I thought you might want this one. It’s like the one I saw you catch by that stream, and you were pleased with it.”
“A water diving beetle. You remembered that,” she said.
“Not at first. I told them to get me twenty beetles, but then there was one that looked like this and I recalled the one you caught. Do you want it? If you don’t—”
“Yes,” she said quickly.
She held the insect up to the light, and when she did, it seemed to change color depending on the angle, now growing brighter or duller. She placed it back in the box and secured the lid on.
“I did like the other beetles you sent,” she said.
He chuckled at this only because the way she spoke it made it seem like a shameful secret.
“What amuses you?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he replied.
Nina was peeved, blushing at his words even though once again he did not think he’d done or said anything that could cause any shame. He chuckled again, which, if he’d pause to consider it, was a feat since he tended to silences and a bit of starchiness.
“Thank you for the gift,” she said once the color had faded from her cheeks.
“You are welcome.”
“Twenty, you say?”
“One for each of your years.”
“Whom did you buy them from?” she asked, sounding genuinely curious.
“Ferrier and Ferrier.”
“You’ve been had. I wager you could have bought them at Theo’s for a fraction of the cost,” she replied cheekily.
“Next time I require twenty beetles, I’ll ask you to accompany me to the shop.”
Her eyes swept over him. Under the bright sun, her hair was so black, it seemed almost blue; it glinted, like a raven’s wing. She dipped her hand in the water again, tracing circles with her fingers.
“Perhaps we might meet again if you’d like,” he told her.
Nina did not speak and he could not begrudge her the caution in her face. There would be no leaps and bounds between them.
He did not wish to assume that she’d care about him anymore, even if she had at Oldhouse. A year had passed. And Hector himself was not sure where all this might lead; he’d had scant practice at the sport of affection. He’d seldom wanted it, preferring to dwell in the pits of melancholy. He was, in short, a jumble of thoughts and feelings, uncomfortably raw for a man his age.
“We could attempt to become friends once more, as you said,” he proposed nevertheless, for he did need her to realize this was on his mind.
Her body was tense, her fingers stilling in the water. She looked at him and he thought it might all come to naught, because she’d suddenly drifted far, her thoughts no doubt wary. But then Nina smiled. It was like looking down and finding the first green sprouts rising from the frozen, black earth. Almost invisible and yet there, heralding spring.
“Perhaps,” she said.
“Perhaps,” he repeated.
Her hazy smile grew more obvious.
It was something. It was something indeed.
CHAPTER 9
Agnes Haduier was older than Valérie and as ugly as a sow, but she attempted to compensate for her inadequacies by purchasing the most expensive, fabulous dresses and sporting an array of highly elaborate hats. Though they moved in the same social circles and had known each other for years, they were not friends. Valérie couldn’t truly trust anyone who was not a member of her family. She reserved her devotion for the Véries, the importance of blood kin and duty to her own imprinted on her since an early age.
“How are your beloved roses doing, Valérie?” Agnes asked.
“Blooming beautifully,” Valérie replied. Agnes had a large garden, but it was tacky and disorganized compared to Valérie’s perfect rose ensemble.
Agnes smiled while Valérie looked at her with a face of flawless alabaster, hiding the disgust that assaulted her in the presence of this woman. Agnes wore a blue hat with a feather sprouting from the back, which Valérie found ostentatious and off-putting.
“I was sorry you could not make it to my party.”
“Yes, I apologize for that,” Valérie said dryly. She had sent the woman a note promptly the morning after the party. She always minded her courtesies—what else could Agnes want now?
“My dear, if you had gone … well, perhaps … This is hard for me to say, but I feel it is my duty to inform you that your cousin Antonina behaved poorly.”
“How poorly?”
“There was some small matter about her doing a few levitation tricks. Very common, I’m afraid. No, but the real issue, and the reason why