“Miss Beaulieu,” he said.
“You are here!” she exclaimed, which was a terrible thing to say, and panicked by this mistake, she could think to add nothing else, staring at him in mute horror.
“How do you do?” he asked.
“Fine. I am fine. Very fine.”
Dear Lord, he’d think her daft. Nina composed herself as best she could.
“I apologize. I thought you lived in Boniface and did not expect to run into you again this soon,” she said.
“I do reside in Boniface. I am wasting time before I meet my friend who lives nearby. Are you by yourself?” he asked.
“Yes. My cousin had a migraine. I’m, ah, here on my own. My maid is about, somewhere.”
“May I walk with you?”
“By all means.”
Nina felt much improved once she was actually moving and comfortedherself with the thought that her gaffes had not been witnessed by Valérie, who surely would have had recriminations to share, perhaps even pinched her.
“Did you have an enjoyable time at the De Villiers’ ball?” she asked, and prided herself on how proper her voice sounded when she spoke this time.
“Most enjoyable,” he said seriously, as if he were making an oath. It made her chuckle.
“You are fibbing. You left early,” she replied, lightly slapping his arm, which would have earned her a double pinching from Valérie, but Valérie wasn’t there and Lisette had also disappeared, which meant no tattletales.
“And how would you know that?”
“You mustn’t think I was spying on you,” she said quickly, and blushed.
She looked horrid when she blushed. Other girls blushed prettily, daintily even, but in Nina’s case it was a series of angry crimson blotches.
“Do not be mortified, Miss Beaulieu, I meant nothing by it. Yes, I left early. I am a newcomer to the city and knew few people there. It was, to be honest, not most enjoyable.”
“I understand. I didn’t know the people there either and when I’m introduced to someone, I invariably say something dreadful. I wasn’t dreadful to you, was I?” she asked.
“You didn’t tell me your name,” he pointed out.
“I did tell you my name. Antonina, Nina,” she protested.
“Not your family name. I had to ask others who you were.”
Rather than blushing this time, she found herself smiling because he had asked about her. It felt like an important detail. They walked in silence around the lake and she looked at him discreetly—or as discreetly as she could manage.
His hair was longer than was fashionable, brown and with a slight curl. He also eschewed the mustache that was obligatory for all men, thus branding himself as utterly foreign, though she rather liked that he did not know or did not care about the trends the others followed. She thought him noble looking, even if he also struck her as overly serious; a man who was not used to mirth, his handsomeness marred by a vague whiff of melancholia.
“Your friend lives nearby?” she asked.
“Étienne’s house is on Jusserand Avenue. Étienne Lémy. I don’t know if that means anything to you.”
“Lémy? My cousin might know him. And Valérie, his wife, knows everyone. Maybe you’ve met. He is Gaetan Beaulieu.”
“I haven’t had the pleasure.”
“He’s well esteemed here,” Nina said, unable to feign modesty. She was proud of Gaetan. He was not only the head of the family, but she thought him a wonderful man besides.
“You sound fond of him,” Hector said.
