Page 19 of Inventing Vivian

Chapter 5

Three days later, Benedict studiedhis necktie in his dressing room’s floor-length mirror. He squinted, turning to the side to see his profile. “You’re certain this is the style?”

Galway, his new valet, brushed Benedict’s jacket. “The ascot is the very height of fashion this Season, Your Lordship.”

Benedict fingered his collar. The points were pressed down in wings, which he thought looked extremely strange. He considered questioning Galway again but decided against it. Although the valet had been in his employ for only two days, he had come with the highest recommendation. And when they’d chosen Benedict’s wardrobe, the tailor had agreed with Galway on every detail. Had fashion altered so drastically in only a few years?

Benedict gave one last glance at the ascot necktie and turned away from the mirror, straightening his cuffs. It was too late to change now anyway. His guests would arrive any minute. “Thank you, Galway.” He nodded and started toward the corridor.

“One moment, my lord.” The valet opened a drawer and drew out the small wooden box where Benedict kept his ruby tiepin, held it out, and nodded toward the jewel inside. His expression was impassive, as was usual for a servant in his position. “I believe Lord Ruben will expect it.”

The man must be a patron of the gossip column. However else would he know about the Casanovas and their common accessory? The token of friendship felt excessive to Benedict. They were grown men, not boys with a secret club. He sighed and took the pin from the box, fastened it to his necktie, then went down the stairs.This one gem could feed an entire town for months.

The bell rang just as Benedict reached the bottom of the staircase. Zhang Wei hurried past, opening the door and standing aside as Lord Chatsworth and Lord Meredith entered.

Benedict smiled when he saw his old friends. “Welcome, gentlemen.”

The men handed their gloves and hats to Zhang Wei.

He bowed politely and left, and Benedict felt a pang. He wished his friend had accepted his invitation to dine with them this evening. But Zhang Wei had insisted that his position as a servant would be more appropriate. Benedict was frustrated by the prejudice in the Londoners and that Zhang Wei had read it so clearly. He wished things were different, that his friend was welcomed more readily among his people. Perhaps when Zhang Wei was more proficient in English, he’d feel comfortable in the role of guest instead of servant when others were present.

“You’ve cut your hair, Ben,” Lord Meredith said, tipping his head to the side. “I imagine His Grace had something to do with that.”

“Too true; he did.” Benedict widened his eyes, sharing a look with his friends. The other two men also had overbearing fathers, a commonality that had led to their friendship years earlier at Eton.

A small lift of Meredith’s brows indicated that he understood perfectly. In appearance, Lord Meredith was very much like his father—a sportsman, broad-shouldered and square-jawed. But that was where the resemblance ended. Meredith was the most sincere of Benedict’s friends, loyal almost to a fault, kind-hearted, and soft-spoken. Agentle gianthe’d been called his entire life, and he was the only man of the group who wore no mustache.

“Even so, the haircut has done wonders for your presentation, as has the cut of this coat,” Chatsworth said, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from Benedict’s shoulder. “The young ladies are sure to be impressed.”

Benedict was not surprised in the least that his friend had brought up women within the first few moments. Often referred to as Charming Chatsworth, the man was a perpetual flirt. Chatsworth’s light curls fell over his brow in waves that looked natural but that Benedict knew took training, a hot iron, and hair wax to get just right. Lord Chatsworth always seemed to be touching someone—elbowing a chap in the ribs, smacking a person on the shoulder, grazing a lady’s arm with his fingertips. He was friendly, cheerful, and laughed easily. And his bright smile was often mimicked in a broadsheet’s caricature or praised in the gossip column. The feature apparently held great power over the fairer sex.

Chatsworth winked. “You’ll like the women we’ve invited, Ben. Agreeable, pretty, and very accomplished. But did you really expect any less from me?” He flashed his smile.

Before Benedict could answer, the bell rang again, and Zhang Wei hurried back through the entryway to answer.

Three women entered. Benedict was rather surprised at how young they were. He didn’t think any of the three ladies were older than twenty. They were, as Chatsworth had promised, all very pretty, with gems sparkling on their necks and ears, their hair arranged in complicated coiffures, and the backsides of their gowns so covered in ruffles that he didn’t know how they would manage to sit in the chairs at his dining table.

The young ladies gave their hats, gloves, and wraps to Zhang Wei, and Benedict grimaced when they did not even look at the man.

“Ladies, do come in,” Chatsworth said, spreading his arms. “And allow me to introduce you to our host. Lady Priscilla Bremerton, Miss Charlotte Grey, and Miss Helen Rothschild, please meet the illustrious Lord Covington.”

The ladies curtsied as Chatsworth said their names.

“Lord Benedict, if you please,” Benedict said, bowing. “I am delighted that you could attend. Welcome. If you’d come along to the drawing room”—he extended his hand toward a doorway—“we can await Lord Ruben’s grand entrance there.”

The ladies giggled at his joke, the sound reinforcing Benedict’s surprise at just how young they were, and they followed him from the entrance hall.

“What a beautiful room,” Miss Rothschild said when they entered the drawing room. “I love the Oriental motif.”

The others made sounds of agreement, spreading out to admire the space.

Benedict was pleased that the room made such an impression. It was his favorite place in the house. French doors surrounded by large windows gave a picturesque view of the garden, and the entire room was furnished with intricately carved and lacquered rosewood furniture from China. A gold-plated dragon carving stretched over one wall. Long painted scrolls covered another, and silk pillows on the sofas and chairs burst with color, as did the curtains. Bamboo plants andpenjingtrees grew from cloisonné vases and pots, wind chimes hung from red ribbons in one corner, and a pair of jade dragons stood on the mantel. He and Zhang Wei had planned the arrangement carefully, following the principles of feng shui. The room was beautiful and relaxing, and when he wasn’t in his garden, this was where Benedict spent the majority of his time.

“You’ve just returned from China, I hear,” Lady Priscilla said, coming up beside him.

“Yes,” Benedict said.

“How did you find it?” she asked.

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