Page 49 of Inventing Vivian

Chapter 13

Dear Miss Kirby,

I am pleased to hear that your booth is assembled and it only awaits the delivery of your invention. I very much look forward to seeing it in person, as well as hearing your presentation and demonstration. I’m glad the coal made a difference.

I was quite discouraged when I wrote to you last; please forgive my melancholy. But your letter raised my spirits significantly. I realized if you, Miss Kirby, possess the bravery to participate as the only woman presenter in an international exhibition, I can find similar courage to face my own challenges.

Your confidence in me, and your encouragement, mean more than I can say. You may not know my name, but I feel as if, through our letters, a true friendship is forming. And I am glad for it. I imagine if we had formed our acquaintance in a traditional manner, such as at a ball or reception, I might request the pleasure of a waltz—I do enjoy dancing, don’t you? Perhaps one day that will be the case.

I go today to meet with my father, and I pray that he will listen and understand my concerns as well as my proposals for change.

I shall be thinking fondly of your display in the Crystal Palace and looking forward to seeing it in person.

Your friend

Benedict folded the letter and handed it across the desk to Mr. Thomas, instructing him to send it to Miss Kirby by messenger. The man had not even raised a brow when Benedict had directed him to send the letters through different messenger services in different parts of the city.

Benedict glanced at the clock on the mantel and rose, putting on his coat. “It is time.”

Mr. Thomas nodded, a solemn expression making him appear much older. “Yes, my lord.” He picked up a stack of folders and a ledger book, tucking them beneath his arm.

The two donned hats and gloves and crossed the small courtyard to where the carriage waited in front of the house.

Benedict glanced at the Kirbys’ house, remembering with a pleasant warmth the dinner party the night before. The Kirbys had been completely delightful, each one of them, and he’d felt comfortable and welcome in their home.

He climbed into the carriage, letting out a sigh as he considered his destination. How different he felt about his own home. He settled back on the carriage bench across from Mr. Thomas. The summons had come from His Grace first thing this morning. The note was brief, and Benedict had no doubt that his father had learned about the changes he planned to implement in the factories. The duke wouldn’t be pleased.

He couldn’t help comparing the reaction he expected from his father to the proud look on Mr. Kirby’s face when he’d talked about his daughter’s inventions. Benedict was grateful her family was so supportive. Not many men of Mr. Kirby’s generation would be so forward-thinking about their daughter’s interests, let alone indulge them. Benedict’s jealousy returned. The idea of feeling comfortable with his parents as his true self instead of the constant burden of failing to be the person they expected was so farfetched that he couldn’t even picture how it might be. He imagined it would feel extremely... liberating.

The carriage ride was far too short for his liking, and within a matter of moments, he was stepping out in front of his father’s grand house.

The black crepe wreaths were still in place, looking worse for wear but still telling the world that the family had suffered a dreadful loss. Today they seemed especially somber, as if they too were disappointed in Benedict.

He paused in front of the courtyard gate, looking up at the house. “I’ve never inquired about your father, Mr. Thomas,” he said to his companion. “What sort of man is he?”

“A church sort,” Mr. Thomas said. “He is a priest in Manchester.”

Benedict was surprised he’d not known the man’s father held such an appointment. “And did he intend you for the church as well?”

“Naturally,” Mr. Thomas said. “Each of my four brothers followed in my father’s footsteps. I alone chose a different path.” He grimaced. “My father found my decision difficult to accept, at first. But he’s come around.”

“I’m glad for that,” Benedict said. “He has every right to be proud of you.”

Mr. Thomas glanced at Benedict from the side of his eyes. “He was quite proud when you employed me.”

Benedict cleared his throat. The compliment made him uncomfortable, though, of course, the man hadn’t meant it to. He inhaled, straightened his back, and motioned toward the entrance. “Shall we, then?”

Humphries met them at the door. “Welcome, Lord Covington. Your father is expecting you in the library.”

“Thank you.” Benedict handed him his top hat. “This is Mr. Thomas.”

“Sir,” Humphries said, maintaining his utter lack of expression.

Mr. Thomas stepped inside and drew in a breath through his teeth as he looked up at the large globe chandelier.

Seeing the entrance hall through the man’s eyes, Benedict could understand how the place might be intimidating. The floors were marble, the stair rail was covered in gold leaf, the chandelier dripped with crystals, and either hothouse flowers or a Greek sculpture sat on every flat surface. The hall was meant to awe guests, and it did its job splendidly.

“Nervous?” Benedict asked as he removed his gloves.

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