The Vespertine

by Mitchell, Saundra

  "The point," Sarah said, cutting Mattie off and recovering the conversation from its digression, "is that he'll be able to keep a wife soon, which means he'll want one."

  "Does a man ever want one?" Zora asked.

  "I should think Thomas does, and no doubt you're the one he'll ask for." At that, I pressed my hand to her cheek, smiling fondly.

  "And you'll tell us every little thing." Sarah's declaration carried about it some certainty.

  "What makes you think I'd speak secrets from our marriage bed?" Zora demanded, sitting up. "You do me a grave disservice, Sarah Holbrook!"

  For a moment we all held silent, for Zora's ire sounded entirely too real. The crude intimation that there should be something to tell hung there, ripe and round, glaring so until Zora rolled her eyes and gave Sarah a shove. "Oh, if I had a glass, that you could see yourself right now!"

  "Harpy," Sarah replied.

  Collapsing, Zora declared, "Right now, all I want to be is the thing that distracts him and troubles him and sweetly disturbs him from morning til night."

  "I should want to be a wife," Mattie said, sighing thoughtfully. "And a mother. I'm fond of babies."

  Bemused, Sarah said, "I will marry, but only beneath me."

  "You're so cruel, pretending Caleb has no intentions," Mattie said.

  "Those are his intentions, not mine." Swimming in the sheets, Sarah turned and twisted, giving Mattie a little shove before settling again.

  Mattie said, "I'd never marry down," but it came out a bit plaintive.

  Dissolving against Sarah's shoulder, Zora told Mattie, "You may have to. We're hardly up!"

  I giggled along—as if I hadn't set myself on the most unsuitable beau of all. Blinding myself willfully to it, I gave into merriment.

  How we laughed, at that and a hundred other jests between midnight and morning—the glorious morning that would bring, at last, the dawning of my next waltz with Nathaniel.

  Thirteen

  I WAS SO EXCITED this morning," I told Zora as we wound our way through the refreshment room. "Why do I feel so ill now?"

  Knowingly, Zora turned back to me, blocking the punch bowl for all comers, without the first indication that she cared. "It's anticipation. I told you to have that nerve tonic."

  "It smelled like a ... I can't even say it in polite company."

  "Well, I had some and look at me." Zora slipped her arm into mine, leading me along again. "Fine and fit and barely ready to have hysterics, considering it seems we're here entirely alone."

  And with that, she gave voice to my distress.

  Walking through the arch of Sienna Place had been very much an entrance to a fantasy. Under Mrs. Castillo's thoughtful gaze, we fashionably arrived an hour after the start and paid our way with new quarters. In exchange, a boy in a Grecian costume and golden diadem, presumably Apollo himself, offered us dance cards.

  Past him, in the ballroom itself, tempered jets glowed along the walls and in ornate sunburst chandeliers overhead. Organza bunting, shimmering like sunlight on a lake, draped the windows, some opened to let out the heat, some closed to keep out the night. Dancing here, conversing there—the ballroom gleamed with all the jewels of respectable society.

  Mrs. Castillo excused herself to sit with the other married ladies, no doubt thinking the four of us should manage quite well to chaperone one another with only an occasional glimpse from her to measure our manners.

  "We'll sit over there," Mattie told us, soon after Mrs. Castillo took her leave.

  She nodded at seats empty by the far windows—seats rather near a clutch of young men gesturing among themselves. Sarah swept her fan open, gazing mysteriously over its lace trim. Though she played at flirtatiousness, her voice came laced with sarcasm.

  "Wish us luck on our fishing expedition, ladies."

  Amused, we watched them go. As Mattie intended to dance as many dances as she could and Sarah needed time to introduce herself to the carpenters and musicians, apparently, they were wise to separate from us. We avoided too-long looks and pretended hem distress, all to the goal of saving ourselves and our cards for two alone.

  "I've only just realized," I said, trying to keep bitterness from creeping into my voice, "you're the one who has an actual beau."

  "Is there something on your mind?"

  We turned our third circuit past the refreshment table, and I stopped to have some punch. I wondered what had turned it such a cloudy shade of storm, and when I took a sip, I had my answer. Lime, tart, teasing lime that left me puckering. "It's just ... it only just occurred to me that your invitation was made in the plain, but mine came by treachery."

  Zora coughed on her punch and looked askance at me. "By treachery? Have we found ourselves at a pirates' ball?"

  "Mock if you will, but it's true. If Mr. Witherspoon finds himself otherwise diverted tonight, then I'm his fool. There's nothing I can do about it. We're the only ones who know he was obligated to me at all."

  Tipping her cup, Zora seemed to dare herself to take another startling sip. "He went to such trouble to lure you. What could he possibly gain by playing you false?"

  Nothing, I started to say, but the word refused to come. For he delighted, again and again, in unsettling me—would this not be the greatest unsettlement of them all? Reason told me that Thomas would suffer before making himself a party to such a plot. But logic told me that if Nathaniel wanted to lie to me, he could lie to Thomas just as easily.

  "Stop it," Zora scolded.

  "I didn't speak!"

  "Your pinched little face did." Zora abandoned her punch. "You're lovely tonight, and he would be the lowest sort to summon you without intent."

  Carrying my cup along, I followed Zora in her nervous promenade around the room once more. "He'd have no way of knowing how lovely I am if he doesn't appear."

  Zora shook her fan at me. "Away. Out of my sight, you moping chit."

  With a grumble, I stepped to let her pass, then fell in behind her to make our way toward the ballroom. I thought about stepping on the lace train of her Watteau, although that wouldn't really please me. It would just annoy her. Two foul tempers at a dance instead of one—that wouldn't improve anything.

  "Thomas," Zora breathed.

  She stopped so abruptly that I splashed my ridiculously bare chest with punch. Due to the bend of my gown's basque, the spill drained into my corset. It was half a blessing. My gown showed no evidence of a stain, but I felt it growing sticky and warm against my skin.

  "Is Mr. Witherspoon with him?" I searched my clutch for a kerchief and said, before she had the chance to reply, "I take that to mean no."

  "You've no need to be cross with me." Zora took my hand, pulling me along to put herself in Thomas' gaze.

  Still daubing myself dry, I said, "I'm only asking."

  With impeccable manners, Thomas made his way around the floor, an interminable progress to watch with Zora all but jittering beside me. The fine union blue of his coat suited him.

  "How much could he possibly say to Mattie?" Zora asked, impatient.

  I didn't answer. They should have been together, Thomas and Nathaniel. They should have been early to greet us. What if our dance cards had filled early? Didn't they risk missing our charms completely by coming so late?

  My throat tightened, and I hated the new sting of tears in my eyes. What an awful, spoiled thing I'd become to expect and to demand, when I should have counted myself lucky to spend even a single day outside my little village in Maine.

  "Miss Stewart," Thomas said, once he finally reached our side of the ballroom. "Miss van den Broek."

  I offered a game smile and silence in response. Fear clutched me, the certainty that if I tried to speak, I would only cry instead.

  "Did you come alone?" Zora asked, the question halfsharpened and plaintive.

  "Caleb's here with me to surprise Miss Holbrook, and..." When he realized what she really asked, he turned toward me, apologetic. "Mr. Witherspoon didn't drive in with us; I thought he'
d be along on his own."

  Clasping my throat, I tried to rub away the knot that had formed there. Now managing to speak, I sounded stilted and formal. Well, if nothing else, I had my manners. "I thank you most kindly, Mr. Rea."

  Thomas held out a gallant hand. "Shall I have the honor of dancing this set with you, Miss van den Broek?"

  "May I write you in for the schottische after the interval? I haven't looked in on Mrs. Castillo in an hour, and truly I should."

  "I would be honored," Thomas said, and if he was relieved to escape me, he showed it not at all. For Thomas, I told myself, as I fled to take some air and another dip of awful punch, was a gentleman.

  And I was a fool.

  ***

  I suppose I should have, when splitting myself off from my chaperones, slipped into the garden. The illicit thrill of going about in the dark might have cheered me. Instead, I submitted to the melancholy of exploring this grand hall alone.

  Taking the stairs, I found the ladies' salon, where summer blooms in all shades sat, resting, fanning the sweat from their faces and mending their gowns. A kind, round woman turned to me. Her smile said that I could come inside if I wished.

  I nodded my thanks and moved on.

  The music downstairs became a whisper as I retreated down the hall. The gaslights dimmed gradually, until I found myself at a bend where none glowed at all. For a moment, I thought I might go back, but why?

  All I had was an empty dance card and the awful realization that I had been rash. I'd been a fool. I'd let Nathaniel insinuate himself into my life. For nothing—for a kiss on the wrist and a dark, teasing look.

  How stupid I was.

  My inclination the first night, when I denied him on account of all my possibilities for the summer—that was the right one. I had no business playing at intrigue; I'd failed entirely at my single task for the summer by setting my heart on a painter, a Fourteenth—a rogue. If I'd had the slightest sense, I should have returned to the ball and filled my card. I should have stolen Sarah's fan tricks and started my summer work in truth.

  But I didn't.

  I lifted my skirts and ventured on. The distant cry of violins urged, the delectable cool of shadows tempted. I gave in, slipping into a dreamy haze of wonder at fine things I could never hope to own and elegant solitudes I could enjoy but this once.

  A door drifted open at the end of the hall. At first, I hesitated, for what if I should stumble on things never meant for my eyes? But then my boldness reasserted itself—before me now were shadowed busts and paintings. A few more steps indicted me no more than the hundred I'd already taken.

  Daring swept over me as I brushed the door open. No conspirators looked up from amap; no lovers gasped, caught by my unexpected appearance. It was just a room, tastefully appointed, but with nothing to recommend it over any other. Fine curtains parted at the window, drifting on a breeze.

  Before me, a lawn traced in bluesilver shadow spread into the night. The moon hung low. It glittered like a curved needle, left in a field of midnight velvet.

  Clasping the balcony rail, I lifted my face to the wind again. It carried the cold, stony scent of fresh water. All my life, the ocean had surrounded me, saltily pushing me to the west.

  This spring's sweetness offered to carry me away, off to cold, clear lands that I had yet begun to imagine. Eyes closed, I pressed forward a bit more, parting my lips to catch a taste of that promise.

  "Don't jump," Nathaniel murmured beside me.

  Though my breath faltered, I could, at last, face him. Seeing him thrilled me as ever. I was helplessly attracted to his wanton mouth. But now I looked on him without illusion. Whatever method he took to slip in and out unannounced, it no longer impressed me.

  "Over You? I should hardly think so."

  "You're angry," he said. And as if nothing had passed between us but days since our last meeting, he let his black gaze trace the path of my lips. "I'm unforgivably late. Can we come to an accord, Miss van den Broek?"

  "I don't practice diplomacy, and you seem incapable of it," I said. I felt as though something wound in me, tighter and tighter, threatening to snap. Fumbling with the clasp on my bag, I finally mastered it and pulled out his glove.

  "Please don't," he said. His expression offered the first tantalizing glimpse of vulnerability—the faintest furrow of his brow.

  In that moment, I thought to smooth it away. And in that moment, I chose not to because everything I'd said to Zora was still true. He called on me in secret, and no good could come of meeting him secretly.

  "I permitted too many liberties. You lacked the grace to refuse them."

  Nathaniel took my hand rather than his glove and filled the space between us. A struggle played out on his face, tugging brow and mouth in disparate directions. Finally, as if pained when the words tore from his lips, he said, "I couldn't afford my share of the cab."

  "How can that be?" I asked, ignoring the way spring came to my blood, melting my icy resolve in an instant. But I hid it. The wisest thing for both of us would be to close this play. "Aren't you a man of independent means? Don't you do as you please?"

  "I paint portraits to pay my rent," he said, his nostrils flaring. Oh, his confidence and pride, how strange to see them shaken. "I take dinners with the vain and superstitious to buy my canvas and oils."

  Softening the slightest, I cast my gaze from his light and murmured, "Mr. Witherspoon..."

  "So, if by saying I scrabble to have what I have and claw to keep it, then I suppose I do very much do as I please. I beg you look at me." And though he could have, though I'd seen it happen to other girls, Nathaniel didn't shake me. And he didn't force my eyes to meet his. He simply said once more, "I beg you."

  "How do you come and go?" I asked. Though I peered yet at the sky, a warm, ornate pattern traced my skin, the traverse of his gaze. "I want a secret of yours. Answer me that."

  "In mist," he said, but it was with laughter. "In shadows. As a hawk? What would you have me tell you?"

  At that I turned, stumbling into the dark briars of his eyes meeting mine. "The truth."

  "I go on foot, as any man." He didn't waver, but he did squeeze my hand and murmur, "And sometimes I send myself to you in the wind, for you come to me in my thoughts."

  Starting to shiver, I shook my head. "I haven't. I wouldn't know how."

  He raised his hand, a length of black ribbon wrapped around it. A charm dangled from it, an amber sun in silver, radiating with waves of light that came to points. Didn't I know then? On the last rays of daylight, opened to that place where our spirits moved freely when our bodies did not—his charm was my answer.

  Without thinking, I touched my throat and turned, but not to leave him. He unfurled the length of ribbon and framed my body between his arms as I leaned back to his chest—the steps of this dance inspired by some outward force.

  Slipping the choker round my neck, he took care to fasten it, touching skin and charm to place it perfectly. Then he caught my eye in the window's glass, and how handsome a pair were we.

  "You speak into me," he whispered, just behind my ear. "So I come."

  My throat went dry. Touching the warming pendant, I looked back, though not directly at him. "Mr. Witherspoon—"

  Cutting me off again, he said, "You speak into me, Amelia."

  "And so you come..." I parted my lips to offer his name, but he stole my kiss instead.

  Fourteen

  IN THE DARK RECESSES of our bed at Tammany House, I still felt the burn of dancing in my limbs.

  My legs skimmed restlessly between the sheets. Stroking the length of velvet around my throat was like running my fingers through a hot bath. It held a secret—if I rubbed against the grain, a hint of Nathaniel's bay rum rose up to spark my heart.

  Turning, twisting toward a waltz, I must have sighed aloud, for Zora sat up and slapped the sheets between us.

  "Would You lie still?"

  "I'm hardly moving," I replied, tugging her back down. "Come talk to me.
"

  Zora rose once more, taking her pillow to punch back into shape. "It's late, Amelia. I'm tired."

  "You're in one of your moods," I said—petulantly, I admit. When Nathaniel and I rejoined the ball, her smile never faltered, but a distinct chill inhabited it. That frost hung between us yet, and I didn't care for it.

  "It's nearly morning," she replied, tossing her pillow carelessly in place, to fall upon it. She faced me in the dark, brave enough at least to present her cold front directly.

  "Thomas was late, too," I said. I pulled the blankets to my chin, my restlessness turned nervousness with confrontation. "Nathaniel explained himself. He apologized."

  Ignoring that, Zora said, "You wrote Thomas in for the schottische and never appeared for it."

  "You should have danced it with him!" It was my turn to sit up, for arguing in recline only made my stomach churn.

  "He asked you!"

  "For Your sake, not mine!"

  As there were truths in all the things we said, we fell silent. Wrapping my arms around myself, I fixed my gaze on the brocade curtains.

  Fish leaped, again and again, an endless pattern that ceased only at the sewn edge of their ocean. I didn't want to stay at odds with Zora. And she didn't either—we proved our affection when we spoke at the same time.

  "No, you," I murmured, daring to look in her direction.

  "I don't want to give Mama a victory," Zora said. She clasped her toes through the covers and sighed. "But she could have been right, you know. About keeping us from boys who ignore all rules of courtship."

  Stung, I drew back. "What an easy conclusion to make when your sweetheart can court you."

  "Would You want yours to?"

  "Of course," I said, but I wondered at myself. I wondered if I lied.

  Once, I had compared Thomas' sweetness to Nathaniel's shamelessness and found the former entirely lacking. No fire burned hot without constant stirring. How ordinary a banked flame could seem. Even the tragedy of realizing I could have been Nathaniel's fool—but wasn't—made his lips on mine that much more intoxicating. Every time I worried about wanting to be a proper lady, he came along to remind me that I didn't care for duty and goodness.