“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 Gaétan 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 Gaétan 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.