“I’ll go up to Mrs. Thurgood’s apartment and pour grease down the trap myself if it means she’ll stop haunting my place!” Cass threw another piece of cookie, but it went wide and struck the stone next to him, shattering and sending crumbs down his sleeve.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” he said, brushing off his shirt. “I reminded her what we had was temporary. If she wants more than that—”
“Are you really that dense?” Cass’s dark eyes flashed, and Ben barely ducked out of the way of another sugary projectile. “You’vealreadybecome more. Don’t you see that she’s falling for you?”
Ben swallowed hard, the sick fear in his stomach battling the warmth glowing in his chest. He shook his head. “I can’t help if she—”
“And you’ve been a miserable beast without her as well. Don’t even try to deny it.” Another piece of cookie hit the window when he opened his mouth. “Because it’s obvious to anyone with eyes how you feel.”
With a slow exhale, Ben dropped his head. “I don’t know how to do this, Cass. I already had the love of my life, and I lost her—I lostthem.”
Cass moved the ladder back in place, hesitating before she let it lean against the edifice. “Do you promise not to run away before this conversation is over?”
A smile pulled at his lip, and he nodded. A moment later, he was on the sidewalk, and Cass put her hand on his shoulder to brush off some remaining crumbs. “You can have more than one great love, Ben.”
“But I already know I’ll lose her. She’s leavingto marry a fuckinglord. I’ll never see her again.” He shook his head. “I can’t survive another loss like before.”
“I won’t pretend to understand what you went through, but you survived. You took that pain and you turned it into something good.” She gestured at the building with a proud smile. “You could have been buried in grief, bitter and hateful towards the world, but you found a way to give me, and so many other women, a place where we could be safe.”
“I am bitter,” he said, his voice choked. “I don’t know if I’m capable of loving—or being loved—again.”
“You really are stupid sometimes.” Cass chuckled. “You love all of us, and we love you.” She tipped up his chin and met his gaze. “Have you actually asked her to stay?”
He huffed out a humorless laugh. “Why would she stay? She has an entire life to go back to. There’s nothing for her in Brooklyn.”
“Youare in Brooklyn, Ben.” Cass clapped him on the shoulder, then dug into her skirt pocket and passed over a handful of crumbled cookie bits. “And would you find a use for these? I’m afraid my pockets will attract rodents.”
She walked back into the building, leaving him with a pocket full of desserts and an aching heart. But an ache meant the battered organ still functioned, at least in some capacity. As much as Ben thought he lived behind thick castle walls, he had left himself exposed enough for love—love for his friends, and their love in return—to seep through. He never expected to open himself up again, but everything about Rose was unexpected.
She had always been the beauty to his beast, but could she help him trust in love again?
Perhaps, but first, he would need to convince her to try.
Chapter 22
Roseliftedherspooncautiously, gave it the slightest shake, and watched the gelatinous substance wiggle. “Oysters, you said?”
Mr. Ruffgate nodded before tipping the whole shell up and slurping down its contents in one go. “Delightful this time of year, aren’t they?”
She gave a non-committal hum and swallowed her spoonful, the salty brine stinging her throat for a moment before she took a long drink of her champagne. “Delightful,” she echoed weakly.
“Do you have oysters in England?” The miniscule lift of his lip indicated this wasn’t a question intended to learn more about her background, but the opportunity to remind her of the superiority of his New York experience.
“Yes, but I don’t eat them often.” Oysters were lower-class food, raked from the shores of the Thames and beaches along the coastlines and added to stews. Her class suffered no shortage of meat, so no foraging was required, but she had no desire to hold up her end of the conversation, so she declined to explain the cultural difference.
Keeping Mr. Ruffgate engaged had grown challenging. Well, this wasn’t entirely true; the man never seemed to stop talking. But finding something she could contribute—and he would listen to—was nigh on impossible. Even more pressing was gathering information that would help the suffrage society. So far, she had only gained a passing knowledge of current haberdashery and necktie styles.
And now, apparently, oysters. “They’re quite the delicacy here, exclusive to only the finest restaurants.” He lifted another shell and slurped the mollusk down, and this time, Rose couldn’t hide her wince; fortunately, his view of her reaction was blocked by the shell and he missed it. “We have a saying, only eat oysters in months that end withr, and being September…”
I know what month it is, you flapdoodle.Rose shifted her face into her practiced social mien, nodding intermittently as he discussed… What was he talking about again? Oysters.
How had she spent her days in England like this? She could recall hundreds of insipid conversations with men far more pompous and narcissistic than Ruffgate, but she had never felt so stifled, like the air was too thick, and she desperately needed to breathe.
The collar of her dress itched against her neck and her lungs strained under the bust that Mrs. Fuller had pinned and tucked to perfection. The silk slippers Ben had given her looked exquisite with her gown, although she missed her practical boots. As she walked to her table in Hoffbauer’s—Mr. Ruffgate’s clout was enough to get them a table at the famed restaurant, but not sufficient for anything but a cramped space in the back corner—she passed a full-length mirror. Rose had paused and stared at her reflection in the gilded frame. She looked beautiful, as expected, but she felt hollow. As though all the trappings she once considered so important—the fashion and gossip, the invitations and parties—were illusions, mere shadows of reality.
“I prefer wellfleets, but the blue points will do. They’ve become common, but with the right amount of relish…”
Was he still talking oysters? Had he moved on to a different mollusk? Or perhaps boots? Rose nodded her encouragement while her mind started to scream. Was this all she had to look forward to when she returned to England? Endless banal conversation over champagne and shellfish, when so many wrongs in the world were ignored by those with the power to change them? The future she had envisioned for herself—the center of social functions, the belle of the ball, courting the fickle favor of society—sickened her,terrifiedher.
