Page 15 of Inventing Vivian

“Our family is in mourning, Mother. I can’t very well court a lady,” Benedict argued.

“It is perfectly acceptable for you to attend small dinner parties, concerts, gatherings of that sort. I’m certain your old friends Lords Ruben, Chatsworth, and Meredith would introduce you to some of their female acquaintances.” His mother took a sip of tea.

“I’m afraid I’ve seen very little of those gentlemen since my return,” Benedict said. “We don’t share as much in common as we once did.” In truth, Benedict had avoided his old friends, worrying that he would fall back into his former habits.

“Those men will have significant influence in the kingdom as they come into their titles,” the duke said. “And I cannot stress enough the importance of connections. It will be a benefit not only to you but to the family and, by extension, to those who depend on us. Employees, tenants, factory workers, and their families are all affected by the alliances you make and the connections you forge. Their very livelihoods depend on your actions, Benedict.” His father’s voice was getting louder. “Before, you’ve been free to make choices that affected only yourself, but now it is different.” He brushed his napkin over his lips and dropped it onto the table. “Cut your hair, buy some decent clothing, and get a wife. You are the future Duke of Ellingham. It’s high time you started acting like it.”

Benedict decided to walk home from his parents’ house that evening, taking a long route. He went slowly, taking the time to ponder all he’d learned. How could he ever keep up with all of it? So many people depended on his decisions, and the responsibility pressed down on him. Where would he even begin?

Glancing down at the stack of papers and the notebook he held, Benedict decided his Marylebone house needed a working office space. He made a note to start a regular subscription to a few broadsheets, to keep abreast of current affairs. He would eventually be voting and making laws in Parliament. And he needed to hire a man of business to help manage his schedule.

Turning into the gate outside his house, he inhaled the smell of steamed vegetables and spicy noodles. His mouth watered. It seemed Zhang Wei had been to the Chinese markets in the Limehouse district again.

Benedict stepped inside, setting his top hat on the table beside the door. He touched his hair, and he felt a touch of sadness that he would need to cut it. He would also need to hire a valet and buy new clothes. For a brief moment, he considered what would happen if he simply ran away, took Zhang Wei, and returned to China. But his father’s words rang in his thoughts. His choices no longer affected only him. Benedict’s only option was to change. Again.

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