Ben stilled the turning and looked at it for a moment before sliding it back into his pocket. “No, not at all. My mother would slip two coins into my pocket every morning before school. One was for my meal, the other in case someone else needed it. I kept the habit up after she passed.”
Her heart squeezed. “Do you ever toss it in the air? Use it to make a decision?”
He gave her a sideways look, so quick she would have missed it had she not been watching his face and absorbing every detail, putting her at risk of tripping over a rogue tree root. “Never.”
“Why not?” Rose was hungry for him, desperate for any scrap of information she could use to understand him, and perhaps make sense of how he made her feel.
“Just because I have coin to spare doesn’t mean I should be reckless with it.”
They turned into another section of the park, the green of the manicured lawns so brilliant Rose had to squint. For a moment she recalled the wide fields of Oxfordshire and the familiar ache settled into her chest. But England held no future for her; could she find her home here?
“Have you thought about what you will say if you get to meet Mrs. Anthony?” Rose asked, hoping to draw Ben back into conversation.
“Simple.” He picked up his stride and confidence returned to the set of his shoulders. “Something along the lines of, ‘Mrs. Anthony, it is imperative that you convince Representative Linden of the dangerous nature of his bill. I will not leave until I have confirmed your intention to do so.’”
Rose stopped in her tracks, and Ben took several more paces before turning to face her. “My goodness, I thought you couldn’t tell jokes,” she said.
His brows furrowed. “I wasn’t joking.”
Now Rose laughed, harder than she had in some time. “No, Ben, you are.” She dabbed the corners of her eyes. “You’d be thrown out the door before you finished your first sentence if you spoke like that. What did I tell you about being polite?”
“Mrs. Anthony is one of us. She’ll listen and understand. There is no need for all the niceties.”
“Mrs. Anthony is an elderly woman, and a guest of Mrs. Belmont. I assure you, they will expect niceties. Have you called on many homes of fine ladies?”
He frowned. “No, I haven’t.”
Rose heaved an exaggerated sigh, but smiled as she approached him. “As much as you Americans love your independence, the wealthy cling to the vestiges of high society. I remember Abby’s family employed only English servants because my aunt was certain no one but a Brit could make a proper cup of tea.”
Ben snorted, but Rose pressed on. “How will you introduce yourself?”
He thrust out his hand. “Benjamin North.”
Rose wrinkled her nose. “No, that won’t do. You’ll need to bow.”
“Bow?” he asked with widened eyes, and Rose felt a mischievous tug at her lips.
“Bow,” she repeated.
Ben hesitated, then bobbed his head as though greeting a passing acquaintance.
“Not quite. You need to hinge at the waist. To show respect, you demonstrate that you are below them.”
Ben drew back. “Below them? How—”
“I know,” Rose interjected before Ben could start a tirade. “Hinge at the waist and drop your head.”
With a roll of his eyes, Ben pitched forward until his nose was level with his knees. Rose burst into laughter and he popped up again, fixing her with a glare. “This is a waste of time. We need to hurry—”
“I’ll walk quickly,” Rose interrupted. “And manners are important.” She faced him and bowed, as she had seen countless gentlemen do in her life.
Nostrils flaring, Ben put one arm across his waist and the other behind his back, leaning forward and back up seamlessly, as though he had been in ballrooms his entire life. When he stood, his eyes found hers and held.
Rose swallowed hard and gave a quick nod. “E-excellent,” she stammered, then curtsied in response.
“What was that?” he asked, nose wrinkled.
“A curtsy. How ladies show respect. Mrs. Belmont is not titled, so I do not need to drop too low.”
