visited him at the Royal, plunging him into a miasma. He had wondered what he might feel if he ever spoke with her again. He had not imagined it would be disgust. But that was exactly what he had experienced. He could not help but believe that his past, his youthful love, was tarnished by her actions.

  She had broken so many of his dreams, and it seemed to him that now she burned the last, sweet remains of his affection.

  However, there was something liberating in the moment. He was like the man who is given a reprieve by the executioner.

  And then she had swung the ax again, threatening to snatch Nina away.

  Not that he could claim Nina was his in any way; it was ridiculous to imagine she might be carried off like a stolen brooch.

  It was Thursday, and Hector had to go to the Royal. He was scrupulous in his punctuality. Mornings were not to be wasted. Yet he’d risen late.

  Which was why he was in a bad mood that day. He made the blade spin in a whirl of silver and then stilled it. He leaned down to pick it up, washed it, finished shaving.

  He concluded his preparations but stopped at the door.

  Nina had not sent a letter, and the sensation that all was amiss, that Valérie had said or performed a new act of cruelty, was intensifying.

  She is under no obligation to see me, he thought. And I cannot saunter into her home.

  Perhaps he could send her a note. A simple, pleasant greeting. It would not be too bold. This thought revived him, and he set off to work, penned the note, and asked a boy at the theater to deliver it.

  Unfortunately, the boy returned within the hour, looking
mortified. “The lady said you should have your note back,” he told Hector.

  “She said what?” Hector asked.

  “She sent it back.”

  He wanted to barge into her home, beg for an explanation, and he forced himself to remain calm. It would have been unseemly, and she would be put off by such rudeness. He sent another note the week after, and the answer was the same. Miss Beaulieu was not accepting his correspondence. What on earth had happened?

  One day later, although it was a morning when Hector should have ventured toward the theater, he grabbed his coat and had a carriage take him to Three Bridges Quarter. There he waited in front of Nina’s address, though not for long.

  He was relieved to see her walking out of the house on her own. It would have been awkward to have to pry her from a chaperone, perhaps impossible.

  He quickly crossed the street and approached her, speaking before she had even caught sight of him.

  “What has Valérie told you that you refuse to converse with me?” he asked, seeing no reason to waste time with pleasantries. His imperturbability had gone missing, he was near panic, and that more than anything pushed him forward, forgetting the politeness and conventions he upheld, which kept him safe.

  “Mr. Auvray, I have an important appointment today and I cannot be tardy,” she replied, and though she looked surprised, she managed to sound utterly firm in her intent.

  “Not until you explain what has brought about this change in you. I thought we were friends again,” he replied.

  Nina stopped in her tracks and looked up at him. She sounded more hurt than angry. “Can you truly be this brazen?” she asked.

  “If by brazen, you mean I enjoy knowing what kind of wrong I’ve committed, yes,” he said. And he was being ill-mannered and she’d think him vulgar, but he could not let her leave without an answer.

  “You lied to me, again.”

  “I do not understand.”

  She walked as quickly as she spoke, her eyes fixed resolutely ahead of herself. “Valérie has told me how you have pledged your love to her, after you told me she no longer held a place in your heart. Well, the both of you can be happy, knotted in each other’s embrace, like the pair of snakes you are, for I refuse to play whatever sick game you wish to play with me.”