AFTER HIS CASUAL MEETING WITH Nina in the park—which was not the least bit casual, he had been going there every morning after being told she could regularly be found in the area—and securing an invitation to the Beaulieu household, Hector found himself suddenly doubting his resolve. Long ago, he had established that his return to Loisail would entail an inevitable return to Valérie, which was perhaps why, paradoxically, he had stayed away for a long time. He desired both to see her and to thwart their reunion.
Hector looked across the street, at the Beaulieu house. Two stories high, its tall bay windows with their white shutters contrasted with the blue of the façade. It was an elegant, formal home, the initial B carved above the front door. There was also a side entrance emblazoned with a smaller B. He imagined this led to the carriage court. The structure proclaimed its noble roots and the wealth of its inhabitants.
He crossed the street and knocked. When a servant opened the door, Hector handed him his card. “Miss Nina Beaulieu is expecting me,” he said.
The servant nodded, instructing Hector to wait in the foyer. Hector took off his hat, clutching it between his hands before finally daring to set it on the bench designed for visitors to deposit their coats and hats. There was another B emblazoned on this piece of furniture. Very modern, the bench, boldly avoiding the old hat rack or the hall table.
For several panicked minutes, Hector thought he might not be allowed in. He was counting on Nina’s eagerness to meet with him to pave the way for a visit, but there was always a risk that he might be turned away.
It was not the case. The servant returned and told him Miss Beaulieu would see him in the drawing room. This was a massive room of paneled walls painted with a multitude of lively birds of all sizes, but white birds only: swans mostly, along with doves and egrets. The décor was also white. White sofas, a white table against a window, white curtains. Accents of color were allowed here and there, for example, the vase of rich blues and yellows sitting in a corner, or the gilt furniture.
It was as he’d pictured it, this room, this house. Valérie’s touch was evident all around him, almost heady, every artifact and decorative item proclaiming its provenance. There came the rustle of a skirt. He turned his head, too quickly, too eager to see her.
It was not Valérie. Nina stood at the door. Her black hair was pulled back, but a few tendrils hung loose, framing her face. The style did not especially become her, nor did the peach-colored dress.
“Hector!” she said, walking in with a big smile on her face.
“Miss Beaulieu,” he said, giving the girl a slight bow of the head and kissing the back of her hand. “It’s nice of you to receive me.”
“I’m glad you came. It’s nearly three o’clock. I thought you might have had other calls to make.”
“There was other business I had to handle.”
In reality he had spent half an hour circling the area in his carriage, doubting himself.
“What kind of business?”
“Antonina, you forget your manners,” Valérie said as she walked in. “It’s not polite to ask those questions.”
She wore a cream-colored dress with a blue sash at the waist, her hair in a loose chignon, a string of pearls dangling from her neck. He was transported ten years back, to their first meeting, like opening a worn, beloved book you’ve memorized.
She had not changed. He knew she would not, she’d remain suspended in amber, for him and him alone.
Hector’s youth had been a struggle. The grime of the fairs and a belly that was never full marked his first years. When his parents passed away, he’d endured, like a stubborn weed, growing tall and reed-thin. At fourteen he’d learned to escape most scuffles, or use his talent to protect himself, but he still ended up losing a tooth when three men pinned him down and beat him for his money. And then she’d come into his life like an angel from the heavens, and he constructed a completely different life for himself in his imagination. He’d always known he’d escape the narrow cots and stinking guesthouses where he lodged, and she was proof of this, a sign.
How he’d hated the world. Sometimes, when he glanced at men who slaked their thirst and appetites with impunity, he thought of throttling them. He had nothing. Then he had her, and the future was full of possibilities.
Just as quickly she was gone.
He looked at Valérie, stared at her, unable to bow or speak a greeting.
“Mr. Auvray,” she said, extending her hand, her voice cool and composed while Hector felt himself quiver inside.
“Mrs. Beaulieu,” he replied, raising her hand to his lips, but not kissing it, his breath upon her knuckles for a second before he released her. “Always a pleasure to see you.”
Now that he looked more carefully, he realized she was not exactly the girl he’d known. Her face was thinner and had a firmness that had not been there. But she was as graceful as she’d ever been and had grown more exquisite, a feat he had not thought possible. It did not matter, whatever vague changes had taken hold of her physiognomy.
“You’ve met, then?” Nina asked, her voice unwanted, interrupting his reverie.
“I’m not entirely sure. Have we?” Valérie asked.
There was the hint of a dare when Valérie glanced at him. He took it.
“Ten years ago. You were in Frotnac at the time,” he replied. “It was before your marriage.”
Valérie frowned, a fleeting motion of her head. “I do remember you. You performed a trick or another.”
“That was me.”
“That is unfair, Valérie. You never told me you knew Hector! And after I’ve told you of my interest in psychokinetics,” Nina said. She sounded like a doleful child who had been denied sweets.
Valérie’s face was carved marble when she looked at the girl. “An unbecoming interest,” she said.
“Hector, you must tell my cousin that psychokinetic feats are not a horrid crime,” Nina said, playfully tugging at his hand. The gesture might befit a coquette, but he doubted she knew what she was doing.
“Does Mrs. Beaulieu truly think that?” he asked.
“Antonina has it in her head that it is fine for a young woman of her caliber to go around attempting to levitate decks of cards and shuffle them in the air as though she were a common street performer,” Valérie said. “I strongly disagree.”
“You disagree about everything,” Nina replied, sitting on one of the sofas.
Hector smirked, amused by the tart answer, and sat across from her. “I didn’t realize you had the ability, Miss Beaulieu.”
“A little, perhaps. When I was five years old, my mother said I made it rain stones upon our house.”
“Which is precisely why it’s a poor idea to fixate upon such an activity,” Valérie said.
“I don’t intend to rain stones on your house, Cousin. Besides, what else am I supposed to do when you won’t let me collect specimens while I’m here?”
“Specimens, Miss Beaulieu?”
“Pests,” Valérie replied. She remained standing, her eyes fixing on a distant point instead of looking at either one of them.
“Beetles. And a few butterflies. You can’t possibly consider a butterfly a pest,” Nina protested.
“Now is not the time to discuss that. Would you fancy a drink, Mr. Auvray?” Valérie asked, her voice a knife that cut off the girl.
“You need not bother with me,” Hector replied. He looked at Nina instead of Valérie.
Valérie, a marble column, spoke again. “I shan’t have you telling my husband that I am a poor hostess, Mr. Auvray.”
“I wouldn’t dream of speaking such a thing to Mr. Beaulieu. Perhaps a glass of water,” he said.
A servant brought the water and he sat back, admiring Valérie while Nina spoke. He asked her questions he had memorized, questions that would seem both banal and polite: Would she be attending the races next month? Would she have her portrait painted by Herus—the painter of choice for all young ladies? They spent half an hour this way, Nina speaking, Valérie silent, Hector nodding. Finally he thought it enough, smiled, and bade the ladies good-bye.
“You must see me perform,” he told them. “It might amuse you.”
“Could we? Valérie, could we, please?” Nina asked.
“I’ll consider it. Mr. Auvray, let me escort you to the door, and we can discuss this performance you speak of,” Valérie said.
Valérie walked by his side, her head straight, her steps neither rushed nor too leaden. She walked as if he were not there, guiding him back to the entrance.
“I cannot believe you had the gall to come and see me,” Valérie said, her voice low. Her tone betrayed her anger even if her face was impassive. “It is absolutely improper.”
“I did not come to see you. I came to see Nina,” he said, his tone scratching on insolence.
“What kind of fool do you take me for?”
Hector looked at her, with her spectacular disdain and her golden hair and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. The insolence, he tucked it away, he could not wield it for long.
“I needed to speak to you,” he said, admitting his weakness.
She responded with contempt. “You ought to have written a letter if you felt you had anything to say to me.”
“I didn’t think a letter would get your attention.”
She stopped now, standing in front of a gilded mirror in profile, her hands pressed against her skirt. She was skillfully avoiding his gaze.
“You have my attention now. What do you want? Do you wish to somehow punish me for our hasty separation?” she asked.
“Hasty, yes. You wrote three lines informing me of your marriage. Three lines, Valérie,” he said. He moved from her side to stand in front of her.
She looked up at him with a sigh. “Would you have enjoyed the details?” she asked.
Valérie had never been sweet or simple. Still, the retort cut deep and it must have shown, for her expression changed quickly, her voice softening.
“Hector, it was a long time ago and we were both silly to think we might wed. My family would not have allowed it.”
“No. They needed Beaulieu’s money.”
“What does it matter?” Valérie said. “But you shall not … You will not tell Gaetan about our engagement, will you?”
It would have been a black mark against Valérie’s character. An engagement was a serious matter, and breaking an engagement was poor form. Worse yet, Valérie had been secretly engaged when Gaetan courted her. It was enough to cause a great amount of strife if it became known.
“I’m not here to embarrass you.”
“Why are you here, then?” she asked, sounding perplexed.
“I have not forgotten you, Valérie,” he said quietly, and he tried to pour every inch of his soul into those few words, hoping she might see and feel and grasp how he’d loved her, how many nights he’d dreamt of her and tossed in his bed in despair, how many times he’d pictured her face. Now she was there, real and solid, and he wanted to die without her and wanted to live for her. As when they’d been young.
“Nonsense,” she told him, and he realized, no, she did not see. She had not counted the days and nights. But, no, no, she had. Deep inside she must have.
“Nonsense? I made you a promise once, that I’d come back. Well, I’ve returned,” he declared.
“What do you expect? That I shall get into your carriage this instant and abandon my husband?”
The only reason for his visit to this city was this woman. He could not spend another day away, pretending she did not exist. He had done nothing but pretend and failed miserably for ten years.
“Not this instant. I’m sure you’ve grown fond of the Beaulieu fortune,” he said, matching her tone.
Valérie’s face hardened again. Like a warrior, she quickly donned her armor, allowing him no access. “Fond of my husband, too,” she said, looking at him firmly in the face.
“Truly? You seem bored out of your mind.”
“Bored because I have to spend my days with his nitwit cousin. You’d be half-mad, too.”
“I might be, since I intend to court her,” he said, wishing to get a reaction from her, wishing for anything.
“How delightful! You have not forgotten me but now you turn your eyes to a silly girl who happens to have a pile of money beneath her feet,” Valérie said, clapping her hands once.
“I have money aplenty. I am not looking to steal her fortune.”
“Hector, don’t be ridiculous.” Valérie laughed merrily and the laughter dripped with undisguised scorn.
“It is about time I married,” he said, pressing on.
“You’d marry her?”
“Why not?”
“You don’t love her.”
“There are plenty of shining examples in the world that demonstrate love need not be a condition of a successful marriage. You might agree on this point.”
Valérie fixed her lofty eyes on him, anger coloring her cheeks. She began walking again, resolutely. “If you want to make a fool of yourself, then be my guest,” she said. “For this is sheer foolishness.”
Valérie was right. It was foolish, perhaps. But Nina would allow him to have access to this household. His love of Valérie was vicious. It gripped him utterly. He had to see her, had to speak to her, and if this was the way, then let it be. At turns he thought he might be able to spirit Valérie away if only they could share a little time together. Then he changed his mind; he decided that he could remain the chivalrous gentleman, merely loving her from afar. The latter appealed to his sense of romanticism.
Hector prepared to elucidate these notions and quickly gave up when he looked at Valérie.
He sighed and shook his head softly. “It would be good to have a friend. An accomplice, a partner. I’ve been traveling for a long time, Valérie. You cannot possibly understand how tiring it is,” he whispered.
They had arrived at the door and he had fetched his hat and coat, so there was no reason to dally, but rather than ejecting him, Valérie simply stared at Hector. She reminded him of a lioness who has not decided if it will let itself be tamed or tear its master to shreds.
“I can understand,” she said, her voice softening again.
Her hands were hidden in her skirts, but he reached out and grazed her fingers. He moved one step closer to her, pressing his lips against her hand, a gesture he had withheld in the drawing room for fear of betraying himself. But they were alone now, and the wild beating of his heart did not matter. When he released her, Valérie did not drift away, instead shifting closer to him, the space between them almost disappearing.
“Bring Nina to the Royal next Friday. You can both watch the show.”
“I’ve no interest in the show.”
“In some conversation after it, then.”
“Not in any conversation with you,” she replied, her voice honeyed.
He knew she was playing with him, as she’d done when they first met, masterfully teasing and flirting and driving him insane. He’d allow it. He was playing, too.
Hector inclined his head.
“Is there anything else you need, Mr. Auvray?” she asked, her hand upon the door.
“Nothing, for the time being. I’ll send an invitation for the Royal. I trust you will be there.”
He took his leave with that, not bothering to look back when he heard the door close behind him.