who sat outside a café in the afternoon sun. Her lips trembled.
“I’ll go,” he said with a sigh, his hand resting upon her arm.
“No, you must not feel obligated to me,” she murmured.
His hold on her tightened and he pulled her aside, under the awning of a hat shop. “Nina, I want to go with you,” he said.
She knew by now he was the kind of man who, once he had made a choice, would follow the path set down unblinking, but as he looked down at her, she spoke.
“Are you sure?” she asked. He was close to her; if he but moved a step forward, the buttons of his coat would brush against her chest. She’d seen an illustration in a book where a man held a woman in his arms like this.
But he did not take that step. He smiled instead. “Yes,” he said.
His smile was nearly shy, and she beamed at him in delight. “You will like it,” she promised as they began walking again. “It’s beautiful there.”
“I haven’t been anywhere near the countryside in ages.”
“Where did you holiday when you were in Iblevad?”
He shrugged. “I seldom holiday anywhere. I’ve been busy working.”
“Clearly I’ve come to save you from yourself.”
“I wouldn’t go as far as that.”
“You’ll see,” she said, glancing at the street, the restaurants.
“Indeed. But for now, we should hail a carriage.”
She sighed. “I wish we could keep talking and sup together. I wish we could go to Castet’s. Wouldn’t that be fun? Drinking champagne and eating oysters,” she said.
“If you really want oysters, the place to go is the wooden stalls of the open market, early in the day.”
“You wouldn’t be breakfasting like that at the market, would you?” she asked.
“Why not?” he replied. “Does it sound too common?”
She shook her head. “Maybe. But also exciting. I envy you. I think you may do anything you want.”
“Not anything,” he said, and surely he meant little by it, but a deep note in his voice thrilled her. A promise, a secret, which made her reach out and touch his arm lightly as they crossed the street.
“There is a bird they call an oystercatcher and it is a mistake to call it thus, since it also dines on crabs, mussels, and echinoderms. Its eggs are darling, with the most handsome markings, but it has the nasty habit of leaving them in seagulls’ nests for the other birds to care for,” Nina said, because when she could not find proper words or gestures, she defaulted to the lines she’d read in books.
Though they had walked but a few paces, she realized she sounded breathless and likely this was why Hector paused to look down at her, curious, making her blush, which was what she’d been avoiding.
They stood motionless and then he leaned down, and she thought he meant to touch her, kiss her. Instead, Hector snapped up his head and spoke to a driver waiting by the curb. He helped Nina into the carriage, and when he released her hand, he smiled again, and in that fluttering second she knew she loved him, loved him true, and it wasn’t the coy flirtation of a young woman.
CHAPTER 13
Montipouret was a region of rivers and lakes, its water mills constantly churning. It was also a place of forests, thickets, and marshes, which contrasted with the open fields and neatly divided parcels of the northern regions. Much of the travel in the area took place by boat. That was how the Beaulieus made their fortune: by ferrying wool upriver to be sold in other regions. Timber, coal, wool, and goats’ milk were the staples of these lands.
The railway now cut through the region, but Montipouret remained less populous, more isolated, and rougher than the rest of the country. Reaching Oldhouse was still an odyssey. Valérie, used to her fine carriage and the macadam streets of Loisail, could not help but mutter to herself as they abandoned the train at Dijou and boarded a carriage that took them down a bumpy road that grew bumpier as the minutes went by. Soon it was not a road at all but a dirt path.
Eventually they arrived at Oldhouse, an estate lacking in grace. It was made of rough stones that had been piled upon one another in a manner that ensured it was sturdy, but nowhere near a delight to the eye.
Oldhouse was divided into two structures, the original Oldhouse having necessitated an annex at a point. A Beaulieu who had a modicum of