Page 54 of Familiar Things New

After only seconds of searching, he spotted his friend.

Dancing.

Dancing and laughing.

Dancing and laughing with a lovely-looking woman who wasn’t Agnes.

Edwin tightened his jaw. William twirled the woman around in a small circle before placing his hand on her lower back. Shifting uncomfortably, Edwin let out a small huff. Fiery indignation began to percolate inside him, and he couldn’t help but hate himself a little for it.

William had no claim to Agnes, nor Agnes to William. Not officially. Not in a way that mattered. Still, they liked each other. Hell, it was possible they even loved each other. And here William was dancing with some random woman who belonged to New York City’s elite.

“Edwin?” Andrew said. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Edwin replied through a scowl.

The song ended. And for a moment, Edwin was thankful for it. Perhaps William and the mystery woman would part ways, and then he could focus on snuffing out the fiery outrage he felt on his sister’s behalf. But his hope was soon shattered when William and the woman started toward them.

“God fucking hell,” Edwin hissed to himself in a whispered voice.

Clearly not softly enough, though, because Andrew had heard him.

“Do you not like the woman who William is with?” Andrew whispered.

“No,” Edwin said simply, even though he knew he had no right to feel the way he did. She was probably a fine person, whoever she was. William wouldn’t have been willingly socializing with her otherwise.

Once William and his companion were only a few feet away, Edwin managed to remember politeness and stood. The room began to spin from the forcefulness of his sudden movement. He tried to ignore it but still stumbled forward a step to regain his balance. He tugged at his lapels, pretending that he was fixing his suit, and straightened his posture. Confidence. He needed to project confidence.

Grinning, William said, “Edwin, Andrew, I thought you might like to meet my third cousin, Miss Amelia Bidwell. Miss Bidwell, these are my friends, Mr. Edwin Beasley and Mr. Andrew Thompson.”

Without pause, Edwin thoughtlessly thrust his hand forward for William’s cousin to shake, only to realize his error once his hand was already hovering there in front of the poor woman.

Dammit, and what an error it was!

Edwin ought to have waited for this Amelia Bidwell woman to offer her hand first. But his mind was so muddled that he had lacked the wherewithal to remember the fact there were new customs for him to follow now. Jesus, even Andrew wouldn’t have made such an egregious social faux pas.

“Apologies,” Edwin spluttered, retracting his hand just as William’s cousin began to reach for it, a look of uncertainty plainly fixed on her face. Frantically, Edwin rubbed his sweaty palm on his pant leg several times. His eyes flitted to William, who was staring at him with his eyebrow raised, his lips pursed like he must have been completely befuddled by Edwin’s ineptitude. “I should go,” Edwin blurted out. “Excuse me.”

Legs wobbling, Edwin headed for the exit. He immediately began criticizing himself inside his head, chastising himself for everything from the fact that he still felt so Goddamned indignant on behalf of Agnes to the fact that he was so fucking inebriated he’d forgotten himself and had behaved like an uncultured brute.

Dammit, this was precisely the reason why he preferred to keep to himself.

***

Hours later, Edwin was in his room on the second floor of the New York City Whitney mansion, lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling, feeling both too inebriated and too flustered to sleep. Not to mention too hungry to do either as well. He frowned as his stomach rumbled for the third time in ten minutes. He ought to have swiped the last of that pastry before storming out of the ballroom.

Recalling the sequence of events that had led to his brisk exit, Edwin flushed, his entire body catching fire, and he rolled onto his front, smushing his face into the pillow as though he might somehow be able to hide from his own memories. When the memories continued to linger, he let out a groan and pressed his face harder into the feather-filled sack.

Oh, how ridiculous everything was. It was obvious to him now that he had overreacted to that handshake. Had he simply acknowledged his misstep—calmly—no one would have likely cared very much, especially not William or Andrew. But thanks to Edwin’s alcohol-fueled histrionics, both Andrew and William—not to mention William’s cousin, whom Edwin still couldn’t stop hating, no matter how illogical it was—probably thought he was completely socially inept.

Dammit.

Edwin rolled over with a sigh. Moments later, he was surprised by a knock on the door.

“Edwin?” Andrew called out. “I, uhm, I came to see you. I was thinking that maybe we could spend some time together before bed. William helped me find a plate of food for you. Because I thought you might be hungry. Since you left early, I mean. And I hope you aren’t still upset?”

Edwin smiled. It was so sweet that Andrew still wanted to spend time with him. His heart swelled with happiness on his next inhale, and he sat up.

But the happy feeling was replaced by a sense of unease as soon as his eyes fell to his nightshirt. And then, for the first time since he’d begun living as his authentic self, he was struck with an intense feeling of nausea about what he saw.