Page 20 of Inventing Vivian

“I found it... difficult to explain in words.” He looked around the room, his mind filling with memories. How to even begin to describe all that had happened to him? “The experience was remarkable,” he said. “The people were warm and welcoming, and I...” He swallowed. “It was difficult to return.”

“Indeed?” She blinked, her large eyes looking up at him in disbelief.

“This table,” Miss Rothschild said, stepping closer to admire a low round table that sat in the center of the room. “It’s breathtaking.”

Benedict joined her. He pulled out a stool from under the table. “It’s a tea table,” he explained.

She tipped her head to the side, noticing the other stools that were hidden beneath. “How charming.” She smiled, a pleasant expression that lifted her pink cheeks.

Benedict was particularly proud of the tea table. Glass covered the top, protecting the detailed carvings beneath. “These images tell a traditional story.” He pointed to a figure on a boat. “This fisherman here is shown following a river. He discovered at its source a forest filled with peach blossoms.” He traced his finger over the glass as he spoke, following the fisherman’s route. “When he continued on, he came to what he believed to be a cave, and pressing through the narrow opening, he emerged into an idyllic village with animals and people of all ages living a harmonious life, hidden away from the outside world.”

Benedict pointed to the carvings of the village, small houses with curved roofs set into the hillside among flowering trees. “He spent weeks there, happily welcomed by the people, and when he departed, he marked the cave’s entrance so he could return. But, though he searched for the remainder of his life, he was never able to find the peach blossom forest or the village again.” The story brought a lump to his throat. The fable so closely mirrored his own experience. And the idea of never returning to a place he loved was painful.

The others had joined Miss Rothschild, crowding around and looking with interest into the levels of the tabletop carving as Benedict spoke.

“It is rather an unhappy story, isn’t it?” Miss Grey said, her nose scrunching up the slightest bit. “To have found something wonderful and then lost it forever?”

“Perhaps,” Benedict said, swallowing. “Or it is a story about an unexpected moment of beauty. A treasured memory. Maybe something magical that happens when we least expect it.”

“Or it is a reminder to be content with our lives,” Chatsworth said, “instead of wanting something we cannot have.”

Lord Meredith left the group and walked toward the window. He rubbed his jaw.

Benedict watched him as the others continued to discuss the peach-tree spring, wondering if something about the story bothered him. Or perhaps it was what Chatsworth had said.

Miss Rothschild tapped the glass tabletop, leaning closer. “I cannot believe the details. Look at the little birds. What talent the carver has.”

“Indeed,” Benedict said.

The bell rang again, and a moment later, Zhang Wei led Lord Ruben into the drawing room. He was followed by a young lady.

Ruben let his gaze move around the room, and his expression was one of comical surprise. “Oh my, have I stepped into an opium den?”

The lady on his arm giggled.

“I’m glad you’re here, Ruben,” Benedict said, trying not to let the man’s comment bother him.

“Sorry we’re late, old chum.” He grasped Benedict’s hand, then turned his attention to the others in the room. “But are any of you surprised?”

The guests responded with laughter and calls of welcome.

Although he wasn’t a large man, Ruben projected energy and confidence. He was always the center of attention, and Benedict had noticed from a very young age that the man seemed to be in charge of every group or situation he was involved in.

“An ascot, Benedict,” Ruben said, turning to him. “I say, very stylish indeed. And that jacket—you must give me the name of your tailor.” He clasped Benedict on both shoulders, looking him over. “It appears you’ve opted to be an Englishman after all. I worried you were turning into a foreigner.” He smacked one shoulder with his palm. “Enough of those around as it is.”

“I’m glad to see you, Ruben.” Benedict glanced at Zhang Wei. His friend’s face remained passive, giving no indication that he’d understood Ruben’s words, but Benedict knew he had.

Zhang Wei left the room.

“Will you introduce me to your companion?” Benedict said, not allowing his anger at Ruben’s rudeness to show.

“Oh yes, of course.” Ruben looked around as if he’d misplaced the young lady.

Ruben pressed on the small of the young woman’s back, leading her forward. “Lady Lorene Stanhope, may I introduce Lord Covington?”

“How do you do, my lord?” Lady Lorene curtsied. She held her head high, and her lip was curled as if she were perpetually unimpressed. Based on what Benedict remembered of the lady’s father, Lord Dorrington, she seemed very similar in temperament.

“Lord Benedict, please,” Benedict said, inclining his head. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Lorene. And I understand congratulations are in order.”

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