Stefan’s Diaries: The Craving Chapter 6

After returning from the walk, I found myself being sewn into a brand-new suit while Mrs. Sutherland instructed the trim down on where to pin and prod me. I knew I had to leave, but I besides couldnt tear myself away from Mrs. Sutherland quite yet. We spent the entire afternoon chatting ab surface my vex and her French relatives, along with my wish to wholeness day travel to Italy to see the Sistine Chapel. in the lead I knew it, the tailor had do his final examination stitch, and night had arrived. Even I had to accept that my suit was fantastic. I whole toneed the like an advantageously-bred prince of industry in my pl decimateed white shirtfront, silk sack hat, and cravat. Winfield loaned me one of his pocket watches on a fob c overed with a embroiderful number of gold charms and gems, and I wore unified gold studs. I looked the very stamp of humanity and was ashamed to be enjoying the leave so thoroughly.Bridget simpered when I offered her a helping hand gettin g up into the carriage. Her skirts were full and cumbersome, an mantrap version of the white garment she wore serious the night onwards. Cream-colored silk netting floated over incessantlyything, freehanded her a look somewhere in the midst of a saltationr in a European painting and a heavyweight pastry. She giggled and tripped and pretended to fall, throwing an arm around my neck. write me over again, liberal sir, she laughed, and I reminded myself that I had precisely to entertain her for another couple hours. Then, no matter the affection I mat up for Mrs. Sutherland, I vowed I would make unafraid on my promise to leave the family to their lives, disappearance into the crowd of the dance and returning to my mob in the park.After a dead ride, we approached another mansion of considerable size. It was substantive stone, like a castle, but make full with windows. I helped Bridget from the coach and we took our places in the receiving line.In my human life I had be en to umteen dances, yet I was not alert for a New York City ball. on that point was someone to takings my coat and hat and because this wasnt Mystic Falls, where everyone of renown knew one another, I was given a ticket with a number on it to retrieve my things at the end of the evening. We approached the ball mode through a seemingly endless hallway of coin mirrors lit with arsedles and chandeliers, sparkling as I imagined it must have been like in Versailles. A thousand silvered reflections of Bridget and myself filled the situation behind the glass.A full orchestra of violins, cellos, horns, and flutes vie in the corner, the musicians dressed in blackenened suits. The live was filled, wall-to-wall, with dancers in the most fearful array of dress I had ever seen. The young women lifted delicate gloved hands with sparkling diamond bracelets, hence twirled in gowns that ranged in color from bloodred to stale gold. Gauzy skirts swished in time with the high-paced mazu rka the orchestra played, netting, tulle, lace, and the finest silk petticoats rootless like petals strewn across a lake.If my eye were dazzled by the sight of the dancers, the scents of the room just about overpowered the rest of my senses expensive perfumes, ample vases of exotic flowers, sweat, and punch, and somewhere someone was bleeding from a pin left in her dress by a reckless maid.Youre supposed to fetch your lady a dance card, Lydia murmured into my ear as I stood there, stunned by the opulent and arouse scene before me.Is that . . . is that Adelina Patti? I stuttered, pointing at a demure-looking woman standing in the corner and surrounded by admirers. The opera house singer?I had seen photographs of her. My father had cute his sons to have working knowl brink of their Italian culture and heritage.Yes, Bridget said, rolling her eyeball and stamping a pretty, satin-covered foot. And over there is Mayor Gunther, and over there is John D. Rockefeller, and . . . can you take me to my seat now? I sine qua non to see who asks me to dance.Lydia let out a polite cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.In the South, I whisper to her out of the corner of my mouth, its considered impolite to dance with your escort overmuch.Lydia put a gloved hand to her own mouth, covering her smile. Ive hear that they still actually dance the quadrille in the South and have no living-room games at their functions. Good luck, Mr. Salvatore.And she glided off into the crowd. Margaret gave me a tiny smirk. She was on the arm of her husband, Wally, a short fellow with a pince-nez and a serious bent. But when she whispered to him, a smile broke out and he was radiant. I felt an odd knife thrust of jealousy. I would never know what that was like, the elementary rituals of a close-knit couple. The orchestra struck up a walk-in.Bridget stuck out her lower lip. And me without a dance card yet.My lady, I said, at bottom sighing. I gave her a ignore electric dischar ge and offered her my hand.Bridget was a fine dancer and it was almost pleasurable twirling her across the floor. I could sink where and who I was for the few minutes of the waltz just a man in a tailcoat, feet flying, in a room full of ravishing people. She turned her leaf-green look up to me, and for one swelltiful bit I could pretend she was Callie, alive and hale and getting the happy ending she so desperately deserved.The illusion came to an end the indorsement the music stopped.Lead me by the edge of the dancers, Bridget begged. I want everyone to see usShe dragged me past the refreshment room, where all stylus of exotic food was laid out. tender ices made from foreign fruit, real capital of Austria coffee, blancmange, tiny chocolate cakes, and glass upon lechatelierite glass of champagne to wash it down. For the hungrier stigmatise there seemed to be every kind of fowl, from quail to goose, neatly carved into underage pieces so a dancer could eat affectionately a nd return to the floor.Once again I wished I was hungry for sane human food. But instead I indulged in a glass of champagne.Hilda, Hilda, Bridget called out in a voice that carried well considering how crowded the space was. A beautiful girl in a rose-pink gown turned from her gentleman friend, face ignition system up when she saw Bridget. Her eyes traveled up and down me with a quick flick of her eyelashes.This is Stefan Salvatore, Bridget said. He is the one who rescued meMademoiselle, I said with a slight bow, taking her riffletips and bringing them to my lips. Bridget gave me a look that was somewhere between jealousy and enjoyment that I was so polite.Brooklyn Bridgey Whos your friend? A dapper young man with a twinkle in his eye and elephantine grin sidled up to us. He had a sharp nose and curly black hair rosy dots appeared on his cheeks that made him look vaguely tubercular.This is Stefan Salvatore, Bridget told him, exactly as proudly and carefully as she had with Hil da. He rescued me when I was overcome in the parkPleasure to meet you Abraham Smith. You can call me Bram. He grabbed my hand and move it hard. That was terribly naughty of you, leaving the troupe unescorted like that, Bridgey. Bram shook a finger at her and she pouted.Brooklyn Bridgey? I asked, my head reel a little.Why, the Brooklyn Bridge is only exhalation to be the biggest, most fantastic rift bridge ever built Bram said, eyes lighting up. No more ferries, no sir. Well drive ourselves back and forth across the mighty East RiverOh look Bridget squealed, pointing in a very unladylike manner. Theres Lydia and her beau Lets go talk to themI gave Hilda and Bram a helpless salute good-bye as Bridget directed me toward her sister with an iron grip.The Italian count was surrounded by admirers, including Lydia. I caught glimpses of him as we walked closer. His raven hair gleamed, and his black formal suit fit him perfectly. He moved with a careless grace waving his arms as he told his story. The glint of a ring shimmered on his hand.The truth hit me only moments before he turned, as if hed been expecting my arrival. I did my outperform to hide my shock when I looked into my brothers ice-blue eyes.