The Beautiful Ones - Silvia Moreno-Garcia Page 0,59

said, stubbornly gnashing her teeth.

“Shall we find out how much he cares? If you ruin me, believe me, Antonina Beaulieu, I will do everything in my power to ruin you, and I guarantee I will succeed. All a woman has is her reputation, and you won’t have one shred of it once I’m done with you.”

There was boiling rage in the girl’s eyes. Valérie was afraid for a moment she might attempt to throttle her—though if she did, Valérie would use this to her advantage. Nothing would please her more than to yell for help and have the servants pry the girl off her. She could affirm the child had gone mad.

A book—no, two—fell to the floor as if scattered by an invisible wind, but that was all. Perhaps exhaustion had set in and Antonina could summon no more power, or else she was trying to control herself.

“I won’t tell,” the girl said at last, and gave Valérie a severe, proud look. “Know that I do it for my cousin. He does not deserve the pain this would cause him.”

Valérie could not read Nina’s words as anything but the marks of a weakling; she appreciated only one type of strength.

“I’m glad we understand each other,” Valérie replied, satisfied, and thought her a dolt.

Antonina sat at the edge of her bed. Her eyes were weary and she clutched her bedsheets ferociously, but Valérie could tell her will to fight had evaporated. This was the still after a storm, and the girl was her own wreckage. She could do no harm now.

Valérie went to the door, her hand resting upon the handle when she heard Antonina speak.

“You said he loved you and always had,” Antonina said in a low voice. “And do you love him?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

Valérie sighed and turned her head. In ruins, still, the girl tried to clasp a shred of tender feeling to her heart. It was not to be had.

“Dear, dear Antonina. Don’t be silly. The point is he’s never loved you. And he never will. Dry your tears and be a good girl; when they ask you tomorrow what happened, tell them you mistook his intentions and he will not marry you. It won’t be too far off from the mark,” she concluded.

She closed the door and she heard the loud scattering of books upon the floor. The girl had lost control, in the end. Valérie shrugged. There was a pang of regret in her heart for Hector, and perhaps a dull sympathy for Antonina, but she pushed both feelings away, knowing she could not afford to pay them heed.

CHAPTER 20

“Is either one of you going to tell me what happened back there?” Luc asked.

They were in the dining car because Luc wanted to eat, but Luc immediately took offense with the menu when he saw it. He was the kind of man who demanded lobster and truffles for lunch, changing his mind at the last second, deciding it ought to be veal and asparagus soup. The reduced offerings available did not please him. There was nothing to be done about it. Had they taken the Thursday train, they would have been able to travel aboard the more luxurious Southern Express. But they had left Oldhouse two days before their scheduled departure.

Hector could not bear to remain there a second longer.

He had attempted to speak to Nina before he left, knocking at her door and trying to coax her out, but she had not responded. Not a word. Her mother and her sister both were terribly embarrassed and spoke apologies. Hector could do nothing more than nod his head. He had no idea what to say.

Hector promised himself he would write to Nina later, once a sensible amount of distance remained between them. He’d write from Bosegnan, he’d atone.

“Eat your cake,” Étienne said laconically.

“Truly, Brother, can you treat me more like a child?” Luc replied as he lit a cigarette and frowned, looking at Hector. “They were saying Nina Beaulieu barricaded herself in her room and has gone mad, all because you did not propose to her.”

“Stop it,” Étienne said. “You’ve asked thrice already and he is not answering.”

“I ask because it seems extreme. No wonder I don’t dare to propose to a girl.”

“You don’t propose to girls, because there is not one who would be willing to endure you.”

“Again with the jabs, Étienne!”

Hector watched the men squabble, as they often did, and raised a glass of wine to his lips. The train was