Page 22 of The Beautiful Ones

I mistook the absence of fear for the beginning of happiness.

The rumors began in April.

No one told me what Nathaniel was supposed to have done. The offense changed according to the person whispering it. Mrs. Dewey spoke of missing naval papers. Reuben George referred darkly to an irregularity connected with Nathaniel’s final command. Mother said he had made accusations against respectable men and then failed to produce evidence. Warren claimed Nathaniel had accumulated gambling debts in Norfolk, although Nathaniel had once told me he disliked cards.

Within two weeks, invitations stopped arriving for him.

Within three, men who had shaken his hand crossed the street rather than greet him.

My father removed Nathaniel’s name from the guest list for our summer gathering. Mother collected his letters from the silver salver before I could see them. When I asked where they had gone, she told me correspondence with a disgraced man could only injure me.

“What d-d-did he—”

“It does not concern you.”

“He is to m-m-marry—”

“He is not.”

Mother said it so calmly that I thought I had misunderstood her.

She stood before my wardrobe, examining a length of Belgian lace while my future disappeared behind her.

“The engagement is at an end,” she continued. “Your father has written to Commander Vale. No formal announcement was published, so there will be very little embarrassment provided we behave sensibly.”

I gripped the back of a chair.

“N-no.”

Mother turned.

It was not the answer she expected from me. Perhaps it was not the answer I had expected either.

“Cécile, you do not understand the seriousness of the situation.”

“Then t-t-tell—”

“There is nothing to tell. Commander Vale has placed himself outside decent society. Whatever future he possessed is gone.”

I wanted to say that a man did not cease to be decent merely because decent society had abandoned him. I wanted to ask whether Father had spoken to Nathaniel or merely to the men accusing him. Most of all, I wanted to demand the return of his letters.

My tongue gave Mother only broken sounds.

She watched me struggle until impatience hardened her face.

“You should be grateful we discovered his character before the marriage. With your limitations, another family might insist you accept whatever husband had been secured. Your father and I are protecting you.”

My limitations.

The words silenced me more completely than my stammer ever had.

Mother interpreted my silence as surrender.

Nathaniel came to Le Champ des Fleurs three nights later.

A storm had passed over the river shortly before dusk, leaving the lawn wet and the sky the bruised purple of a healing wound. I was in the schoolroom with the windows open, playing the same passage again and again because repetition demanded nothing from my voice.

The door opened behind me.