Ben scowled. “I need persuasive letters, not calligraphy and invitations to balls.”
“Once I convinced the Duchess of Everly to invite me to her house party in Devonshire, despite not having a single spare room. I can be persuasive.”
“This isn’t a damn party,” he fired back. “This is serious work. You need tothink.”
All the warmth blooming for him in her chest dissipated with his dismissive words. “I have a functioning mind, you know. I can write a letter. And I have nothing else to do.” She spread her arms wide. “Put me to work.”
“Your shoulder won’t heal if you try to write,” Cass said. “All she needs to do is copy down what you say.”
Ben exhaled through flared nostrils, his jaw clenched. “Fine,” he muttered as he met Rose’s gaze, his dark eyes blazing. “But this won’t be easy or fun. Social change is hard work.”
Rose smiled, excitement bubbling like champagne in her chest. “I look forward to the challenge.”
Dear Timothy,
Did you know that when a person dislocates their shoulder, they turn a very peculiar shade of green? I was reminded of the vest you insisted on wearing to the Wiltondale ball last winter and I begged you to discard immediately. It seems my color sense was, once again, above reproach.
Missing you (but not too much),
Rose
Chapter 7
Roseswungopenthedoor and forced a pleasant smile on her face, already preparing for the words she would hear next.
“Who the hell are you?” The woman’s thin gray hair shot out in all directions underneath her knit cap, the brilliant blue eyes trapped in a web of wrinkles glaring at Rose. She leaned to the side to peer into Ben’s apartment as though she feared he was in distress, possibly held hostage. Despite having at least a foot of height on the woman, Rose felt thoroughly intimidated.
Unwanted. Out of place. How many more interactions with the building’s residents would remind Rose that she did not belong in Brooklyn Heights?
“I’m Abby’s cousin, Rose. I’ll be helping Ben with his correspondence while he convalesces.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed even further as she shoved a small bundle into her hands. “I baked them this morning. Corn muffins. They’re forBen, mind you. Tell him the stair is broken again, nearly took my knee out.“ She dug into her pockets and withdrew another package, and the odor of fish struck Rose like a punch. “For Wig,” she grunted as she dropped it on top of the muffins.
The woman swung around and stomped down the hallway, and Rose closed the door with a sigh.
Did her family’s butler have to manage people like that? Surely the visitors to her home would be polite and gracious, otherwise Salisbury would have left his post decades prior.
“Who was that?” Ben leaned over the table in the kitchen, stacks of letters spread before him.
Rose put the muffins next to the fresh bread, boiled sweets, and meatloaf that had arrived alongside thinly veiled requests for assistance. “Adelightfulwoman with corn muffins. She reported the stair is broken again, much to the peril of her knee.”
He nodded without looking at her. “Mrs. Thurgood, fifth floor. Add that to the list.”
Rose bent over and scribbledFix stair on fifth floor: Mrs. Thurgoodon the rapidly growing list on the side of the desk. It joined,Oven malfunctioning: Mrs. Hamilton, Needs baseball glove mended: Bobby Middleton,andMeal collection for Korzakowskis: Jacob broke ankle, can’t work.
“When do you find time to do all this?” she asked.
“I manage,” he mumbled.
“What will you do with your arm injured?”
A muscle ticked in Ben’s jaw. “I don’t suppose you know how to repair a step, fix an oven, or mend a baseball glove?”
“What’s baseball?”
He raised his eyes to meet hers, and her cheeks heated. “I’ll take that as a no.” He dropped his attention back to the papers.
Rose took her seat at his side as he reviewed the letter she had been drafting before Mrs. Thurgood had interrupted them. For three days she labored in his kitchen, taking down letters precisely as he dictated, while he acted as though her very presence irritated him to the highest degree.
