Page 75 of Inventing Vivian

She rested her chin on her knees.

“Also,” he continued, “I didn’t think you would accept the patronage if you knew it came from me.”

Vivian didn’t respond.

“And once we began exchanging letters...”

He felt her stiffen.

“I did not intend to deceive you,” Benedict said. “I so enjoyed reading your letters as well as writing to you. Your correspondence became...” He hesitated, not knowing what words to use. “I found myself in those letters. I was able to confide in someone I knew cared, who approved of me, even when my own parents didn’t. Or, at least, I believe you did.”

She tipped her head, glancing at him.

“I know I should have told you, but I feared losing something that had come to mean a great deal to me.”

“I enjoyed them, too, my lord.” Vivian spoke in a soft voice.

He shifted, letting his legs dangle over the edge of the crate. “Were you disappointed—when you learned it was me?” The question left him feeling vulnerable, and he stared at his bulky workers’ boots.

“No,” Vivian said. “I was embarrassed.” She set her hands down, leaning back on her palms. “I was very honest and shared more than I would have otherwise. I suppose I found it easier to confide in a stranger.”

“I wonder...” His hands were shaking. Why was this so difficult? “If you’d like, perhaps we could continue our friendship—but with complete honesty.”

“I don’t know,” Vivian said.

His gut was cold, dreading her rejection. “Why?”

Vivian turned toward him. “My lord, I am not like you. You are cheerful and merry. You make jokes, and people want to be around you. You enjoy Society and parties and dancing. I prefer quiet, to think, read, and invent in my workshop. I enjoy being alone.”

“I don’t require a constant companion,” he said. “Simply a friend. I have my own interests that take my time as well.”

“I’m afraid you would eventually change your mind,” Vivian said. “Most gentlemen do. They see me and think one thing, believing I will act in a particular way, and then they are disappointed when I do not.”

“But I know you already. And I like you as you are,” he said. “Even when you prefer not to dance, though I do hope you might make the occasional exception in my case.”

She shook her head. “The experience is never a pleasant one, for either party.”

“How so?” he asked, feeling compassion for the woman. Dancing had always been a pleasant pastime in his memory. It was a pity that her experience had been so opposite.

“I become awkward and nervous and cannot think of what to say.” Vivian grimaced. “And then when I do think of a topic I believe to be of interest, it without fail offends or embarrasses my partner.”

“Show me,” Benedict said. His curiosity was piqued.

“Very well.” She glanced around, looking down at the crate they sat on. “Are you aware that natron, a mixture of sodium carbonate and sodium bicarbonate, was used in the ancient Egyptian embalming process? Not only does natron act as a drying agent, absorbing the body’s fluids, but it turns a corpse’s fatty tissues into soap.”

Her expression held a challenge, as if she were waiting for him to become disgusted or show signs of boredom. Benedict enjoyed a challenge.

“That is extremely interesting,” he said, jumping down from the crate. “But I believe if I am going to understand fully your aversion to dancing, we should actually be doing it.” He held out his hand. “To eliminate the variables.”

Vivian tilted her head, regarding him. “You think to use the scientific method to prove to me why I should enjoy dancing?”

“Would anything else convince you?”

A hint of a smile pulled at her lips. She took his hand, glancing down at the floor.

“If we keep moving, I think the vermin will stay away,” he said, although he had no idea if the statement was actually true.

Vivian hopped off the crate, setting a hand on his shoulder. She was a tall woman, only a few inches shorter than he was. He liked that he could look directly into her eyes when they faced one another. In the moonlight, her skin glowed with a silver tint.

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