The Vespertine Read Free Page B

of it. "But I..."
    "That's the living end, Charles," Mrs. Stewart shouted from downstairs.
    Zora's eyes went wide, and I felt my pulse tick up. That could only be Mr. Stewart, and what could be so devastating as to make my most proper cousin shout like a fishwife? Zora dumped cards and catalog alike on the bed and motioned for me to follow her to the stairs.
    We tried not to clatter, keeping our shoes firmly on the blue carpeting. When the wall gave way to open banister, we crouched to listen.
    "Ohhhhh," Zora said, resting her hand on my neck. "James Keller canceled on us again. Listen to Mama rant."
    "Honestly, are we made of money? That boy's naught but a useless rag!"
    Mr. Stewart laughed, then shut up immediately. "I'm sorry, dear heart."
    When all went silent, Zora and I exchanged a look. Like fire jumping from the hearth, we both leaped up. A fine, tall man ruined our escape when he appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Zora resembled him most remarkably.
    "You must be our boarder," he said, with the same smile that Zora'd used when she asked if I could polish boots. He turned an expectant look on his daughter as he put on his hat.
    Zora skimmed down the stairs—the same vision of unearthly beauty I had met that morning. She leaned toward her father and reached back for me at once. "Papa, may I present Amelia van den Broek? Amelia, this is my father, Mr. Stewart."
    I tried to drift down the stairs in Zora's fashion, but I bumped and thumped, frighteningly raw and broad beside her. "An honor, sir."
    "Entirely mine," he said, and took my hand. "Lizzy spoke highly of you."
    "She's too kind," I said.
    "Do pardon me, ladies," Mr. Stewart said, with a step toward the door. Fairy lights played in his eyes as he told Zora, "I'm off to rescue your dinner party."
    "Not Sebastian," Zora said plaintively.
    "I have my intentions. Beware! Oh, my apologies, I meant—" He gave a little bow with a flourish. "Be well." And with a laugh, Mr. Stewart was off.
    Cross, Zora hitched her skirts and stalked toward the stairs. "I know he's only teasing, but it's a given truth! Sebastian ruins everything."
    Following her back up, I could do naught but inquire at the intrigue. "Does he?"
    "Yes!" In the middle of her room, Zora spun and tossed herself on the bed so completely that she'd need help back up. Though her corsets were looser laced for the day, she'd still be left to roll back and forth on the duvet like an upturned turtle. "First, he's a cousin, so he's no good for flirting with. Second, he's mad about an Araber's daughter and talks about her incessantly."
    My trunk had arrived during our walk, and I opened it in search of something fresh to wear for dinner. "Is there a third?"
    With a hand clapped over her eyes, Zora groaned. "Third, he fancies himself working class, which I suppose is closer to true than the lot of us imagining we're Astors, but he revels! He revels in rough suits and unkempt hair and dirty fingernails!"
    "You sound entirely precious," I teased, shaking out my best overdress.
    Sighing, Zora rolled, then rolled again, before giving up to sprawl on her back. "Mama says these are my dinner parties, but you see who arranges everything, don't you?"
    "Let's then ask to manage the games afterward," I suggested, as if I had ever had a dinner party in my life.
    Spreading her gown with her fingers, Zora sighed. "Mama would never."
    "Beg it as a favor," I said. Then brightening, I unfolded my dinner skirt and turned to her. "Claim it's to educate me."
    "You
are
dreadfully underschooled."
    "Hardly fit for anything." Laying out my entire dinner dress, I stood back to consider it. "It would be a kindness, really. I'm nearly feral; what man would have me?"
    "I read there's an orangutan on display in New York that wears a hat and smokes a pipe. Perhaps he would."
    "For that, I should tip you onto the floor."
    "Have I overstepped myself?" Zora asked.
    And since I was a feral girl from the wilds of Maine, I offered my hand—and then