“Forgive me,” he muttered.
She looked terribly forlorn, her long hair now a wet mess and her dress soaked through. He felt the weight of guilt as he hurried into Oldhouse, but there was nothing more he could say.
Chapter 17
VALÉRIE LAY IN BED, STARINGat the ceiling and trying to find a measure of sleep, which, as usual, eluded her. Her thoughts meandered and tangled together, like strange plants might tangle in the depths of the ocean.
She had not imagined the anxiety the constant presence of Hector would bring her, nor the wretched anger Antonina might evoke. Valérie saw them each morning, talking during breakfast or laughing with each other, as if caught inside a glass bauble, in a private space of their own making, and she hated them.
Antonina was young and carefree, and Hector was solicitous, kind to her.
It disgusted Valérie. And now they’d piled another injury on her.
How dare he speak to Valérie like that! And over whom? Over Antonina! Precious, stupid “Nina,” gilded girl who could have anything she wanted and apparently that included anyone.
She closed her eyes. She opened them. She tossed a book she had been attempting to read at the window shutters.
Valérie rose from bed and decided she could not stay in that room one minute longer. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and walkedtoward the stairs, hoping she might find solace if her body were not at rest.
She had not gone far when she saw a figure move ahead of her and turn a corner. For one second she thought it a ghost, an apparition in white, but then she shook her head and recognized her. Antonina, barefoot in her nightgown. Was the girl sleepwalking?
Valérie followed her quietly and realized Antonina was headed toward the section of the house where the men slept. What was this wretched child doing?
She kept her distance and peeked around a corner, watching as Antonina stood before Hector’s door and bent down, dropping something. The girl rushed away, a scared, wild animal.
Valérie waited for a few minutes before tracing Antonina’s steps. She stood in front of Hector’s door and bent down to retrieve whatever object Nina had left behind. It was a letter. In her haste, Antonina had not slid it completely under the door, and Valérie pocketed it.
Back in her room, Valérie lit two candles and sat at the desk. In the city, there was the wonder of gaslights and even electrified light fixtures, but in Oldhouse, wax and oil had to suffice.
Antonina’s writing was more a scrawl than true words, but Valérie was able to read the letter all the same.
Dear Hector,
I find it hard to put my thoughts into sentences, but I must do it or I think I will go mad.
Hector, I love you. I count the hours when I cannot see you and treasure every word you speak to me.
I thought myself happy to simply bask in your presence, but when we embraced I knew the true extent of joy. I want nothing more than to be in your arms again and to kiss you. If what we did was improper, then I confess myself a wretched and foul creature, because I want nothing more than to touch you again.
Should you want me only for one hour or one day, I would gladly take it. I would gladly take whatever you offer. I am not ashamed to admit this.
And should you love me as I love you, then I would be thehappiest woman in the world. But for now, I dwell in uncertainty and hope your heart holds at least a fraction of the affection mine holds for you.
In the end, all I can say is: I am yours,
—Nina
When she was done reading, Valérie folded the letter back in place, her fingers tracing its creases carefully. If she did not scream right that second, it was only because she closed her hands into fists, her nails biting half moons into her palms.
Afterward, she lay in bed and pulled the covers up onto her chin. It was ridiculous pap, the letter, but it filled her with dread.
In the morning Valérie rose late, dressed with the utmost care, and quietly inquired as to the whereabouts of Mr. Auvray. A servant told her he’d seen him heading toward the library.
The servant was correct and she found Hector standing by a bookcase, perusing its contents. He was alone, which suited Valérie’s purpose; she went directly toward him. Valérie had decided there was no point in being subtle, a solid approach was necessary.
“I will ask you this but once and ask that you answer truthfully. Have you had the audacity to seduce Antonina under this very roof?”
His shoulders had been relaxed, but he snapped up to attention, grave, glowering.
