Page 86 of Inventing Vivian

Chapter 23

Benedict stepped into his gardenin the early morning, breathing in the cool silent air. He walked along a curving wooden path and surveyed the new pavilion, taking in the tiled roof with its wide eaves that curved upward to a point at each corner. The structure was nearly completed, and he was pleased with the builders’ work. The rest of the garden was undergoing renovations as well in preparation for Zhang Wei and Yali Pang’s wedding. Though the date the monk had chosen for the couple was still six weeks away, there was still much to do if the event was going to live up to Benedict’s vision.

Out of habit, he glanced through the trees on the far side of his garden as he walked. He could just see the upper windows and roofline of the Kirbys’ house. The twinge pulled in his chest. The exhibition had ended three days earlier, and he’d not caught even a glimpse of Vivian. Not since he’d put her in the carriage and sent her home from the police station. Professor Wallis had visited, reporting on her success, and Benedict had been elated. But the feeling was tempered by his being unable to share it with the woman herself.

He spread his bamboo mat on the patch of grass beneath the willow tree and sat. He should have taken his parents’ advice and approached a relationship in a sensible manner, but he’d allowed his heart to get involved in the business, and he’d fallen in love. It was a mistake he couldn’t afford to make again. Not when the result was so painful.

Benedict relaxed his shoulders, cupped his hands together, and pushed the thoughts from his mind. He focused on his breathing, feeling the air moving in and out of his lungs.

From beyond the garden wall came the sound of a motor so quiet he wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him. The noise continued, and he allowed himself to wonder what new machine Vivian had created.

He pushed away the disturbance and returned to his practice, expanding his mind and visualizing the light sources within his body.

The motor sound grew louder, and he glanced at the gate. But instead of a boy on a motorized bicycle crashing through, an object soared over the wall. Benedict stared at it as it came closer. It appeared to be a small motor carried through the air by a spinning propeller. An envelope was attached to the machine’s body.

A jolt shot through Benedict’s body. He jumped to his feet but fought against the hope building in his chest, not daring to let it take hold.

The flying machine sputtered, its propeller slowing, and it dipped lower, continuing toward him until the blades caught in a tree. It twisted around, showering chopped leaves and bits of twigs to the ground below. The machine stopped altogether, hanging limply from a drooping branch.

Benedict reached up and caught it, untangling the blades. The motor was hot, so he held it carefully by the propeller and unclipped the envelope.

Lord Benedict,

He recognized Vivian’s handwriting. He took a deep breath and read on.

My Lord,

If it is still agreeable to you, I should like to continue our correspondence and our friendship.

Miss Vivian Kirby

Benedict stared at the letter, his breath clogging in his chest. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Innovative, sensible, and straightforward. The gesture was quintessentially Vivian Kirby.

From the corner of his eye, he saw movement. Vivian stood in the opening of the gate, her gown fluttering in the morning breeze.

Benedict put the letter in the pocket of his coat. He carried the contraption by the propeller’s mast, holding it out when he reached her.

“I presume this belongs to you.”

She took it, grimacing at the bent propeller blades, and she glanced toward the tree. “I’m afraid there is no way to steer it.”

“It is only a branch,” Benedict said, shrugging. “At least it did not hit my fountain.”

Her mouth moved as if she wanted to smile at his attempted joke, but she frowned instead, setting the machine down on the ground. “I shouldn’t have said the things I did.” She wiped the grease from her fingers onto a handkerchief, keeping her gaze turned down. “I was frightened.”

She spoke the final sentence in a quiet voice that was nearly a whisper.

“You were frightened... of me?” Benedict asked.

“No, not you, exactly. But yes. I was afraid of being hurt.”

“And now?” Benedict asked. “You’re no longer afraid?”

“I’m terrified,” Vivian said in a trembling voice. She looked up, her gaze meeting his, and he saw worry in her blue eyes. “But not taking a risk is more regrettable than taking the risk and failing.”

“Very wise,” he said.

She clasped her hands together, then released them, balling them into fists, then clasped them again. “I understand if you don’t... if, after the things I said, you no longer want...”

Benedict took her hands in his. “There is nothing I want more, Vivian Kirby.” His heart thundered in his ears as he leaned toward her.

She watched him, the worried crease between her brows softening and then disappearing altogether. When their lips were only an inch apart, he paused, waiting. This time, it must be her choice.

Vivian closed the distance, her face coming up to his, her kiss warm, her lips soft. She released his hands, sliding her arms around his neck, and in an instant, she was in his arms. Their kisses became stronger, and he held her tighter, wondering how he could ever have made up his mind against love.

He pulled away, brushing his thumb along her cheekbone and sliding his hand beneath her ear to rest it on the curve of her neck. She was so beautiful, but in his mind, her physical attractiveness had become a secondary attribute. Vivian Kirby was so much more. She was everything he needed. All he lacked. Practical, serious, deliberate. She was his opposite, his missing piece. With her, he was whole.

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