“Since when is that part of your criteria?” her friend asked. “I suppose you can’t marry someone you despise and vice versa, no matter how handsome or good for the business and the community, but—”
“The question is, Do you like him? The idea that he or anyone else wouldn’t like you is absolute nonsense.” Her grandmother rolled her eyes. “You’re attractive, you’re charming, you’re confident, and best, you know what you want and aren’t afraid to demand it.” She waved a hand in Isabelle’s direction, jeweled bracelets glinting in the late-morning sun. “You speak well. You’re friendly. People like you.”
Did they? Or did people just like what she could do for them? And would she be satisfied with a husband who saw her accoutrements first and her second? Even if, in a way, she was looking for the same thing.
Because one good turn does not deserve another?Her conversation with Aaron echoed in her head. She twisted her ankle beneath her skirts. “I suppose.”
Her grandmother reached out and tapped her knee. “Don’t scrunch your nose like that, dear. It’ll cause premature wrinkles.”
Suddenly, she was no longer hungry. She laid her half-eaten sweet on the silver tray next to her.
“Sometimes it’s better to have a smaller circle of trust. Especially when you are so valuable in your own right,” her grandmother added. “I believe you will find the support you are seeking in the right husband.”
Isabelle swallowed another sip of coffee so fast she burned her tongue. Which was somehow less painful than the gnawing in her gut. She should be excited and relieved. Solomon Weiss was still a solid choice, and if not, there were still two more festivals. Plenty of time to bring her goals to fruition without marrying anyone named Berab. And yet somehow, she was more confused and unsure than ever.
Before she could attempt a change in topic, Judith brought in the mail. And while several important families sent rather lovely compliments, another note took her breath away—one from David Berab. A request for another ream of unnecessary accounting to eat her time and keep her from the aspects of the business that mattered. Not that he would succeed. She’d do both, exactly as her father would have.
It would have been nice, though, if she’d slept more the prior night. However, once she was married, once she executed her plan, all would be right. She could sit in her father’s chair and do the work to his standards, and everything would remain as it should. She just needed to finish what she had started. She closed her eyes for a moment, working to visualize her options once more, but the only face that came to mind was Aaron Ellenberg’s.
She blinked them open once more to find both women still staring at her. “I’m just tired,” she lied. “But I’ll rally.” After all, her family, the community, and the company all depended on her—something she could not forget.
Despite the fact his legs jiggled with fatigue, Aaron was awake and scrubbing the floors of the synagogue right as the men filed in for their morning prayers. There to help Mr. Baum find his missing button—the man had become forgetful since his wife passed last year. And to stitch together the knee of Rueben Loeb’s trousers, lest the other boys tease him again.
Wiping his brow, Aaron lugged the bucket of now dirty water into the back alley, careful not to dump it too close to the sparrows’ nests he’d fortified with bits of straw and scraps of cloth he’d found lying about. It was blustery between buildings, after all. Familiar with his presence, or more likely, the food he left for them, the mother bird popped her head out and chirped merrily at him.
If only people were as easy as animals. Or more, people his own age, as neither the very old nor the very young ever made him feel like a waste of resources. Not that he wasn’t used to it. That had started the moment he entered the Jewish Orphans’ Home and mixed up Rashi, Rambam, and Rema. The laughter and the jokes had lasted years. And hadn’t stopped.
You can’t expect him to do more than clean floors. After all, he wouldn’t know which direction is east if it wasn’t spelled out for him.
Shutting out the smug stage-whispered comments from the prior week, he struggled to his feet.
Only to find Isabelle Lira, shiny hair secure beneath a bonnet, a lace shawl covering her shoulders, contemplating him from the mouth of the alley.
Aaron could only stare as she approached. Yellow flattered her. Set off her hair. And the climbing rose embroidery brought out a little pink in her lips. Not that her garments were his concern—she just looked . . . nice. All right, more than nice. And bright colors were a welcome sight on a dreary day in general. He leaned against the top of the broom and told himself it was those bold hues that held his focus, not the way the bodice outlined her curved body, nor the way the neckline fell wide, exposing her smooth, probably soft skin.
He swallowed as the memory of her quickening pulse beneath his thumb rocked through his body, his muscles tightening. Curses. He didn’t need those sorts of thoughts. They had a business arrangement and that was it. One that would hopefully yield him the family and life in the community he longed for—one so full that he’d never think of her again.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked, attempting the role of reluctant servant instead of recalling how she smelled like oranges and flowers and everything fresh and nice and clean. “Are you here to noodge me?”
“Well, I am paying you for a certain amount of work.” She traced a gloved finger along a stone groove in the wall. “And I have a limited amount of time. I meant to come earlier but was delayed. However, I still wanted to make sure we understood each other. And the, um, task.”
He raised a brow, and she continued, “Based on our discussion in the library, my focus has narrowed.” On a rich man who probably didn’t deserve her and had his head too far up his tuchus to realize how lucky he would be if she picked him. Aaron’s nostrils flared.
“To Solomon Weiss, first and foremost, yes, very much.” Isabelle nodded, a lock of dark hair falling from its pins across her forehead. “My grandmother doesn’t disapprove, so I need to not only verify he is an appropriate choice for my purposes, but that he can be induced into complete loyalty.” She untied the velvet ribbon around her neck and slid back her bonnet to smooth the errant strand back into place.
He squeezed the handle of his room, beckoning her inside. “So, to confirm, you’re completely focused on Weiss?” Not that it was any skin off his nose. “Or is there someone else I should know about?”
She paused, puffing out her lower lip before chewing on it. “There’s no one else in particular, though the Duke of Sussex is keen on the men with which he is more familiar from my side of the community. However, I believe his mind could be persuaded by the right performer. Perhaps someone like Weiss. What are your thoughts regarding him?”
“Beg pardon?” Was the room rather sticky and warm?
“Your opinion of Weiss. As a husband. I know it’s not quite what I’ve hired you for, but . . . I was just wondering, if given the choice, would . . . you marry him?” She twiddled the ribbon before swinging her hat at her side.
“I don’t think I’m what he’s looking for.” He smirked at his own joke.
“No. You lack a dowry.” She rolled her eyes at him before ducking her head. “I mean, do you think, with the right leverage, he would suit my purposes, if you were to make the decision in my stead? Think as if you were my advisor.” She traced her free hand over the shawl at her neckline.
“Why are you rushing this decision?” he asked instead. Not that it mattered for his purposes, but the way she was pushing, almost desperately . . .
