Page 69 of Inventing Vivian

Inspector Graham took a firearm from a holster beneath his coat. “Take this... in case—”

Benedict waved away the offer. “I appreciate the thought, sir, but I am not entirely without the means to protect myself.” He looked at Lady Sophronia. “And Miss Kirby.”

Inspector Graham’s brow rose, but he did not inquire further. He put his weapon away, and the pair departed.

Mr. Thomas returned to his office, and Benedict went back to the drawing room.

Miss Kirby knelt next to her crate, peering through the lens gap. She straightened when she saw him. “I’ll send over the costume directly, my lord. I had the clothing laundered, even though it takes away from their authenticity. And Mr. Barnaby suggested smudging our faces and hands with ash. Said we shouldn’t look too clean.”

“I look forward to that,” he said, teasing.

“I’m glad you are coming with me, Your Lordship,” she said.

Benedict knelt by her. “If we are to be partners in this scheme, we should dispense with the formalities. Call me Benedict. And if I may call you Vivian?”

“Oh yes.” She looked down at the box, checking its fastenings.

If he wasn’t mistaken, Benedict believed her cheeks had become a bit pinker.

“I’ll test this again when I get back to my workshop,” Vivian said. She moved to rise.

Benedict stood and held out a hand to assist her.

She gathered her skirts in one hand and took his with the other, leaning forward to stand. “I want to ensure the plates will move smoothly in and...”

Her words trailed off as she stopped, peering beneath the tea table.

“Wait!” Benedict froze, realizing an instant too late what she had found.

Miss Kirby reached for the paper beneath the table. “This... where did you... ?” She stared at him, anger in her eyes. She looked between him and the letter, and then he saw the exact moment of realization. “It was you.” She stepped back, pulling away her hand. “It was you all along.”

Benedict nodded, hoping to see relief or delight or something in her eyes besides betrayal.

“Why did you do this? Was it all a joke?” Tears filled her eyes.

His chest ached, and he reached a hand toward her. “No, Vivian, of course not. I—”

“Do not use my Christian name, my lord. Do not call me anything at all. I—” She crumpled the letter in her fist as two tears streaked down her cheeks. “You are the same selfish boy you’ve always been, and once this day is over, I shall never see you again.” She tossed the crumpled letter to the floor and lifted the crate, pushing past him.

Benedict picked up the letter, sitting back on the sofa. He had dreamed of how Vivian would react when she realized he and her secret benefactor were one and the same. And in every imagined scenario, she had been grateful to him, thanked him profusely, and occasionally embraced him.

He smoothed the letter out on his leg, feeling utterly disgusted with himself. Shame made his stomach roil. She was right. While he had convinced himself that he had offered the sponsorship out of the goodness of his heart, he knew deep inside that there existed an ulterior motive. He’d wanted to be admired, to be thanked, to have Miss Vivian Kirby’s endless gratitude and appreciation. He’d wanted, more than anything, her affection. And he’d achieved exactly the opposite.

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