Page 47 of Familiar Things New

“We did,” Edwin confirmed.

“Good, good.” William heaved a happy-sounding sigh as he turned to look out the window. “It seems as though I’ve trained my body well. We’re only minutes from the station.”

Andrew had to hold back a laugh. William was such a character.

“Do you come to the city a lot?” Andrew asked after a moment.

“Fairly often. I like to visit my relatives when I can, mostly because they like to spoil me a little while I’m here.”

Andrew nodded thoughtfully. “Do your parents usually visit with you?”

“Once in a while. But they’re a little more . . . relaxed than Aunt Virginia and Uncle George when it comes to social graces. If Aunt Virginia and Uncle George had been my parents, for instance, I’m positive I wouldn’t have been permitted to become so close with either Edwin or Agnes, for a myriad of reasons. Actually, that’s why my parents moved out to Albany. Neither of them liked the majority of the people in New York City’s elite social circle. Albany is more easygoing when it comes to those kinds of things.”

“Interesting,” Andrew said as the train pulled into the station.

William shrugged and stood. He steadied himself by placing his hand on the wall, and the train rolled to a stop. Edwin and Andrew glanced at one another.

“Looks like we’re here,” Andrew said, trying to sound chipper, though his words came out a little breathy, nervousness still percolating inside him.

“We are.” Edwin proceeded to roll his bottom lip between his teeth in an entirely too adorable manner. “Thank you, by the way. For sitting with me.”

“No, I, uhm, I was happy to. It was . . . I mean, I managed to sleep, so I should be thanking you, I think.” He blushed. “Thank you, Edwin.”

Averting his eyes, Edwin huffed a light laugh. “Glad I could help.”

After a moment more, Edwin stood. Andrew set his hat back on his head as William put his shoes on, and then the three men exited the train car together. William stopped to chat with one of the engineers, who clearly recognized him. Probably not too many people paid to have an entire luxurious train car to themselves for a relatively short trip.

Once William was finished speaking with the man, he told Andrew and Edwin that there was a carriage waiting for them outside and that one of George and Virginia’s servants would be helping transport Andrew’s photography equipment and personal belongings (save for the camera bag) from the luggage car to the house. Even though Andrew was extremely thankful, he couldn’t help but feel a little small next to William, who could pay for such things with ease.

Holding tight to his camera bag, Andrew followed William through the train shed. As they walked toward the main building, he looked around with wonder, marveling at the semicircular roof where sunlight streamed in through the windows, though much of its luminescence was broken up by the iron beams that stretched from one side to the other. Andrew remained in a state of overwhelm as the three men left the station for Forty-Second Street. Once they were outside, a rush of cold winter wind coupled with the hustle and bustle of the city—streetcars moving over the nearby tracks, people walking briskly past them, horse hooves clip-clopping on the pavement—brought Andrew back to himself. He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering as William searched for the carriage. After a few more seconds of looking, William snapped his fingers and pointed to a maroon-colored carriage half a block over.

“Ah, there we are.”

“How can you tell it’s yours?” Andrew asked.

“Maroon is the Whitney family color here in the city,” William explained. “All of our carriages are maroon with silver trim.”

“Easier to spot with the consistency, I guess,” Edwin remarked.

“Exactly. And Aunt Virginia and Uncle George want everyone who sees one to know that it belongs to the Whitneys.”

In only a few more minutes, Andrew, Edwin, and William were settled in the carriage, a thick blanket laid across their laps. It took another fifteen minutes for Andrew’s things to be brought to the carriage from the train. Andrew’s stomach churned unpleasantly as he watched the servant and coachman load his belongings inside. He hoped he could remember to thank them with more than words after he was paid for the portraits.

When the carriage began to move, Edwin shifted in his seat, widening his legs. His left knee came to rest against Andrew’s thigh. Andrew tried not to react to the contact, keeping his eyes focused on the city out the carriage window instead. Watching the beautifully crafted homes as their carriage rolled through the streets, Andrew marveled at the style, finding the steeply pitched roofs and intricate stonework of the homes on Fifth Avenue especially fascinating. After some time, the carriage came to a stop in front of a castle-like home that resembled several others on the street, only it was even larger than the other mansions, the stone structure containing one round tower with a conical roof. Andrew’s eyes widened as he took in the sight.

“Everyone ready?” William asked.

Andrew could only nod wordlessly in response. Edwin offered him a small, encouraging smile, but its sweetness couldn’t compete with the sour, violent churning that was making his heart race.

The next forty minutes were a flurry of activity. In that short span of time, Andrew met William’s relatives (both of whom were very formal but still very nice), set up his equipment in the reception room—the furnishings therein reminiscent of an eighteenth-century French salon—and was shown to the room where he’d stay that evening—a bedroom on the third floor that was larger and nicer than even the room he’d stayed in at the Whitney Estate in Albany.

By the time it was over, he only had a half hour until the ball’s first guests were scheduled to arrive, and his head had begun to spin.

All of a sudden, William slung an arm around Andrew’s shoulders, knocking him forward a step.

“All right, so, when people arrive for the ball, they’ll be ushered in here for a photograph before being escorted to the ballroom.”

Furrowing his brow, Andrew passed his tongue over his lips. “Will, uhm, will people really want me to take their photographs? Can’t most of the—the people coming here afford to have them taken regularly elsewhere? I mean I’m sure they all have plenty of portraits already and—”