His dark eyes softened. “I don’t dislike you.”
“Difficult to believe when you just ran away from me.”
“I didn’t run away,” he said with a scowl.
“Fine. Walked briskly.”
Ben looked to the heavens. “What do you want from me, Rose?”
“Tell me something about yourself,” she said, her hungry heart desperate for any crumb he could give her. “Trust me with…anything. I trusted you with my story. Give me a piece of yours.”
His jaw ticked as he held her gaze. But after a moment, Ben sighed. He raised his left arm and pushed back his sleeve to reveal the inside of his upper forearm. Rose could see now the tattoo was of an insect, wide wings with a circle of light around it. “A glowworm?”
“A firefly,” he said. “Hotaru.”
Rose’s breath caught. “Your son.”
Ben nodded, pushing down his sleeve and turning away. He began to walk, but slowly, and Rose took the implicit invitation to join him.
“Aiko was born in Japan and came to America when she was a teen. She missed the fireflies in Tokyo, talked about their light all the time. How something so small and common could create wondrous beauty and joy.”
Rose’s fingers twitched, aching to reach for his hand and squeeze it, to hold and comfort him. Instead, she pressed her palm against her stomach, hoping to ease the ache.
“When we discovered she was expecting, I was terrified, but Aiko was thrilled. This small, common but incredible thing that we created together…” He swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a moment before continuing. “We never talked about a name. She thought it would be bad luck. But I couldn’t just—”
She took his hand; there was no conscious decision to wrap her fingers around his, and she feared he would pull away. But Ben sighed, a shudder of his shoulders before he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
A man tossed a bucket of water into the street behind them. Two children tore past, calling to each other. Pigeons scrambled for crumbs in a waste bin outside a shop. But Rose and Ben, for one moment, were alone. “I’m so sorry, Ben.”
The words felt so weak, so inadequate. Her pain felt petty in comparison, as though an estranged sibling and confused romantic life could compete with his profound loss. But he looked up and met her eyes. “Thank you, Rose.” His eyelids dropped, and when he met her gaze again, it looked as though a wall had fallen down, as though she’d chipped away some of his stony façade. “And I do like you, at least a little.”
TO: Miss Violet Waverly, Boar’s Hill, Oxfordshire
You would hate New York STOP So many strange people and smells STOP But you would be proud of me STOP You have inspired me and I hope to change the world for you STOP
FROM: Miss Rose Waverly, ? Batterman & Co, Brooklyn, New York
TO: Miss Rose Waverly, ? Batterman & Co, Brooklyn, New York
I am always proud of you STOP Do not stay too long STOP I need my sister back STOP It has been lonely without you STOP Where is Brooklyn QUERY Is it part of the Upper West Side QUERY
FROM: Miss Violet Waverly, Boar’s Hill, Oxfordshire
TO: Lord Timothy, Marquess of Trembly, Ashburn Hall, Oxfordshire
You should serve pineapples at Ashburn Hall this Christmas STOP Make sure you purchase enough so your servants can have them as well STOP
FROM: Miss Rose Waverly, ? Batterman & Co, Brooklyn, New York
TO: Miss Rose Waverly, ? Batterman & Co, Brooklyn, New York
What in the blazes are you up to QUERY Have you been eating pineapple QUERY
FROM: Lord Timothy, Marquess of Trembly, Ashburn Hall, Oxfordshire
Chapter 10
Bendroppedhisrazorinto the sink with a clatter and groaned as pain shot down his shoulder. A week since his fall, what had started as a roguish scruff had turned into patches of hair more closely resembling a street dog with mange than a reputable gentleman. While he had learned to dress and feed himself using his left hand with relative success, shaving remained impossible.
