When Stars Light the Sky (The Women of Midtown #2)

Chapter 29

29

Inga snapped awake early the following morning, barely able to believe her audacity the previous night. Had she really suggested that she and Benedict should start testing the waters of a real marriage? What had she been thinking?

There were only two possible outcomes. Something magnificent was about to happen, or she was embarking on a mortifying and painful mistake.

She’d been intimidated by Benedict before they even met. The way the Gerards described him ensured that, yet it wasn’t until Inga saw Benedict in person that she felt dwarfed by his lofty education and stern good looks. She made up silly nicknames for him like Doom all she’d suggested was to see if they could get along, maybe share a kiss or two. Even so, she took extra care as she smoothed her hair up into a chignon and pulled a few tendrils down to frame her face. And earrings. She chose her dangly blue earrings because they played up the color of her eyes.

Downstairs, breakfast was already under way. The warm kitchen smelled of vanilla and maple syrup as everyone except Benedict indulged in waffles. He, of course, nursed a bowl of cold oats as he read a magazine. He didn’t even look up as she joined the others at the table.

Everything seemed perfectly normal as she took a seat between Larry and Andrew. She drizzled syrup over her waffle, stealing surreptitious looks at Benedict on the far side of the table. He was engrossed in the financial magazine balanced on his knee, one hand holding the magazine, the other rubbing his jaw. It was oddly appealing. Inga couldn’t even read two paragraphs of that dreary magazine without losing interest, but Benedict was different. Nothing bored him. He lounged in the hardback chair with his magazine, tall and slim and effortlessly cultured.

It was disconcerting, and she picked at her waffle, too nervous to eat. Benedict had quit rubbing his jaw and now mindlessly traced the rim of his coffee cup as he continued reading, and somehow she found that weirdly arousing too. Where had this roaring attraction to Benedict come from? Was it knowing he’d returned her interest that suddenly made her so aware of him?

The breakfast table, crammed with everyone from Alton House, wasn’t the place to start testing a new courtship with Benedict. If they decided to go through with an annulment, they needed to maintain the pretense of a platonic relationship before the others.

Suddenly, the walls of the house felt suffocating. “Benedict, how about a walk?”

He snapped the magazine closed and shot to his feet. “Let’s go.”

Larry looked a little taken aback as he watched them abruptly leave. She hid a grin and reached for her wrap from the coat tree.

Outside, the chill of autumn was in the air, so she tugged on her fancy new kidskin gloves. She should have brought a scarf too. The chilly air snaked around her collar, raising goose bumps on her neck. She pulled it a little higher.

“Hand, please,” Benedict said.

Oh yes, they were supposed to start holding hands as part of their new agreement. Would it have killed him to have used a complete sentence? She was about to make a snippy comment, then stopped herself. The terse request was typically Benedict, and she shouldn’t castigate him for it any more than she’d appreciate it if he told her to quit smiling so much.

Offering him her hand, they headed up the street toward the plaza. Withered leaves scraped along the cobblestones, and acorn caps crunched underfoot. She scrambled for something to talk about that would be appealing to someone as educated as Benedict. His first wife grew up on a college campus and probably had no trouble keeping up with all of Benedict’s worldly interests.

“What were you reading this morning with such fascination?” she asked.

“Problems with the foreign treasury notes,” he replied. “The war is delaying the payments of dividends, and that’s causing liquidity concerns.”

He kept talking, and each sentence made her feel more ignorant. She never pretended to be an expert on economic policy and wouldn’t start now. She kept her voice deliberately conversational as she interrupted him. “Did you know that if you keep talking about dividends and liquidity, I am almost certain to keel over from boredom?”

“Shhh,” Benedict said in an oddly affectionate tone. “We’re supposed to pretend to like each other.”

“I actually do like you, Benedict, but when you say ‘liquidity,’ I think about this fountain,” she said as they approached the circular fountain with a splendid statue in the center. It would probably be drained for the winter soon. The statue was of an ancient warrior king, holding a sword in one hand and a scepter in the other. The inscription on its pedestal read, Athaulf, King of the Visigoths .

“Are the Visigoths the same as the Goths?” she asked Benedict. “And what about the Ostrogoths. Who were they?” When she first arrived in Berlin, she’d tried to learn about the barbarian groups whose statues were everywhere, but they all blended together in her mind.

Benedict leaned down to whisper in her ear, “I get them confused too.”

A giggle bubbled up, and Benedict laughed as well. Maybe all this ancient history wasn’t so terribly important after all.

She gazed up at the statue of the warrior king. “Once, that man was famous and feared, yet nobody remembers him now. Not like the carpenter’s son. Nobody needs a statue of Jesus to remember him.”

“We carry his messages carved on our hearts,” Benedict said. “‘Blessed are the peacemakers...’”

“‘For they shall be called the children of God,’” she finished.

Benedict nodded. He looked pale and tired as he sat on the rim of the fountain. She joined him, taking his hand and wondering what had put the hollow expression on his face.

“Oh, Inga, I’ve always wanted to be a peacemaker. Every day I feel like America is getting pulled closer to the war. I fear it is becoming inevitable.”

She cradled his hand. “It’s been more than two years and we’ve stayed out of it,” she said. “You helped make that happen.”

The breeze kicked up, sending a swirl of dried leaves skittering across the pavement. Suddenly the mood seemed as gray and bleak as the October morning. She pulled her wrap a little tighter. Even with the worsening weather, she didn’t want this moment to end because for once it seemed as though Benedict actually needed her. It made her feel worthy, as if she were more than just a pretty ornament.

They huddled on the cold stone of the fountain’s edge, shiver ing in the chilly autumn wind and sharing an hour of comfort and comradery unlike anything Inga had ever known. Only when pinpricks of sleet started pelting them did they reluctantly head back inside.

Perhaps she and Benedict had a future together after all.