I glanced toward the door. The band was still playing, and there was anticipation in the air. Finally, the doors opened with a clatter, and Damon and Katherine walked in. Together.
It wasn't fair, I thought savagely. Damon could act like a boy, could continue to drink and flirt as if nothing had consequence. I'd always done the right thing, the responsible thing, and now it felt as though I was being punished for it by being forced to become a man.
Even I was surprised by the surge of anger I felt. Instantly guilty, I tried to squelch the emotion by downing the full glass of wine to my left. After all, would Katherine have been expected to come to the dinner by herself? And wasn't Damon just being gallant, the good elder brother?
Besides, they had no future. Marriages, at least in our society, were approved only if they merged two families. And, as an orphan, what did Katherine have to offer besides beauty? Father would never let me marry her, but that also meant he wouldn't let Damon marry her either. And even Damon wouldn't go so far as to marry someone Father didn't approve of. Right?
Still, I couldn't tear my eyes away from Damon's arm around Katherine's tiny waist. She wore a green muslin dress whose fabric spread across her hoop skirts, and there was a hushed murmur as she and Damon made their way to the two empty seats at the center of the table. Her blue necklace gleamed at her throat, and she winked at me before taking the empty seat next to my own. Her hip brushed against mine, and I shifted uncomfortably.
"Damon." Father nodded tersely as Damon sat down to his left.
"So do you think the army will be all the way down to Georgia by winter?" I asked Jonah Palmer loudly, simply because I didn't trust myself to speak to Katherine. If I heard her musical voice, I might lose my nerve to propose to Rosalyn.
"I'm not worried about Georgia. What I am worried about is getting the militia together to solve the problems here in Mystic Falls. These attacks will not be stood for," Jonah, the town veterinarian who had also been training the Mystic Falls militia, said loudly, pounding his fist on the table so hard, the china rattled.
Just then, an army of servants entered the hall, holding plates of wild pheasant. I took my silver fork and pushed the gamey meat around my plate; I had no appetite. Around me, I could hear the usual discussions: about the war, about what we could do for our boys in gray, about upcoming dinners and barbecues and church socials. Katherine was nodding intently at Honoria Fells across the table. Suddenly I felt jealous of the grizzled, frizzy-haired Honoria. She was able to have the one-on-one conversation with Katherine that I so desperately wanted.
"Ready, son?" Father elbowed me in the ribs, and I noticed that people were already finished with their meals. More wine was being poured, and the band, who'd paused during the main course, was playing in the corner. This was the moment everyone had been waiting for: They knew an announcement was about to be made, and they knew that following that announcement there would be celebrating and dancing. It was always the way dinners happened in Mystic Falls. But I'd never before been at the center of an announcement. As if on cue, Honoria leaned toward me, and Damon smiled encouragingly.
Feeling sick to my stomach, I took a deep breath and clinked my knife against my crystal glass. Immediately, there was a hush throughout the hall, and even the servants stopped midstep to stare at me. I stood up, took a long swig of red wine for courage, and cleared my throat.
"I ... um," I began in a low, strained voice I didn't recognize as my own. "I have an announcement." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Father clutching his champagne flute, ready to jump in with a toast. I glanced at Katherine. She was looking at me, her dark eyes piercing my own. I tore my gaze away and gripped my glass so tightly, I was sure it would break. "Rosalyn, I'd like to ask your hand in marriage. Will you do me the honor?" I said in a rush, fumbling in my suit pocket for the ring.
I pulled out the box and knelt down in front of Rosalyn, staring up at her watery brown eyes. "For you," I said without inflection, flipping open the lid and holding it out toward her.
Rosalyn shrieked, and the room burst into a smattering of applause. I felt a hand clap my back, and I saw Damon grinning down on me. Katherine clapped politely, an unreadable expression on her face.
"Here." I took Rosalyn's tiny white hand and pushed the ring on her finger. It was too large, and the emerald rolled lopsidedly toward her pinkie. She looked like a child playing dress-up with her mother's jewelry. But Rosalyn didn't seem to care that the ring didn't fit. Instead, she held out her hand, watching as the diamonds captured the light of the table's candles. Immediately, a crush of women surrounded us, cooing over the ring.
"This does call for a celebration!" my father called out. "Cigars for everyone. Come here, Stefan, son! Y ou've made me one proud father."
I nodded and shakily stepped over to him. It was ironic that while I'd spent my entire life trying to get my father's approval, what made him happiest was an act that made me feel dead inside.
"Katherine, will you dance with me?" I heard Damon's voice above the din of scraping chairs and clinking glassware. I stopped in my tracks, waiting for the answer.
Katherine glanced up, casting a furtive look in my direction. Her eyes held my own for a long moment. A wild urge to rip the ring off Rosalyn's finger and place it on Katherine's pale one nearly overtook me. But then Father nudged me from behind, and before I could react, Damon grabbed Katherine by the hand and led her out to the dance floor.
Chapter 7
The next week passed in a blur. I ran from fittings at Mrs. Fells's dress shop to visits with Rosalyn in the Cartwrights' stuffy parlor to the tavern with Damon. I tried to forget Katherine, leaving my shutters closed so I wouldn't be tempted to look across the lawn at the carriage house, and forcing myself to smile and wave at Damon and Katherine when they explored the gardens.
Once I went up to the attic to look at the portrait of Mother. I wondered what advice she'd have for me. Love is patient, I remembered her saying in her lilting French accent during Bible study. The notion comforted me. Maybe love could come to me and Rosalyn.
After that, I tried to love Rosalyn, or at least garner some kind of affection for her. I knew, behind her quietness and her dishwater blond hair, she was simply a sweet girl who'd make a doting wife and mother. Our most recent visits hadn't been awful. In fact, Rosalyn had been in remarkably good spirits. She'd gotten a new dog, a sleek black beast named Sadie, which she'd taken to carrying everywhere lest the new puppy suffer the same fate as Penny had. At one point, when Rosalyn looked up at me with adoring eyes, asking if I'd prefer lilacs or gardenias at the wedding, I almost felt fond of her. Maybe that would be enough.
Father had wasted no time in planning another party to celebrate. This time, it was a barbecue at the estate, and Father had invited everyone within a twenty-mile radius. I recognized only a handful of the young men, pretty girls, and Confederate soldiers who milled around the labyrinth, acting as if they owned the estate. When I was younger, I used to love the parties at Veritas--they were always a chance to run down to the ice pond with our friends, to play hide-and-seek in the swamp, to ride horses to the Wickery Bridge, then dare each other to dive into the icy depths of Willow Creek. Now I just wished it were over, so I could be alone in my room.
"Stefan, care to share a whiskey with me?" Robert called out to me from the makeshift bar set up on the portico. To judge from his lopsided grin, he was already drunk.
He passed me a sweating tumbler and tipped his own to mine. "Pretty soon, there will be young Salvatores all over the place. Can you picture it?" He swept his hands expansively over the grounds as if to show me just how much room my imaginary family would have in which to grow.
I swirled my whiskey miserably, unable to picture it for myself.
"Well, you've made your daddy one lucky man. And Rosalyn one lucky girl," Robert said. He lifted his glass to me one last time, then went to chat with the Lockwoods' overseer.
I sighed and sat down on the porch swing, observing the merriment occurring all around me. I knew I should feel happy. I knew Father only wanted what was best for me. I knew that there was nothing wrong with Rosalyn.
So why did this engagement feel like a death sentence?