Page 31 of Inventing Vivian

Chapter 8

My Dear Miss Kirby,

I was delighted to receive your letter. So delighted, in fact, that I would be so presumptuous as to invite you to write again and keep me acquainted with the happenings of your entry in the exhibition.

You are wise to wonder at the motives of a person who keeps his identity hidden. In this, I assure you, my intentions are honorable, but my reasonings are complicated. Your implication that by sponsoring a young woman, I might find trouble in my personal affairs implies that my request of anonymity might be to keep my sponsorship secret from a wife or fiancée. But, I assure you, that is not the case. I have neither.

My primary motivation is you, Miss Kirby. I wish for the recognition of your invention to rest solely upon your shoulders without the added complication of gossip about your patron.

Please indulge me in this.

I remain sincerely,

Your Friend

Vivian had not expected to receive a reply to her letter and was pleased, not only that he had answered but also at his explanation. She still had questions, but as he’d extended an invitation for her to continue a correspondence, perhaps they would, in time, be answered. There was so much she wanted to know.

She was still pondering the letter that evening as she peered over the railing, enjoying the view of St. James’s Hall from the upper gallery and completely ignoring the performance on the stage. She’d agreed to attend the opera with the Blue Orchid Society ladies, knowing how Hazel loved the music, but in truth, she could hardly sit still. The thrill of her sponsorship for the exhibition hadn’t abated one jot since Professor Wallis’s offer the day before. The moment the man had left, she’d run to her father, and in her excitement, she was hardly able to put the news into words. She’d dashed off notes to her close friends immediately after, and within an hour received four letters overflowing with congratulations.

Vivian’s cheeks ached from grinning.

Sophie leaned forward in her seat, peering down as well. “Just think, he could be here at this very moment.” She whispered the words, not wanting to disturb the others seated around them.

“If he is, I doubt he has a main floor seat,” Dahlia said in a quiet voice.

The young ladies lifted their collective gazes toward the opposite gallery, studying the faces across the hall. Among the group of women, speculation about the identity of Vivian’s sponsor had become the primary topic of conversation.

“I wonder if he’s an opera lover,” Hazel said.

“Tell us again every single hint the professor gave about your mysterious patron,” Elizabeth said.

“He is titled,” Vivian said. “That is all I know.”

“And unmarried,” Sophie reminded her. “He said so in his letter.”

“I believe the professor referred to him asHis Lordship,” Vivian said, trying to recall. “But I may be mistaken.”

“You’d have definitely remembered if he’d mentionedHis Grace,” Dahlia said. “Besides, I don’t know of any unwed dukes.”

“Perhaps he’s a widower,” Elizabeth offered.

“I wager he’s a kindly older gentleman who always wished for a daughter,” Hazel said.

“I imagine a quiet scholar who is timid in company and spends all of his time surrounded by books,” Dahlia said.

“Either is possible,” Vivian muttered. She continued scanning the other opera attendees. The idea that he might be sitting here in this very hall was almost more than she could take. How was she to bear not knowing the name of the person who had made her hopes into reality?

Her gaze caught on a person facing her direction, and she started. It was Lord Benedict. And he was looking straight at her.

The man’s mouth curved into a smile, and he lifted his chin in a silent greeting.

How very impertinent of him to act so familiar. Vivian gave a small nod.

Helen Rothschild, sitting beside Lord Benedict, leaned toward him and whispered. He inclined his head toward her, then turned his gaze to the stage.

Miss Rothschild glanced up at Vivian, then looked back to the stage as well, continuing to whisper.

Vivian looked away, her cheeks heating. She must have appeared to be staring at Lord Benedict—which she certainly had not been.

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