Read Online The House of Velvet and Glass by Katherine Howe - Free Book Online
Authors: Katherine Howe
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married? It looked like it would be all set for a while there. But she seemed all right, didn’t she? Tall. Well made. And funny. As a boy he’d cherished the dinner table moments when one of their parents would say something hopelessly Allstony, and Sibyl would catch his gaze to share a fleeting eye roll, as if they alone could appreciate the ludicrous elements of their family life. Sibyl made him feel like he was in on a secret joke. When they were small she often sneaked out of the nursery to go exploring in the forbidden corners of the house, and sometimes he would track behind her in secret, wishing she’d invite him along. He didn’t quite understand how that adventurous girl had turned into the stolid spinster sitting in front of him now.
Eulah had been fun, but she’d never been funny. Oh, she’d been able to fool enough fellows into thinking that she was. Plenty of Harlan’s friends let slip that they had their eyes on Eulah Allston, even before she came out. Never anything beyond what they knew he’d allow, of course. A man doesn’t go around making remarks about another man’s sister. Not in decent society.
He smiled ruefully.
“Sibsie,” he replied. He chewed the inside of his cheek, waiting for her to say something. The fire spat out another spark, which hit the screen and fell harmless into the ashes below the grate.
“It’s just for the weekend, then? You’ll be going back to sit for your exams?” she suggested. Her eyes were gentle.
He barked a single laugh, almost identical to the one barked by his father downstairs.
“Not likely,” he said, swirling his glass. Harlan couldn’t bear her steady gaze—why did she have to look at him like that? Why couldn’t she hide how disappointed she was? He cast his eyes sideways to the fire, and the loose lock of hair fell over his forehead.
“Well, you needn’t decide all at once. It’s a month yet before semester’s end, isn’t it?” she pressed.
Instead of answering her he got to his feet, ambling to the bay window that looked through the elm branches down to Beacon Street. He’d have preferred the room facing the river, Sibyl’s room. She was the oldest, so she always got the best of everything. But he supposed that would have to wait until the old man kicked the bucket. Harlan drew aside the brocade drapery, the glow from the streetlight illuminating the young lines of his face.
“How did the Captain seem?” he asked, trying to sound indifferent.
Sibyl said nothing, and Harlan glanced from the window to her, expectant.
“Oh, Harley,” she said at last. “What can have happened?”
Something inside Harlan broke apart, and the full flood of his self-loathing washed through him like a tide of spoiled milk. He turned on her, mouth a tight line, nostrils flared. Sibyl withdrew deeper into the armchair, and he just glimpsed fear in her face before she was able to hide it. As soon as he saw that she was afraid of him, his cheeks flushed with mingled anger and shame: at Sibyl, for not seeing that he wanted to be reassured, and at himself, for his accursed weakness. He stalked across the room to the door, flinging it open with such force that it bounced off the wall, leaving a dent in the paper.
“I have nothing to say to you,” he said, too loudly. “I have nothing to say to anyone.”
Sibyl rose, and Harlan knew that she was covering over her discomfort with formality. It was typical of Sibyl to respond that way to anything unpleasant, she had adopted it from their father, and Harlan wanted to grasp her by the shoulders and shake her, to force her to see how he was feeling without him having to explain, as she used to when they were children. He so desperately wanted her to see him. In that instant he almost hated his sister. Helen and Eulah had left; and now here was Sibyl, leaving him, too.
She moved past Harlan, head high, lips pressed into a grim line like his own. When she reached the door she lingered, her fingertips
Eulah had been fun, but she’d never been funny. Oh, she’d been able to fool enough fellows into thinking that she was. Plenty of Harlan’s friends let slip that they had their eyes on Eulah Allston, even before she came out. Never anything beyond what they knew he’d allow, of course. A man doesn’t go around making remarks about another man’s sister. Not in decent society.
He smiled ruefully.
“Sibsie,” he replied. He chewed the inside of his cheek, waiting for her to say something. The fire spat out another spark, which hit the screen and fell harmless into the ashes below the grate.
“It’s just for the weekend, then? You’ll be going back to sit for your exams?” she suggested. Her eyes were gentle.
He barked a single laugh, almost identical to the one barked by his father downstairs.
“Not likely,” he said, swirling his glass. Harlan couldn’t bear her steady gaze—why did she have to look at him like that? Why couldn’t she hide how disappointed she was? He cast his eyes sideways to the fire, and the loose lock of hair fell over his forehead.
“Well, you needn’t decide all at once. It’s a month yet before semester’s end, isn’t it?” she pressed.
Instead of answering her he got to his feet, ambling to the bay window that looked through the elm branches down to Beacon Street. He’d have preferred the room facing the river, Sibyl’s room. She was the oldest, so she always got the best of everything. But he supposed that would have to wait until the old man kicked the bucket. Harlan drew aside the brocade drapery, the glow from the streetlight illuminating the young lines of his face.
“How did the Captain seem?” he asked, trying to sound indifferent.
Sibyl said nothing, and Harlan glanced from the window to her, expectant.
“Oh, Harley,” she said at last. “What can have happened?”
Something inside Harlan broke apart, and the full flood of his self-loathing washed through him like a tide of spoiled milk. He turned on her, mouth a tight line, nostrils flared. Sibyl withdrew deeper into the armchair, and he just glimpsed fear in her face before she was able to hide it. As soon as he saw that she was afraid of him, his cheeks flushed with mingled anger and shame: at Sibyl, for not seeing that he wanted to be reassured, and at himself, for his accursed weakness. He stalked across the room to the door, flinging it open with such force that it bounced off the wall, leaving a dent in the paper.
“I have nothing to say to you,” he said, too loudly. “I have nothing to say to anyone.”
Sibyl rose, and Harlan knew that she was covering over her discomfort with formality. It was typical of Sibyl to respond that way to anything unpleasant, she had adopted it from their father, and Harlan wanted to grasp her by the shoulders and shake her, to force her to see how he was feeling without him having to explain, as she used to when they were children. He so desperately wanted her to see him. In that instant he almost hated his sister. Helen and Eulah had left; and now here was Sibyl, leaving him, too.
She moved past Harlan, head high, lips pressed into a grim line like his own. When she reached the door she lingered, her fingertips
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