Book Read Free

The Beautiful (ARC)

Page 18

by Renee Ahdieh


  Without a word, she extricated her fingers, her cursed face

  enflaming further with every passing moment. Then she pivoted

  on a heel, intent on fleeing to the safety of the convent at once.

  “May I offer you a word of caution?” Michael asked, just as

  she began retracing her steps.

  Celine turned back, waiting expectantly, knowing full well

  that Arjun was listening to their exchange, all with the inten-

  tion of informing his employer.

  “It is with respect to Bastien,” Michael said loudly, placing his tweed hat before him as if it were a shield.

  Celine said nothing in response, struggling to regain her

  composure.

  179

  9781524738174_Beautiful_HC_INT_pass05.indd 179

  6/28/19 2:56 PM

  “When we were children, we called him the Ghost, because everyone around him seemed to perish without explanation,

  leaving behind nothing but specters,” Michael began. “First

  his elder sister, Émilie. Then his mother. Finally his father.” He paused. “It didn’t end there. When he turned sixteen, his uncle bribed a spot for him at West Point. Then one of Bastien’s

  roommates was killed in a barroom fight. Bastien attacked an-

  other boy, blaming him for his friend’s death. He beat the boy

  within an inch of his life. Not long after that, he was asked to

  leave the military academy in disgrace.”

  “I . . . think I understand what you mean,” Celine said. “Thank

  you for the information,” she said in a cold tone while Arjun

  bristled beyond the tines of wrought iron.

  “Bastien destroys everything he touches,” Michael continued

  in a strident tone, “unless it’s something as soulless as money.

  With money, he is indeed a dark prince.”

  “I appreciate the warning, but Monsieur Saint Germain and I

  are unlikely to spend time in each other’s company, as I have no

  interest in having anything to do with him.”

  “I wish he shared the sentiment.”

  Celine chose to ignore that comment. She glanced toward

  the gate, where Pippa gazed at her with an expression of undis-

  guised curiosity. Arjun, meanwhile, shot daggers at Michael’s

  back, then tilted his head at Celine in a spuriously lighthearted fashion.

  “I’d very much like to see you again, Celine,” Michael an-

  nounced, as if he had something to prove.

  Shocked to her core by this open admission, Celine nearly

  180

  9781524738174_Beautiful_HC_INT_pass05.indd 180

  6/28/19 2:56 PM

  lost her footing. This fool, she wondered, believes I would afford him notice after he mocked me and harangued me about a

  murder for two days straight?

  Celine thought quickly, wondering what he hoped to achieve

  by making such a spectacle. It couldn’t be as simple as annoy-

  ing Bastien, could it? God save her from the pettiness of young

  men. Or perhaps . . .

  “I’d like that as well, Michael,” Celine replied.

  It would be smart to keep in Detective Grimaldi’s good graces.

  Not to mention that it would irritate her traitor of an attorney

  immensely. Celine caught herself on the verge of grinning. Ar-

  jun had witnessed her chumming with Bastien’s enemy. She’d

  bet anything the wily lawyer would be sure to add that particu-

  lar detail to his collection of useless scribblings.

  Bully for him, Celine thought with dark delight.

  How she wished she could see Bastien’s face when Arjun in-

  formed him of today’s developments. It served them right.

  The next time, they would know better than to use Celine

  Rousseau as a pawn.

  181

  9781524738174_Beautiful_HC_INT_pass05.indd 181

  6/28/19 2:56 PM

  A Murderess at Sunday Mass

  i

  Mon amie,

  I’ve discovered the perfect silk for my ball gown at a

  shop that imports fabric directly from China. It glows

  like a pearl and feels like water against the skin. I’ve

  already purchased bolts and bolts of it. I can’t wait to

  show them to you when they arrive at Jacques’ later

  tonight.

  Bastien plans to meet this morning with the monsignor.

  Look for me after Mass.

  I’ll be the one with the devil.

  Bisous,

  Odette

  Celine read Odette’s letter three times. Even upon multiple

  readings, its contents failed to sound any less ridiculous.

  Only a ruthless fiend like Bastien would attend Mass at the

  church near the Ursuline convent a mere week after one of its

  residents perished in his establishment. And only a fearless

  182

  9781524738174_Beautiful_HC_INT_pass05.indd 182

  6/28/19 2:56 PM

  creature like Odette would insist on accompanying him simply so she could speak with her new modiste about a gown for the

  masquerade ball.

  At the mere thought of Bastien, Celine harrumphed.

  But Odette—as always—delighted her.

  Would the warring dualities within Celine ever cease?

  She sighed. As more time passed, it seemed increasingly

  unlikely.

  Celine stood naked in the center of her cell, cold dread

  coursing through her at the thought of what today would

  bring. Her skin was damp, the air around her perfumed by

  the lavender castile soap she’d used in her recent bath. It was

  a joy afforded her on rare occasions, this chance to bathe in

  the large copper tub shared by all the young women residing

  in the convent. Most evenings, she was relegated to a bucket

  of cold water and a half ration of unscented soap.

  Breathing deeply of the soothing lavender fragrance, Celine

  donned a clean pair of drawers and laced the ties of her che-

  mise below her collarbone. Then she secured the front of her

  stays across her midriff and made a face before pulling the ties

  tightly behind her until her waist appeared outlandishly small

  in comparison to her bust and hips.

  As always, it took a moment to regain her bearings after

  cinching herself into her corset.

  Celine fastened the white ribbons of her linen camisole over

  the whalebone stays. She turned in place to study the three

  garments strewn across her narrow rope bed, trying to decide

  which of her shabby gowns was the least shabby.

  183

  9781524738174_Beautiful_HC_INT_pass05.indd 183

  6/28/19 2:56 PM

  She’d worn the blue dress to Mass last Sunday, which meant the striped one was her next best option.

  With an exaggerated sigh, Celine reached for the salmon-

  colored gown. She’d be hot in it, but it was the least rumpled

  and still held a trace of its former luster.

  Celine stepped into the cage of her crinolette and adjusted

  the bustle behind her. She knotted the strings of her best petti-

  coat about her waist before jumping up and down to straighten

  the skirt over the narrow expanse of oval hoops.

  Finally she tied the striped foundation skirt and its matching

  apron overskirt atop the linen petticoat before reaching for the

  coordinating bodice and beginning the arduous task of fasten-

  ing all the tiny buttons up the front.

&n
bsp; When Celine was finished, she gazed down at her dress,

  wishing the convent had a mirror of any kind somewhere

  close by. A way to determine whether she looked as foolish

  as she felt.

  Celine supposed her gown appeared . . . serviceable. When

  she’d first made it more than a year ago, it was pretty and fash-

  ionable. Weeks in the sodden hold of a ship on a transatlantic

  crossing had altered the fabric irreparably.

  Celine sucked in her cheeks.

  It was fine. Serviceable was not terrible.

  And her appearance did not matter to God, so why should it

  matter to anyone else?

  Poppycock. Of course her appearance at Mass mattered. Celine couldn’t very well march through the checkered nave of Saint

  Louis Cathedral in nothing but her chemise and drawers.

  184

  9781524738174_Beautiful_HC_INT_pass05.indd 184

  6/28/19 2:56 PM

  Though that would be a spectacle indeed, behaving so brazenly within such hallowed halls. It would likely have her banned from

  the convent—an idea that both terrified and intrigued her.

  No matter.

  Celine smoothed the front of her dress, the vibrant pink

  stripes flattening beneath her palms. It was scarcely ten o’clock, but the day sweltered like a bathhouse in summertime. The

  thick heat of New Orleans never ceased to amaze her. This city

  in late January felt like Paris in July . . . if the streets of Paris had been drenched by the sea. Beside her foot lay the remnants of

  a small puddle, likely from when she’d unwound her damp hair

  before getting dressed.

  Absentmindedly, Celine drew a symbol through the puddle

  with the tip of her booted toe. The same symbol that had been

  found beside Anabel’s body soon took shape along the stone

  floor. At once, Celine swiped her heel through it, banishing it

  from view.

  What would New Orleans feel like in July? Hell on earth?

  Celine winced.

  She guessed it would feel a lot like a murderess at Sunday

  Mass.

  j

  Celine sat beside Pippa in an oak pew halfway down the right

  side of Saint Louis Cathedral. A bead of sweat dripped down

  her neck. Makeshift fans fluttered alongside expensive contriv-

  ances of silk and lacquered wood. Faded whispers carried into

  the frescoed ceiling above. Heads began to droop even before

  185

  9781524738174_Beautiful_HC_INT_pass05.indd 185

  6/28/19 2:56 PM

  the start of the homily, eyes falling shut an instant before the person was elbowed awake.

  “Mercy,” Celine murmured to Pippa. “It’s even hotter than

  last week. How are we to endure the summer months?”

  Pippa sat beside her in a gown of pale blue organza. Not too

  long ago, it had been the height of fashion. Pains had been

  taken to maintain the delicate lace detailing, but several small

  tears could be seen along the sleeves. In some places, it had

  been meticulously mended.

  “You look lovely,” Celine whispered.

  Pippa nudged her shoulder good-naturedly. “I look like a

  soggy handkerchief next to you. That bright color is wonderful

  against your skin.”

  Celine tsked. “You shouldn’t speak ill of my friend. Especially

  not in a church.”

  Pippa smothered a grin.

  Behind the immense marble altar, the monsignor moved into

  position to begin his homily, switching from Latin to English to

  properly address his congregation.

  Celine scanned the crowd until her gaze fell on a well-dressed

  pair positioned on the opposite side of the aisle. Bastien sat in a pew at the end of the first row, Odette beside him in a cream-colored gown of duchess satin with a matching bonnet.

  Admittedly this was not the first time Celine had stolen a

  glance in their direction.

  She’d been surprised to note that Bastien appeared well ac-

  quainted with every aspect of Mass. He recited things in un-

  flinching Latin. Knew when to sit and stand and kneel. Bowed

  186

  9781524738174_Beautiful_HC_INT_pass05.indd 186

  6/28/19 2:56 PM

  his head with the kind of reverence Celine would swear to be genuine.

  It had taken her off guard, to say the least. She’d half expected a bolt of lightning to strike him the moment he dipped his fingers in the basin of holy water beside the entrance.

  “When tragedy befalls the Lord’s flock, we must look to the

  lessons to be learned. Tragedy is what comes of disobedience,”

  the monsignor droned. “As He divulged to us in the book of

  Revelation . . .”

  Celine closed her eyes, trying to ignore his words, even as fire

  and brimstone rained down around her.

  “. . . and we must be thankful for the acts of penance aris-

  ing from such tragedies. We must offer blessings to the favored

  sons of our fair city, for their boundless generosity and their

  unswerving attrition,” the elderly man intoned, his hands open

  at either side of his gold vestment. “Our God is forgiving. So

  must we be.”

  Attention in the church shifted toward Bastien, who kept his

  gaze averted, his head bowed in prayer.

  It took Celine only a moment to understand.

  That fiend had paid for his sins today. With “boundless gen-

  erosity,” he’d bought the church’s absolution. This had to be the reason he’d met with the monsignor and made a point to attend

  Mass today.

  Celine sank back in her pew and crossed her arms, fuming.

  First he’d sent his minion attorney to cover his tracks with the

  Metropolitan Police. Then he’d traded gold for absolution like

  he would a coin for a loaf of bread. If these weren’t the actions

  187

  9781524738174_Beautiful_HC_INT_pass05.indd 187

  6/28/19 2:56 PM

  of a guilty conscience, Celine would eat her hat and swallow the striped ribbon whole.

  She glared at the back of Bastien’s head. Though she was loath

  to admit it, she had to admire him for his efficiency. Had to

  envy how he floated about the world so unscathed.

  If Celine possessed a tenth of his power, there would be no

  limit to what she could do.

  j

  “Celine!” Just beyond the steps leading into the cathedral,

  Odette waved from her seat in a shining black phaeton matched

  with a pair of midnight stallions.

  Inhaling through her nose, Celine made her way down the

  stairs toward the open-air carriage. She put a hand to her brow

  to shield herself from the noon sun. “Bonjour, Odette,” she said

  reluctantly.

  “Bonjour, mon amie.” Odette opened her creamy silk parasol

  with a flourish, the rubies around her ivory cameo winking in

  the filtered light, her gaze appraising. “I adore how you wear

  such bright hues. It’s ever so much more intriguing than this

  sea of simpering pastel.” She waved a gloved hand around the

  square. “One day, you must tell me what inspires you.”

  Celine thought for a moment, her hand still sheltering her

  from the uncompromising sun. “Paris often had melancholy

  skies. They were always beautiful—especially in the rain—but I

  longed for splashes of color, so I tho
ught to wrap myself in them.”

  “Bien sûr,” Odette murmured with a knowing smile. “Come

  sit with me.” She patted the bloodred leather beside her.

  188

  9781524738174_Beautiful_HC_INT_pass05.indd 188

  6/28/19 2:56 PM

  “I shouldn’t,” Celine replied, glancing around at what she guessed to be a goodly portion of New Orleans’ high society,

  exiting the church on their way to Sunday barbecue.

  “Ah, would it seem untoward?”

  Celine wrinkled her nose. “Not untoward. Only . . . indiscreet.”

  “Too soon after that unfortunate incident.” Odette nodded.

  Celine simply smiled.

  “Well,” Odette said, “I suppose I can issue my invitation from

  here.”

  “Invitation?”

  “To join me for dinner at Jacques’ tonight, you goose. We still

  have much to discuss with respect to my gown for the masquer-

  ade ball. And don’t worry,” she added almost as an afterthought,

  “it won’t be near where the . . . incident occurred.”

  “I—don’t think that’s wise. I’m certain the Mother Superior—”

  “—has already granted the request, despite her initial misgiv-

  ings. The monsignor spoke to her before Mass.”

  “Of course he did,” Celine murmured, disbelief flaring through

  her.

  The devil at work once more, no doubt.

  Then—as if he’d been summoned by her thoughts—footsteps

  pounded down the hewn stairs behind her, moving rhythmi-

  cally. Efficiently. Celine turned in place just as Bastien brushed past her in a suit of dove-grey linen, his Panama hat tilted atop his brow, the scent of bergamot and leather unfurling in his

  wake.

  He did not pause to acknowledge her, so Celine returned the

  gesture.

  189

  9781524738174_Beautiful_HC_INT_pass05.indd 189

  6/28/19 2:56 PM

  “The carriage will come to collect you this evening at seven o’clock,” Odette said as Bastien settled into the phaeton in a

  single fluid motion. “And don’t trouble yourself with respect to

  your appearance. What you’re wearing now is lovely.” Without

  warning, she struck Bastien’s arm with the carved handle of her

  parasol. “Don’t you think Celine looks lovely?”

  Bastien pursed his lips and glanced Celine’s way. “C’est

  une belle couleur.” He took hold of the reins, his expression

  dispassionate.

  Odette cut her eyes in his direction, then smiled at Celine. “It

  is indeed a beautiful color. But I wasn’t talking about—”

 

‹ Prev