“Youare his legacy.” Her grandmother frowned as Judith reappeared in the doorway, ushering Isabelle to her rather messy dressing table, the marble top covered with pots of creams and powders. “You and your happiness, and I fear that this will bring you no happiness.”
“I’ll just have to prove you wrong as well, then.” She sank onto the tufted cushion in front of the heavy framed mirror and straightened her spine, readying herself for the brush whose coarse bristles always nettled her scalp. Rebecca, who had come to sit beside her, winced and touched a hand to her own tight curls.
“I suppose so.” Her grandmother rose and strolled toward the window. “Though I’m rarely ever wrong,” she added, with a resolution Isabelle could only envy.
“There’s a first for everything. Besides, how is this truly different than if father was alive? We’d search for a man who’d suit both me and the entire family and its needs. People have done so for centuries.” She winced as Judith struggled through a particularly tight tangle. “More than centuries—since biblical times.” She turned back to the stern-faced woman. “We can just pin it simply. I don’t need a full Apollo knot. Though make sure my face is properly framed.”
Her grandmother traced a finger over the window glass. “Odd how no one in the Torah had a series of festivals where they forced potential mates to strut around for them.”
Isabelle bit her tongue, her mind flitting over the entire Tanach and their other writings, searching for a counterargument until—aha—
“Ahasuerus did.” She motioned to Judith, who set about assisting with her undergarments.
Rebecca released a snort before coughing. “I’m sorry,” she said as she tapped her chest. “I just swallowed . . .” She shook her head. “I apologize—did you really just compare yourself to Ahasuerus? Is there something more to these festivals I should know?”
Isabelle rolled her eyes. “I’m not hosting orgies.”
“It would be a touch awkward with your grandmother and Pena in attendance,” Rebecca conceded.
“Ahasuerus wasn’t a Jew or in the Torah.” Her grandmother sat herself on the window seat, placing a cushion on her lap before smoothing the fabric, purposefully ignoring her friend’s comments.
“He was a king,” Isabelle pointed out. Which was even better than a princess and whatever titles the bill promised. Isabelle held still as Judith slid the busk into the front of her corset.
“A foolish king who was constantly duped by advisors.” Her grandmother rubbed a tassel. “And his wife.”
“Who was most certainly not who she seemed to be,” Rebecca The Traitor chimed in.
“Which was a good thing for us and our continued survival.” Isabelle’s stomach rumbled. “It’s only a few hours until guests arrive, and I need something to eat.” Another pot of tea was certainly in order. With more cakes. She whispered the request to her maid as she thanked her. Judith nodded before stepping out of the room to do her bidding.
“I’m just asking you to be careful, Isabelle.” Her grandmother heaved another sigh. “I want you to consider all the angles, lest you do something that you’ll regret.”
“You know I will. And you know I’ll put in place every possible barrier against any potential consequences.” Isabelle dipped her hand beneath her skirts to where her dagger lay, fingering the design of a carved shell on the hilt. “That’s what we Liras do, after all. If you’d like, I can look for a man with qualities I enjoybesidesbusiness acumen, political shrewdness, and power to use against the Berab brothers.” She bit her lip. “Perhaps one who is not a chore to look at.”
Rebecca slapped a hand over her mouth, suppressing sounds suspiciously similar to giggles.
“How magnanimous of you.” Her grandmother flatted the cushion with her palm. “Meanwhile, we’re already running into issues. Which is what I came to inform you of. A guest has appeared inappropriately early, despite the explicit instructions on his invitation.”
A million curses echoed in Isabelle’s ears as she froze in front of her wardrobe. “A man?” she asked, pitching her voice as innocently as possible as her fingers flitted over the silks.
“Yes. His name is Aaron Ellenberg.” The older woman stood, clutching the bench for support, as her legs didn’t bend quite like they used to. She was supposed to use the gilded animal head walking sticks that Isabelle and Pena had commissioned for her as gifts, but her grandmother often “forgot” when they failed to properly complement her attire.
“I’ve never heard of him.” Isabelle ducked her head so she’d avoid Rebecca’s now-curious eyes. “Is he someone else to add to the list?”
“Not unless you’ve decided penniless orphans with neither pedigree, trade, nor connections is what would best suit your purposes,” her friend said loudly, redeeming herself with the show of loyalty in a clear, if clumsy, attempt to fortify her lie.
“I would prefer you both to be more tactful when discussing people not as fortunate as us, but no, I suppose he is not being added to any matchmaker’s list,” her grandmother said with an exacerbated sigh. “Pena’s instructing him on proper attire before sending him on his way with the directive only to return at the proper time.”
“Good to know.” Isabelle’s heart thumped faster. Poor Aaron. Apparently, he was in need of a rescue. First, though, she’d have to finish mollifying her grandmother. “Is that all that’s wrong?”
“If he does attend, please do not toy with him or, for that matter, any other people of his status.” Her grandmother moved to her side and offered her arm. “Let them have their fun, but respect their feelings and dignity. Offer no false hope nor cruel send-offs. Behave like the leader you supposedly want to be.”
Isabelle threaded her arm through the other woman’s before motioning for Rebecca to follow. “I’ll be the picture of perfection all evening—with the gentiles, with the suitors, and with everyone in between.”
“I’m sure you will, dear.” Her grandmother patted her hand. “And I, in turn, will try to behave the same. With the least amount of meddling possible.”
Isabelle resisted a snort. “I have no doubt.” She gave her grandmother a broad smile before glancing back at the crumpled missive she’d fought so hard all morning to answer. All would be fine. This was her festival, her plot, and her responsibility, and she’d not fail.
Two long hours.
