This was what he had expected to hear, but not put in this way. He did not hesitate and nodded enthusiastically. “Thank you, Mrs. Beaulieu,” Luc said. “You must not imagine that I care only for Nina’s fortune, though. I intend to be a proper husband to her.”
Valérie thought she knew exactly what Luc Lémy meant by “a proper husband.” He’d give Nina half a dozen brats to tend to, kiss her gently on the cheek, and keep only discreet mistresses, ensuring that his affairs were not publicized. Nina, in her idiocy, would likely mistake all this for happiness.
Valérie smiled indulgently at the young man. “I know you will be. Tell me, since we are being candid, does Nina welcome your attention?”
“I’ve spent time with her and I believe she likes me.”
“You should spend more time with her, then, until youknowshe likes you enough to be married to you. Gaetan is reluctant on the matter ofarranged marriages. He’ll ask for her opinion, and mine, and you do not want a lukewarm response from that child.”
It was one of the most irritating bits of Antonina, the knowledge that her cousin would not force her into a marriage, like a parcel to be sold at the market. Valérie had been given no choice, but Antonina was allowed to have her heart’s desire.
“I will definitely woo her. I wouldn’t think not to. She is pretty and animated; it is the matter of Hector Auvray. I think she had her heart set on him,” he said.
Hector Auvray. That was long past, though. Wasn’t it? Surely she would have forgotten about him, and he had no doubt gone his own merry way.
She surveyed Luc Lémy critically. With his youth and light hair, and that air of sophisticated ease he had, could a girl of twenty ignore him? No, she wouldn’t. She would notice him. She would beam at him. Give him a week, perhaps two, she’d be devoted to him.
Yet the sharp edge of dread stabbed at Valérie’s heart as she recalled Nina’s letter and the emotion poured upon the paper.
“Young man, listen to me carefully,” Valérie said. “If you truly want Antonina, then you must erase any traces of that man from her mind. This Grand Season is an opportunity for us both, but you must do your part.”
Valérie pressed a hand against her gown, feeling the golden buttons underneath her palm.
Chapter 5
HECTOR WORKED ON THE WEEKENDS,doing two shows every night. Thursdays he also performed, but only once in the evening. Mondays and Tuesdays he rested, staying away from the theater. He began his day with a cup of coffee and a piece of toast for breakfast, reading a book by the window.
Around lunchtime he headed to the outdoor market that stretched behind the former convent of Saint Ilse. There he purchased vegetables and fruits, meats and fish, and all manner of other foods. He paused at the bakery on the way back home for a fresh loaf of bread and bought a newspaper at the newsstand. Then he proceeded to cook himself lunch. Hector learned how to make his own meals out of necessity, when he had been penniless and young, but he had grown to enjoy the process and though he did not reject the notion of restaurants, he preferred home-cooked meals when he could manage them. He also took pride in his self-sufficiency.
When he was done eating, Hector read the paper, then went out for a stroll. He liked Boniface because of its narrow streets and alleys that led nowhere. It was easy to get lost there, and every block offered a strange new treasure. There was a store that sold only music boxes next to a perfumer’s shop, but take one turn, and you’d come to an oddly quiet alleythat ended in a cemetery. There were sedate, hidden gardens and boisterous establishments. Places for contemplation and spaces for noise and life.
In the evenings, Hector stopped at a coffee shop and regularly patronized the Pearl and the Swine, where all manner of musicians performed. On occasion he visited one of the playhouses at the Green District.
That day the sun shone brightly. Hector thought he might depart for his walk earlier than usual, so he could take advantage of the wonderful weather. He sat by the window in his leather chair, about ready to put away his book and prepare himself, when a knock made him raise his head.
He stood up and walked toward the entrance. He was in his old, collarless lounging robe. He had not expected any visitors.
“Yes? Who is it?” he asked.
The silence made him move quickly, telling him he should hurry, and he flung the door open.
Nina looked at him, her eyes cool and her face composed. He was somewhat sad to see she was perfectly coiffed, her hair gathered at her nape. He’d liked her hair loose, a bit unkempt, as if the wind had been toying with it all day.
She looked like a lady now, and he thought perhaps her fashionable dress and prim hair were supposed to serve as a type of shield.
He stepped aside, allowing her in without a word.
When he closed the door, Nina spoke, her voice brusque. “What do you think you are doing, sending me beetles for many days now?” she asked.
“I thought you might like them,” he replied.
“Why would I want anything from you?”
“I forgot your birthday. I purchased twenty beetles, thinking—”
“That you might buy my forgiveness with a few presents? That perhaps you can assuage your guilty conscience?”
“I do not ask you to forgive me,” he said, “but I want to try to make amends.”
