The Beautiful Ones - Silvia Moreno-Garcia Page 0,119

rather not spend the rest of my life fearing a gun suddenly pressed against the back of my head.”

He knew how it went with men like Luc Lémy, and he would not become one of those haunted fellows perpetually looking over his shoulder; he’d consumed enough time running already. Besides, there was the basic question of honor. Hector did everything properly, and he would not cede to cowardice when it came to matters of violence and spite.

“That is ridiculous!” she yelled.

A heavy bookcase groaned and slid across the floor, driven by her thoughts. He moved toward her and seized her hands, but she slipped from his grip and slapped his chest in anger.

“No! You are not going to do something that stupid!”

“Come here,” he said, wrapping her in his arms. “Come here.”

She did not really want to be held, and squirmed in his embrace, but he planted a kiss on her forehead, which calmed her somewhat.

“You might die.”

“Most men don’t die in duels,” he told her.

It depends on the conditions and one’s opponent, he thought, but did not want to dwell on that point.

“Then you’ll be injured! As if that makes it better.”

“It makes it somewhat better, doesn’t it? Give me a kiss, I need it.”

Nina frowned, but after a few seconds stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. He swept her hair away so that he might touch her neck, and her eyes fluttered closed. He placed a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth.

“I have letters to write, to your cousin and to others, and there is breakfast to be had, but if you give me an hour, I’ll take you to the dressmaker and we can have you looking like a proper fiancée of mine. We won’t let this spoil everything, will we?”

She shook her head, but only a little, as if uncertain.

“Put your dress on. I’ll get to these letters at once.”

She was not thoroughly convinced, despite the calm in his voice, but she retreated in the end. Alone, he sat at the table and rested his elbows against its surface, lacing his hands together and pressing his forehead against them.

CHAPTER 23

Hector took her to one of the new shops on Winter Hill, where he instructed her to buy whatever she pleased, then make her way back to his apartment. He had people to meet, he told her, and it was necessary that he proceed alone. He would join her for supper, he promised.

“Make sure you have a nice trousseau,” he told her. “And we can worry about a bridal gown later.”

It was not considered proper for a groom to provide his bride with her trousseau, as it would undermine the lady’s pride: a trousseau indicated a woman’s wealth and social standing. It took time and care to assemble one.

Nina did not have time, she knew this plainly. Her family would want her married forthwith, and since Hector had made no mention of having her return to her great-aunts’ home—and sending for her trunk might have caused the poor old ladies to faint or irritate her kin even further—it stood to reason she needed new clothes.

She tried to be as practical as she could about the matter; truth be told, she had not paid attention to her sister’s arrangements when it came to her trousseau. She settled for a handful of nightdresses, drawers, corset-covers, and petticoats. She stumbled as she had to consider how many pairs of gloves she required, because she often lost them and when she wanted to manipulate objects, she did not use them anyway. She also had a way of misplacing collars.

When it came to gowns, matters were simpler, and she acquired a couple of housedresses, tea gowns, a visiting dress. She did not want to seem like a simpleton who spent all her money on opera gowns in a display of frivolity when clearly what was required were everyday clothes, but she did acquire one evening gown.

Before she left the shop, Nina changed into a blue linen day dress with a narrow skirt and much lace and pin tucking. Dressed like this, she went to another shop, where she purchased necessities for the toilette, including a silver set of brushes.

She had the carriage driver help her up with her numerous parcels to the fifth floor, and once he’d stacked them by the door and departed, she made the lock open with a flick of her fingers—not even bothering with the keys Hector had pressed against her palm—and willed the packages