The Beautiful Ones

Silvia Moreno-Garcia

First published in Great Britain in 2021 by

Jo Fletcher Books

an imprint of

Quercus Editions Ltd

Carmelite House

50 Victoria Embankment

London EC4Y 0DZ

An Hachette UK company

Copyright © Silvia Moreno-Garcia 2017

Reading Group Guide copyright © 2021 by Tom Doherty Associates

Published by arrangement with TOR Books, an imprint of Macmillan Publishing LLC, New York. First published in the United States in 2017.

The moral right of Silvia Moreno-Garcia to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

EBOOK ISBN 978 1 52941 612 1

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

www.quercusbooks.co.uk

Also by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

Gods of Jade and Shadow

Mexican Gothic

Para mi abuela

Part One

Chapter 1

Hector was like a castaway who had washed up on a room of velvet curtains and marble floors. The revelers might as well have been wild animals ready to tear off a chunk of his flesh.

He felt utterly lost, alien, and alone.

As Hector watched from a corner of the room, ladies and gentlemen partnered to dance, women fanned themselves and smiled, and men greeted each other with a tilt of the head.

He had attended many glittering balls, but none in this city. He knew no one here except for Étienne and Luc, and he was waiting with breathless expectation for the arrival of Valérie Beaulieu.

The first thing he’d done upon disembarking was to make discreet inquiries about the whereabouts of the lady. He was glad to discover she was in Loisail and, moreover, that she would be at the ball thrown by the De Villiers. He had no direct connection to the De Villiers— or hardly anyone else in Loisail, for that matter, having spent the past ten years abroad— but he did know Étienne Lémy, who was able to secure him an invitation.

Hector had dressed according to the weight of the occasion in a new double-breasted black dress coat, white shirt, and a white bow tie. White gloves and mother-of-pearl studs completed the ensemble. In his excitement, he arrived unfashionably early, not wishing to miss Valérie, and after greeting his host had positioned himself strategically so that he could watch every elegant guest who entered the vast ballroom. But Hector had not been long at his post when he heard a couple of ladies commenting that Mrs. Beaulieu had been taken ill and would not be in attendance, which came as a shock to the women since Valérie Beaulieu’s missing the opening of the season seemed unthinkable.

All his plans in tatters, the whole reason for his attendance at the ball suddenly vanishing, Hector did not know what to do with himself. Unable to stand the music and the chatter, he escaped to the library, which was gloriously empty, its furniture decorated with a profusion of brass inlays, the bookcases primly protected with glass doors. The only reasonable course of action at this point was to wait there until he could perform a proper exit without seeming rude. He could not possibly retire until nine o’clock.

Hector consulted his watch, and after deliberating, he decided he’d brush up on his history. He wound up flipping through the pages of a book without touching them, having dragged a chair closer to him with a motion of his left hand, his talent at work. He did not read a single line, too troubled by thoughts of Valérie Beaulieu to make heads or tails of the words.

When they last saw each other, they’d both been nineteen, nothing but children, really. But he’d loved her. She had been beautiful, sophisticated, captivating. A perverse part of him hoped that time had somewhat washed away the colors from her face, but in his heart he knew this was impossible and that Valérie Beaulieu must remain as he remembered her: the most devastating woman in the room.

And he would not be seeing her that night.

The clock on the wall struck nine and the door opened. In walked a young woman in a blue pastel silk and velvet dress, the sleeves rather puffed out, as was in vogue.

She closed the door, taking several steps into the room before she raised her head and caught sight of him. “Sir,” she said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize there was anybody here.”

“It’s no matter,” he replied, closing the book with his hands rather than with his mind; he reserved displays of his talent for the stage. He did not add anything else. He was hardly in the mood for polite conversation. The De Villiers prided themselves on attracting the cream of the crop to their functions— the Beautiful Ones, rather than the New People. The barons of barely minted empires of telegraph wires and fresh steel could socialize elsewhere. Hector had been offered an invitation, proof of Étienne’s charm and his connections, but he knew he was, at best, a novelty for these aristocrats; at worst, an intruder. He did not wish to befriend any of them and threw the young woman a frosty look. The girl did not take his cue.

She looked at him carefully, her lips curving into a smile as she moved closer. “I know you. You are Hector Auvray.”

“Pardon me, were we introduced?” he asked, frowning. He was sure he had not seen this girl before. He had been presented to the hosts, and Étienne had pointed out a few people, but not her.

“I recognize your face from the posters around town. You are performing at the Royal. Phantasmagoric: Feats of Wonder, isn’t it? I was hoping to meet you,” she said.

“Oh?” he replied, a noncommittal sound, even if his interest had been piqued. Few aristocrats would admit to knowing the name of a vulgar entertainer. Instead, they nodded their heads politely and either assumed or pretended he was a slightly more elevated type of person.

“What were you reading?” she asked, pointing at the book he was clutching between his hands.

“History. Miss— ”

“Nina,” she said, stretching out her hand. “Antonina, really, but I rather hate it. I’m named after a witch of a great-aunt, the most awful wretch who ever lived. Well, not quite, but I resent the association, and therefore it is Nina.”

“Hector, though you already know that part.” He shook her hand. “It’s probably best if we exit this room now. A bachelor such as myself, a young lady such as yourself— we wouldn’t want to cause a scandal.”

Truly, he wanted only to get rid of her and could not have cared what anyone thought. If the girl wished to walk around the house without an escort, then let it be. He had come to speak to one woman and one woman alone. If she was not there, then Hector would wallow in his velvet misery.

“I can’t possibly leave now,” she replied.

“Why not?” he asked, annoyed.

She did not notice his tone of voice or did not care. Instead, she took off the dance card dangling by her wrist and held it up for him to look at.

“If I go out there now, Didier Dompierre is going to ask me for a dance, and if you’d ever danced with Didier, you would know he is the most terrible dancer. I have been told he’ll put his name down for two dances, and you must be aware a lady cannot refuse a dance from a gentleman. It would be uncivil.”

Hector did not understand why a man might want to corral this particular girl for two dances in a row. She was not an enviable beauty— somewhat run-of-the-mill, to be frank— and her square jaw, black hair, and thin lips were rather unstylish. She possessed pretty hazel eyes, though, and her dress was very fine; perhaps that was enough for a young chap with poor dance skills such as this Didier Dompierre.

“Then your thought is to spend the rest of the evening here, avoiding him?”

“Not the rest of the evening, but, say, a half an hour, and by then he will have found some other girl he can stomp on,” she replied, sitting in the chair in front of him and stretching her legs.

“This does not seem the best-conceived plan.”

“It is a plan, which is what matters. Whom are you hiding from?” she asked. If she were another woman, this might have been mistaken for an attempt at flirting. Valérie would have taken the opportunity to lace her voice with honey, but the girl was plain and spoke plainly.

“I am not hiding from anyone,” he said.

“Do you make it a habit to go to balls, then, and creep into the library to brush up on your history?”

“Do you talk to all men in this manner?” he replied, growing more curious than irritated.

She toyed with her dance card, putting it again on her wrist, and gave him a mortified look. “I apologize. This is only the second dance I’ve attended, and I can see it will end catastrophically already.”

“This is the second party of the De Villiers’ you’ve attended?”

“The second party in the city I’ve ever attended, and this is the beginning of the Grand Season, the true test of a lady’s mettle. You must not think me a complete fool. I went to a couple of dances in Montipouret, but it was different. Small affairs. Loisail is large and there are many people and the rules are different.”

He was talking to a country girl, for clearly the designation of “woman” would have been misplaced on her. Worse than that, a country rube. But Hector could not help but feel more sympathy than distaste. He had, after all, been a country nothing at one time and less polished than this girl.

He smiled despite himself, to assuage her. “No doubt you’ll learn them soon. You seem quick-witted.”

“Thank you,” she replied, appearing rather pleased with his words.

She looked at him curiously and another smile crossed her face. “I must confess, I know more about you than your name from looking at the posters. I read about you in The Gazette for Physical Research. Alexander Nicolay has been investigating your telekinetic abilities.”

“Are you a fan of The Gazette?” he asked, surprised that she’d be informed about Nicolay’s research. He’d bumped into the man a couple of years back. He was attempting to measure and classify all psychokinetic talents and convinced Hector to let him take his pulse while he manipulated objects with the force of his mind. It was the sort of thing people did not think to bring up in casual conversation.

“Not particularly. But I am interested in the phenomena. They say you are one of the great psychokinetics of our era.”

“I’m a decent performer,” he replied.

“Modest, too.”

She was a curious girl, and now he reassessed her again. Not an aristocrat and not a country rube and— what exactly? He didn’t like it when he couldn’t classify people.

He gestured toward the door. “Shall I escort you to the ballroom?”

She looked down at her dance card, carefully running her fingers around its edge. “Yes. If you feel inclined, you might partner with me for a dance. I would be really thankful. I was not exaggerating when I said Didier Dompierre is the worst dancer you’ve ever seen. Is that a terrible request? It’s not, is it?”

He was somewhat amused by the question and her tone of voice, and though the girl’s nervous energy at first did not sit too well with him, he had to admit he felt a bit relieved by her intrusion. He was full to bursting with thoughts of Valérie and could do with a few minutes more of light chatter. It would also satisfy the practical necessity of actually showing himself at the ball, which he ought to do at one point. He could not spend every single minute in the library. He could wallow later, in the privacy of his apartment.

“One dance.”

She took his arm before he offered it to her as they exited the library, which was presumptuous.

The owners of the house had placed mirrors on the walls of the corridor that led to the ballroom, an ostentatious touch, but this was a new trend that was sweeping the capital and soon the nation. Whatever took the fancy of Loisail would take the fancy of the whole of Levrene; this was a known fact.

The ballroom was huge, with tall gilded mirrors reflecting the attendees, magnifying the space: the party seemed to go on forever. Above them hung monstrous chandeliers that sparkled with all their might, and all around them there were ladies with their shoulders bare, in their fine silks, while the gentlemen stood sober and proud, creating a glorious rainbow of colors, from the restrained browns of the matriarchs to the pale pinks of the unmarried women.

Hector carefully took hold of Antonina’s hand and they joined the dance. He did not consider himself an excellent dancer, though he could manage. His partner fared poorly, but gave the feeling of being entertained.

“Do you know Loisail well, Mr. Auvray? Or is this your first time here? It wouldn’t be, would it?”

“I don’t know it well, no. I’ve spent only a few days in Loisail before my move here.”

“How do you find it? Is it different from the cities where you’ve lived?” she asked.

He thought of the myriad countries and stages where he’d toured. To be back in his country of birth, in Levrene, was to be back home, though not due to a quirk of geography but because this was where Valérie resided. Here, in Loisail, even if she was hidden away at this moment. She existed and colored the city for him, lit it brighter than the elegant iron lampposts.

“Interesting. I have yet to form a strong opinion of it,” he said politely.

“Then you intend to remain for a while?”

“I will be performing for a few months here, yes. As to whether I intend to make it my permanent base of operations, we shall see. And you?”

He did not expect her to launch into a complete and honest answer. A touch of coquetry, the outline of a smile, those would have been suitable. This had been Valérie’s way.

The girl clutched his hand excitedly. “I’ll most definitely be here until the summer. I am spending all of the spring with my cousin. My mother thinks a time in the city would do me good. Where are you lodging? My cousin’s house is in Saint Illare.”

“I think you’ve asked another bold question,” he informed her.

“Is it, really?”

Her words were candid and he found himself amused by the naivety. Rather than schooling her with a scowl and a clipped yes, which normally suited him magnificently, he gave her a proper answer.

“To the east. Boniface. Not as smart as your cousin’s house, I would wager,” he said.

“Boniface. Is that so you can remain near the theater?”

“Indeed.”

“I’m sure it’s smart enough. Boniface.”

As the dance ended, a young man moved in their direction, his eyes on Antonina. Hector was going to incline his head and release the girl, but on contemplating the look of pure panic that crossed her face, he did his best to suppress a chuckle and instead asked her for a second dance. She accepted and told him the man who had been moving toward them was poor Didier. In the end, he danced a total of three dances with Nina, but since two of the three were lively stevkas, they did not speak more than a few words.

After he had thanked her for the dances and strolled away, Étienne Lémy and his little brother, Luc, wandered over. Étienne was Hector’s age and Luc a handful of years younger, though looking at them, people always swore they were twins, so alike were they, both possessing the same blond hair and stylish mustache. They furthered the illusion that evening by wearing matching gray vests.

“There you are, you devil. I couldn’t find you anywhere,” Étienne said, clasping his shoulder. “For a moment I thought you’d left.”

“Not at all. I was dancing,” Hector said.

“We saw. With Miss Beaulieu,” Luc replied.

Hector did not realize until then that the girl had given him only her first name. He had not bothered to inquire further.

“Beaulieu?” he managed to say.

“Surely you’ve heard of them. Gaétan Beaulieu. She is his cousin,” Luc said. “You have not met Gaétan?”

“I haven’t had the pleasure.”

“You must. He has the most magnificent wife imaginable, the most beautiful woman in all of the city, Va— ”

“Valérie,” Hector said, interrupting him.

“Yes. You do know them, then?”

“We both had the chance to meet Valérie before she was married to Gaétan, when she was in Frotnac,” Étienne said, maneuvering Luc by his elbow and turning him around. “Luc, why don’t you dance with Mari? She’s our cousin and looks quite alone.”

Luc glanced at a young woman standing by a mirror, the picture of a wallflower. The youngest Lémy made a face as though he had swallowed a lemon. “For good reason.”

“Go on, Luc. It is your burden as a gentleman.”

“She is a third cousin, and you know Mother keeps buzzing in my ear about her, driving me to madness,” Luc protested.

“The more reason to dance with her,” Étienne pressed on with a voice that allowed no further reproach.

The younger man let out an exasperated sigh but went in search of the lady.

As soon as his brother was at a prudent distance, Étienne spoke, his voice low. “You should not consider it. Not even for a moment.”

“Consider what?” Hector asked. Antonina Beaulieu hovered not too far from them, milling about a small circle of people. He wondered if Gaétan resembled her. He’d not seen a picture of the man. Did he sport that dark hair and the long fingers that might have belonged to a pianist? Beaulieu! A thrice-damned Beaulieu.

“Don’t act the fool. Valérie Beaulieu. You lost your head for her,” Étienne said.

“Ten years ago,” Hector said coolly, attempting to conceal any emotion in his voice.

“Ten, but I still recognize that look,” Étienne assured him.

Hector did not reply, his eyes following the movements of Miss Antonina Beaulieu across the room. He made up both an excuse and his exit after that.

Chapter 2

Nina could not say that she was truly taken with Loisail. The possibilities the city offered were exciting and it was a lively place, but there were many rules she did not understand, many people whose names she could not remember, all the protocols and details only the seasoned resident could grasp. Furthermore, she missed her mother and her sister. She missed her home, which was not as elegant as her cousin’s but which struck her as more inviting. She missed her beetles and her butterflies and was horrified when she considered all the species she would not be able to collect that spring.

But despite her homesickness, Nina understood that this was a great opportunity. The time spent in Loisail would allow her to refine her ways— there was no place as sophisticated and modern as Loisail, they said in books and newspapers— and it would permit her to make valuable connections. Most of all, the city might yield a suitable husband.

She knew well the kind of man her mother expected her to marry. A fellow from a decent family, with an excellent reputation and a generous amount of money at his disposal. It was all good and proper to marry a viscount, but when he came with a withered estate in dire need of repair, the coat of arms lost its luster. Nina’s sister, Madelena, had wed a respectable physician and a member of the neighboring Évariste family. It had pleased their mother, but Nina thought their tale lacked romance. Madelena and her husband had played together since they were children. Everyone assumed they would wed. Madelena’s husband hardly even really courted her, knowing the answer even before he asked.

Nina dreamed a different outcome. The romantic novels she had read imprinted on her the notion of a dashing suitor. She’d read of men who inspired women to blush prettily, who made their hearts hammer in their chests, who could cause a girl to swoon. She’d read, yes, but never experienced it. Montipouret offered her only the well-intentioned neighboring boys from the Évariste estate and the serious, subdued Delafois. Boys who neither caught her attention nor were keen to court her. The city, though. The city could yield the chance of romance. Here, dramatic duels and great affairs took place. Or so she’d been told.

While her mother was expecting only a suitable match, Nina was hoping for the romance of a lifetime followed by the grandest wedding imaginable.

She’d had no luck. Young, cosseted, she wished for someone dapper, like the men in her books. Didier Dompierre was the only boy who had made any serious attempt to pursue her, and Nina could not possibly picture him in a romantic light.

But that morning, as Nina dressed with the assistance of Lisette, the lady’s maid Valérie had assigned her, she thought maybe her luck had changed: she could not get Hector Auvray out of her head.

He’d danced three dances with her. Three! Surely that meant something. She might have asked Lisette for reassurance on this matter, but the maid was prickly and resented being pressed into service of the youngest Beaulieu on account of Nina’s restlessness, which often manifested with the levitation of objects across a room. In particular, Nina misplaced shoes. A single shoe would wind up on a side table, the mantelpiece, or some other place. Nina didn’t intend to do any of this, it was a tic, but that did not mean Valérie screamed any less at Lisette, taking it out on the poor maid.

Lisette adjusted the collar of Nina’s dress and made sure her hair was impeccable— Cousin Valérie was particular about her hair. Nina was running late, what with her daydreaming, and the maid huffed. Valérie was also keen on punctuality. Nina made her way to Valérie’s room as fast as she could, almost tripping in the process. She knocked twice.

“Come in,” Valérie said. She was still in bed, her hair undone, and in a robe, but she looked practically perfect, as was always the case. Her room, too, was all for show, resembling the displays at the department stores downtown.

“Good morning,” Nina said. “Lisette said you’re not feeling well.”

“It’s another one of those dreadful migraines.”

Valérie had just had a migraine the week before, the night before the De Villiers’ ball. Secretly Nina had been pleased that Valérie decided to stay home. Valérie’s attention to detail, her rules and demands, was stifling. When they went out in public, Valérie expected the world of Nina. She was very different from Nina’s older sister, who tended towards the protective.

“Should I head to the park on my own, then?”

This was one of those city customs that Nina did not understand even though Valérie had explained it to her. It was of the utmost importance that twice a week between the hours of nine and eleven they walk or ride around the nearby White Park, which was one of the largest parks in the city. The point, Valérie said, was to be seen. All the notable women in the city would— at least once a week— take a leisurely excursion through one of the popular green areas. Valérie scheduled her visits with rigor and chose the mornings because to stroll in a park in the evening, she confided, would be invariably crude. In the evenings a lady should be attending a party or a dinner, heading to the theater or the opera, not walking around in the semidarkness. Nina, who caught fireflies in the twilight hours during the summer, could only nod.

“I think you should be able to manage without me,” Valérie said.

“Are you certain? I could stay and read to you.”

Valérie pressed a slender, graceful hand against her forehead. “It would do no good. Go on and be sure to return by noon.”

“I will.”

Nina kissed Valérie on the cheek to mark her departure, a gesture the older woman did not seem to enjoy. Five minutes later she arrived at White Park, Lisette in tow. Nina might have walked it but took the carriage, as Valérie would have. It was fine to walk in the park, but a lady should reach it by carriage. It struck Nina as a bit ridiculous. She had walked to visit the estates of the Évaristes and the Delafois a number of times, and even walked into the village. Why, it practically took longer to get into the carriage and out of it than to reach the park by foot. But once again, Valérie had laid down the rules for her.

By carriage it was, then. Rather than walking the perimeter of the park, which was what Valérie did in an effort to be seen, Nina decided to rebel in the absence of the woman. In the center of White Park, there was a pond. One could rent a wooden boat and row from one side of the pond to the other, or else sit on a bench. That was where Nina went, circling the pond and tossing crumbs to the ducks, sometimes without even touching them. When she ran out of them, she asked Lisette to purchase another bag of crumbs from the boys who sold them around the park.

The maid rolled her eyes at Nina. “That is for the country folk visiting Loisail for the first time,” Lisette said. She had been born and raised in the city, and now reminded the young girl of this with her huffy tone.

“I don’t care who does what and who doesn’t. Fetch me a bag of crumbs,” Nina said, trying to imitate Valérie’s imperious voice. She did not succeed. Instead, Lisette took off murmuring under her breath.

Valérie paid careful attention to the people around her, but Nina would often grow distracted. It was no surprise that, alone and without her maid to swat her arm, she did not see Hector Auvray until he was but a couple of paces from her. She had been occupied following a duck and raised her head too late.

“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 comforted herself with the thought that her gaffes had not been witnessed by Valérie, who surely would have had recriminations to share, perhaps even pinched her. Some of the neighboring children had mocked Nina when she was little because of her ability. Even a few of her cousins had indulged in this pastime, though only when her sister was out of earshot. Nina would have preferred that endless teasing rather than Valérie’s disapproval, which stung.

“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 was also swarthier than what was deemed as refined. She did not mind, for she was no wan waif herself. Valérie protected her milky-white face—which the Beautiful Ones prized—with hats and veils, shuddering at the thought of compromising her pale complexion and urged Nina to do the same. Sun-kissed were Nina’s cheeks, and no bonnet could change that. Hector 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 Gaétan Beaulieu.”

“I haven’t had the pleasure.”

“He’s well esteemed here,” Nina said, unable to feign modesty. She was proud of Gaétan. He was not only the head of the family, but she thought him a wonderful man besides.

“You sound fond of him,” Hector said.

Nina nodded. “We practically grew up together. He used to come to visit us every other summer when I was little. He was like an elder brother to us, though to be fair, his playmate was my sister, Madelena. He is her elder by only a year and I was a small girl. Do you have any siblings?”

“None.”

“That seems odd. I have so many cousins, you’d need twice the fingers on your hands to count them all,” she said, and raised her hands as if counting them. “Most of us summered together and thus I had an unending pool of brothers and sisters. It is a rather noisy household. I suppose that’s what bothers me most about Gaétan’s home: It’s awfully quiet. You could hear a pin fall in the hallway.”

“A museum of a house.”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, delighted with the comparison. It did seem like a museum.

“It sounds like you miss your home,” he replied.

“I do. But my mother says the city will do me good. I cannot believe you hadn’t lived in Loisail before. How is that possible?”

“Must everyone live in Loisail?” he asked, and his voice was tinged with this delightful sarcasm she found refreshing.

The crushing blackness of his suit gave him a tragic air, and all put together she was impressed by the flesh-and-blood version of this man whom she had spied in posters throughout the city, spending an inordinate amount of time staring at his face on one occasion.

She decided then and there that she liked him.

“They tell me anyone who is anyone should,” she said.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been much of anyone.”

“You jest! Why, you have no equal except maybe for Abel Rezo. Levitation of a horse? I’d like Reisz or Pressner to attempt that.”

Hector frowned. “And you gleaned all this from The Gazette for Physical Research?”

“Not entirely. As I said, I’m interested in psychokinetics. Your name tends to pop up in that field. I’ve read a bit about you. More than a bit, perhaps,” she said, and wished she’d brought a parasol. It would have given her something to hold on to. She feared any second now she was going to send pebbles splashing into the water with the sweep of her eyes.

Hector gave her a half smirk and took out his pocket watch, sliding the lid open. “Psychokinetics. You’ll have to explain your interest in the subject when next we meet, but I should set off now if I want to make my appointment. It has been delightful speaking to you again.”

“Delightful as your time at the ball or truly delightful?” she asked, spotting Lisette, who looked irritated. Their conversation was about to be cut short one way or another, and she wanted to know.

“Truly delightful,” he replied.

“We may become friends, then.”

He looked at Nina, seeming to take the measure of her. Valérie complained that Nina lacked tact, always talking too much or too little. She wondered if he agreed with the assessment and was about to make a quick escape.

“Without appearing to impose myself, Miss Beaulieu, would it be acceptable if I paid you a visit on an afternoon of your choice?” he asked.

A visit. A gentleman calling on her! People called all the time on Valérie and Gaétan, but not on her. To be the focus of attention delighted Nina.

“I would not mind at all. You could call on us on Tuesday after two.”

“Though my psychokinetic powers may indeed be impressive, I have not yet grasped the art of reading minds. Where is this house that is a museum of yours?”

“At Lambal and Avil. It’s the blue house. You’ll recognize it rather quickly,” she said, extending her gloved hand so he might shake it. He kissed it instead. Of course he did. This was the proper way to greet and bid good-bye to a lady. Nevertheless, it seemed to her a wonderful gesture and she wished she had misplaced the gloves, as also happened often. She might have felt his lips against her skin instead.

“Thank you. I shall see you Tuesday, then.”

He gave her another one of those half smirks before turning around and walking away. Lisette arrived with a bag of crumbs and recriminations. Nina did not hear a single one of them.