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.
CHAPTER 5
Valérie Beaulieu opened her jewelry box and riffled through its contents until she found the ring. Gold with a single pearl, a pattern of scallops decorating the band. It was not worth anything and it did not compare to the rest of Valérie’s jewelry. She had gold-and-enamel earrings, a beautiful double-strand pearl necklace with a sapphire, a necklace of rich garnets, and a bracelet with the most dazzling diamonds. The ring, which she kept at the bottom of her jewelry box, was ugly in comparison to the other items she owned.
Yet she kept this ring because Hector had given it to her.
She had met him in Frotnac. It was the hottest spring in many years, and more than one distinguished family had fled the capital before the end of the Grand Season in search of a cooler locale. Frotnac, situated to the north, was the chosen destination for most of them. Valérie stayed with her friend Miranda Oclou, and Miranda’s distracted mother.
Valérie’s family was not what it had once been. The house, majestic at the height of the Véries’ power, had become a tired relic. Jewelry, paintings, and even furniture were sold through the years to keep the family fed. Friends and relatives provided a measure of support, yet loans remained unpaid and everyone shook their heads sadly when they saw Valérie walk by. What could be expected of her? they prattled. A young lady of meager means would have a hard time attracting serious suitors. Picture her trousseau!
Despite everything, decorum must be maintained. Valérie’s family was strict, and her grandmother demanded blind obedience to the old rules. She learned to play the piano and to sing, how to converse and dance, all the courtesies of a woman of her station even if her station was nebulous.
But Frotnac was far from that wretched gargoyle of a grandmother. Most important, it was more relaxed. A young city, it had grown significant in the past few decades, and it could not imagine the pomp of Loisail, its rules or ancient histories.
The feeling that summer was one of unending ebullience. Valérie and Miranda explored the city, shopped, and attended a number of soirées, dinners, and parties. One evening they went to a café where Hector was performing for the patrons. He levitated a chair, a couple of glasses, those sorts of tricks. She had seen similar performances around the city. Musicians, actors, even poets reciting their couplets for a few coins. Hector, however, struck her as a more impressive figure.
He was young and good-looking, and though his clothes were not the newest and most fashionable, he carried himself with an air of quiet grace and dignity that affected her. Nonetheless, she might not have spoken to him if it had not been for Étienne Lémy.
Étienne Lémy knew Miranda, and when he saw her he immediately walked to their table and sat down, inviting Hector to join him. Étienne was a wealthy young man who had decided to wander around the country and pay his way by playing the violin. He fancied himself an artist, and for the past four months he had been traveling with the troupe of a fellow named Derval. Hector was also a member of the troupe. They had, however, been left stranded in Frotnac after an inquiry concerning late wages with Derval ended in an angry confrontation.
Valérie was both disappointed and intrigued when she realized that Hector, unlike his friend, was not playing the role of the nonconformist. He was a genuinely humble young man with no money and no connections. But he was also intelligent, serious, and determined. While many wealthy fellows like Étienne Lémy were simply interested in wine and women, Hector was ambitious. He was saving money to buy passage to Iblevad. A previous member of Derval’s troupe had gone there two years before. The troupe member said Hector’s telekinetic skills were sure to attract no small amount of attention and had promised he’d recommend Hector to his employer.
Despite his admirable qualities, Valérie did not intend to become seriously involved with Hector. However, she found herself returning to the café, walking with him around the city, and suddenly she was seeing him every day.
It was summer. The hours in a day could stretch on forever, and she did not have to whirl back to the house where she was staying until night had fallen; night fell late. And sometimes they also met at nights in secret, Miranda and Étienne and Valérie and Hector navigating the alleys of the city, laughing and singing. The boys performed at the cafés and the girls watched, and then they went dancing.
“Are you my Valérie?” he would ask her.
“Who else’s?” she would say.
It was summer and she was young. The heat made it difficult to think; the city made her careless. He kissed her, whispered in her ear, and she whispered back, tangled her fingers in his hair. She fell in love and when the summer ended, he told her he was heading to Iblevad to make his fortune. He’d come back for her. Would she wait?
She said yes.
The last time they met was at the docks in Loisail. Before he left, he gave her the ring. Valérie wept. He promised he would write and she promised the same. And never-ending love. She promised that, too.
She intended to keep her promise. The days grew cooler and snow fell upon the city. She wrote with ecstatic fervor. Ink and tears spilled upon the page. She missed him!
Grandmother complained she was not eating properly and looked pale. No one knew about Hector. She had not breathed a word about him.
That winter she met Gaétan Beaulieu. He was less dashing than Hector and terribly wealthy.
She wrote to Hector and he wrote to her, yet her letters were more paced now. It was a busy time. The Grand Season was starting and she was assured an invitation to the best parties, thanks to the attentive care of Gaétan.
Fall arrived and with it the rains. A year had passed. Hector assured her he was making progress. On the other hand, Gaétan had proposed. Her family pushed her forward. Here was their salvation!
She tried to stall. Grandmother summoned her. The woman sat in her favorite chair, which was more throne than chair, all in black with the ebony choker around her ancient neck. She had not donned a stitch of color since her husband died decades before. Valérie suspected the old cow enjoyed widowhood and the grim aura it gave her.