Page 7 of Inventing Vivian

Benedict stood, the bottoms of his trousers dripping, and now that he could fully see her face, he recognized her as well.

Vivian Kirby.

He hadn’t thought about the young lady in years. She was a woman now, tall and slender with dark-brown curls and an extremely pretty face. His stomach went hot, and his throat tasted bitter as he remembered his last interaction with her. But it must have been over ten years ago, he reminded himself. And they’d only been children. Surely she didn’t remember.

Her blue eyes flashed with an expression he couldn’t read, and then Miss Kirby looked back at the remains of the bicycle contraption.

“I’m Chester Larsen,” the boy said. “And this is my cousin Vivian Kirby. We live next door.”

“How do you do, Master Larsen?” Benedict held back a smile at the boy’s brazen manner. “And you, Miss Kirby?”

“My lord.” She spoke in a quiet voice, inclining her head, but didn’t make eye contact.

He wondered if she was shy. Was that the reason she didn’t look at him? Or did she remember the unpleasantness from years earlier? Or had she forgotten? Would apologizing for it just remind her of something she would just as soon not remember? Benedict watched Miss Kirby closely for a clue as to how he should proceed.

She kept her hand on the boy’s back, giving a little push. “Chester, you need to apologize to Lord Covington.”

Chester scuffed his shoe on the gravel of the path. He looked up at Benedict and then down at his feet. “I’m sorry I smashed your fountain, my lord.” He looked up, scowling, and folded his arms. “But nobody was supposed to be here. And I thought you were dead.”

Miss Kirby drew in a breath, looking horrified. “Chester—”

“It’s all right,” Benedict said, smiling and holding up his hands to show that he wasn’t offended. “Your confusion is completely understandable, Master Larsen. I have lived here for only a few days.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “My brother, the former Lord Covington, passed on four months ago, and now the title has fallen to me.” He glanced at Miss Kirby, seeing that she watched him closely. “But, in truth, I prefer to be called Lord Benedict on casual occasions. It has been my name for nearly thirty years, after all.”

The boy nodded thoughtfully. “I prefer to be called Chester. It has been my name for eight years.”

“Very well, Chester.” Benedict extended his hand.

“Very well, Lord Benedict.” The boy grasped his hand, shaking it. He lifted his chin toward the grassy patch with the bamboo mats, and his expression turned curious. “What were you doing, sitting on the ground there?”

“Meditating,” Benedict said. And, seeing that the explanation did not suffice, he clarified. “We were thinking.”

“Do you have to sit outside to think?”

Zhang Wei chuckled.

Benedict laughed. “Sometimes it helps.”

“Please excuse me.” Miss Kirby moved to the edge of the pond and looked as if she were debating whether or not to go into the water after the “Personal Propulsion Vehicle.”

Chester put his hands on his hips and stared at Zhang Wei. “And who are you? Are you a Chinaman? Do you speak Chinese?”

Benedict stepped back and lifted his hand toward Zhang Wei. “Please forgive my rudeness. My friend is indeed from China. He is Chinese,” he corrected. “And he does understand English, although you may need to speak a bit more slowly.”

“I’ve never met a person from China,” Chester said.

“Li Zhang Wei of Hunan province”—Benedict lifted a hand toward his friend and pointed with his palm up toward the boy—“please meet Master Chester Larsen.”

“Of London,” Chester said.

Zhang Wei put his fist against the palm of his other hand and bowed.

Chester mimicked the man’s motions, putting his fist into his palm and bowing as well. “How do you do, Mr. Wei?”

Zhang Wei smiled, his cheeks lifting to spread wrinkles from the sides of his eyes. “Mr.Li. In China, family name comes first.”

“Mr. Li,” Chester said, bowing again. He studied the man for a moment, head tipped and eyebrows pinched together. “Why is your hair so long?”

Zhang Wei touched his queue, which hung over his shoulder and was long enough that he could tuck it into a belt. Benedict wore his hair in the same style, but the ends of his hair came only to his shoulders.

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