Rose could not find the words to respond to Ben’s question. Acres of green spread before her, buffeted on all sides by buildings reaching toward the crystal blue sky, like the masts of tall ships surrounding a harbor. Winding paths separated expanses of grass interspersed with copses of trees and brush. Crags of rocks burst from the earth in unpredictable intervals, as though the ground sought to recapture the urban terrain for itself. Hyde Park seemed like an oasis, separate from the bustle of London as though invisible barriers kept the two worlds apart. This park, equally sprawling and as green as the London landmark, seemedalive, as though the pulse of the city beat underneath its verdant slopes.
Dear Timothy,she thought, is it possible to fall in love with a place instead of a person?
Ben took Rose’s elbow as he guided her down wide stone steps into the belly of the park, set a story below 5th Avenue. Their cab could not take them any closer to Mrs. Belmont’s massive home at the corner of Madison Avenue and 51st Street because of the heavy afternoon traffic, and, unwilling to risk missing calling hours, the pair set out on foot to cover the remaining distance.
“How long will Mrs. Anthony be in New York?” Rose asked, somewhat breathless from their brisk pace.
“She leaves for Washington in three days, so if we’re going to convince her to speak against Linden’s bill, time is running out.”
Ben had nearly expired when they received word that the legendary suffragist was staying with Mrs. Belmont, the connection to his rally speaker perhaps strong enough to garner a meeting. A week ago, Rose had not known the name Susan B. Anthony, nor would she consider wearing a hole in her boots for the opportunity to meet the woman. Now, she felt giddy with the possibility of meeting the legendary figure in the suffrage movement. A movement Rose belonged to.
At least, she thought she belonged to the cause; having her cousin on board thrilled Abby, and while Cass remained politely aloof, Rose sensed she was winning the woman over as well. As for Ben…
Rose’s neck heated as she recalled shaving him earlier. She hadn’t realized how his proximity would affect her, nor how she would affect him. His pulse had pounded beneath her fingers, his breath ragged against her cheek. Her hand had moved up his thigh of its own volition, and, despite his gentlemanly attempts to hide his body’s reaction, she had not missed the sign of his arousal between his legs.
For whatever reason, Ben was steadfastly keeping his distance and maintaining a professional relationship. She recalled his expression when he told the story of his wife’s death, the pain lacing each word. His heart was still broken, even if his body wanted to move on.
Ben checked his pocket watch and slid it back into his waistcoat, and Rose took the opportunity to admire him as they walked. He had slid a navy waistcoat and matching jacket over his light blue shirt and exchanged his cap for a more formal bowler. Despite Rose’s concerns, he had left his sling behind but kept his injured arm tucked inside his waistcoat to stabilize his shoulder. He looked every bit the respectable gentleman, not as foppish as many of the men she knew in London and Oxford, but assuredly someone of quality. She tugged at the too-short sleeves of her—Abby’s—jacket and winced. She more closely resembled someone who should enter through the servants’ door than an Upper West Side lady.
“Do you think we can convince her to see us?” Rose asked, breathless from the quick clip of their strides.
“Garrett had arranged a meeting, but Mrs. Anthony had to cancel.”
Rose commended herself for coaxing such a verbose response from Ben; since they left the apartment, he had only communicated with glares and low grunts. “You never told me how you met Garrett.”Because you never say anything.
He screwed up his lips in a scowl, as though discussing his friend was a hardship. “We both started at school in the same year. Neither of us knew what we were doing in a place like Barton Academy, so we stuck together.”
“What were you doing there?”
Another heavy sigh, as though the mere act of conversing with her was exhausting. He slid his hand into his pocket and removed the ubiquitous coin, rolling it over his knuckles in careful turns. “My father couldn’t stomach the idea of his legacy being sullied by an improper education, so he put me in Barton, his alma mater, when my mother died. I was fourteen, and he thought he could still make a proper man out of me.”
“You seem proper,” Rose said, again admiring the precise tailoring of his coat.
Ben smirked. “My last name was the only thing proper about me. You can imagine how the upper bastions of society reacted to a half-Japanese boy who didn’t look anyone in the eye. I was fortunate Garrett stood up for me.”
“He sounds like a kind person.”
“More like a kindred spirit. Garrett’s father was an uneducated Scottish immigrant who stumbled into a fortune with his brother, some sort of shipping venture that took off following the war. Garrett had a way with words when I had none and could keep the boys off my back.”
“A way with words?” Rose winked. “Were you jealous?”
The side of Ben’s mouth lifted in the smallest hint of a smile, and Rose wanted to capture it, nurture the hint of pleasure, and watch it grow. “Everything I know about being charming comes from him.”
“That’s damning him with faint praise.”
Ben gave her a look that sent shivers down her spine, but not from fear—there was heat behind his darkened pupils, as though he were challenging her.
Ben put his hand over his forearm, rubbing the ink she knew to be hiding under his cuff. “After… after everything, I needed a fresh start. I wrote to Garrett, and he invited me here to stay with him in Vinegar Hill, to the east of Brooklyn. When he introduced me to Father Mulligan, another activist who runs St. Stephen’s on Livingston Avenue, I knew I’d found a purpose here.” He shrugged. “My father left me a trust, hoping I would settle into society. Instead, I used it to buy 138 Willow.”
Rose resisted the urge to take his hand and squeeze it, to infuse him with her strength even as she drew some of his. “You’re incredible, but you know that, don’t you?”
The slight hitch in Ben’s step was the only sign her words had landed. “Far from it. I’m trying to right a wrong.”
They walked in silence for no longer than a moment or two, but Rose found it interminable, and words escaped before she could hold them back. “Tell me about the coin.”
He hesitated. “The coin?”
“Yes, the coin you are holding in your handright now. Is it special?”
