“Which one? Weiss?” Desperation edged into her voice. If only someone would point her in the right direction, tell her who was best, who she could trust to help her save her father’s legacy. “Or do you have someone else in mind?”
“That’s for you to decide.” Her friend smoothed her thick woolen skirts. “In my opinion, it should be a man you think about when he’s not around, the man you want to tell things to, want to ask questions of, want to be with at all times.”
“What if none of the men at the festivals, none of my suitors do that?” She took a deep breath. “What if I haven’t met that man yet? Or worse, what if I never do?” Even if she saved the business, saved her father’s legacy, when the danger was gone,wouldshe be able to be happy with the man she chose? It was a question she hadn’t permitted herself to ask.
Would she always wonder?
Or worse, think of someone else?
“Are you sure you haven’t?” Rebecca peered at her.
“Yes.” She swallowed the doubt swirling in the back of her brain. She could control this. Control the situation. Control her life. She just needed to work harder. Be stronger. Cleverer.
Somehow.
“Then keep looking.” Her friend patted her leg. “You still have plenty of time.”
Isabelle nodded, forcing up the corners of her lips in a half smile she told herself was not a lie as the two rode on in silence the rest of the way to their respective homes.
Why could she never sleep? Isabelle paced before the fire in her room even as Baron snored upon his striped cushion in the corner, worn out hours before from his daily ramble. Hands on her hips, she gazed at her damask bed-curtains again, usually so welcoming, but somehow, she could not settle as she should.
She glanced at the clock above the mantel. Midnight. Dinner had finished more than two hours ago, and her grandmother and Pena had retired to their chambers. Even the staff was slumbering. And yet here she was, awake, working not to think ofhim. Because the kiss didn’t matter. The rejection didn’t matter.
He didn’t matter.
Thwack.
Isabelle near jumped out of her skin, and Baron raised his head, letting out a low growl. She spun around toward the window just as the second stone hit.
No. It couldn’t be.
This pebble struck even louder. She rushed over, throwing open the shutters. Isabelle bent over the ledge, and yes, Aaron Ellenberg was standing right there in her garden, wearing the same clothing as earlier that day—the same jacket she’d clung to, the same trousers that had skimmed her skirts, the same thin shirt that she could almost view his chest through.
“What are you doing here?” she blurted, even as her brain warned her to remember their roles.
He grinned before cupping his hands over his mouth. “Getting your attention in the manner you previously specified.”
“That was supposed to be after I summoned you.” She leaned her elbows on the sill, sticking her head farther out into the cool air.
“So even though you wander into my place of business unannounced whenever you want, you require appointments for me to do the same?” He cocked his head in a manner that should be obnoxious—and somehow, she found it charming, because apparently she’d lost all sense.
“‘Business’ is the operative word. The synagogue belongs to the community. This is my home,” she returned, straining to match his light tone, but with more haughtiness to act as a distinguisher. “Though I suppose this is better than you climbing a trellis.”
“Your henchmen probably would’ve stabbed me the moment my foot touched the ground.” He traced a circle with his boot.
“You’re supposed to be my henchman.” She reached over to her bedside table, grabbing her stiletto.
“True. And thus, as you demanded information, I’ve come to deliver it.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his faded frock coat and gazed up at her, his smirk a dare for her to come down, to spar with him once more. “Well, I will deliver, once I tell you what I learned after calling upon the Weiss household this afternoon.” His lips tipped farther up in challenge.
Well, that could not stand unmet, no matter what had happened between them.
“All right. I’ll be down in a moment.” Isabelle dipped back into the room, hastily tying her sheath at her waist before throwing on her lace-edged dressing gown over her nightclothes. She really should put on shoes, but it was so much easier to creep through the house on her toes.
Quick as she could, she hurried down the servants’ stairs and out the side of the house, into the garden. This time Aaron was inspecting a fountain just off the terrace. More the statue, actually. The very naked statue with the very prominent . . . well, everything. She bit her lip. She’d not flush. Not after everything that had happened earlier.
Straightening her shoulders in her most dignified and mature manner, she marched up to him, standing a respectful distance from his side, and inclined her head toward the piece.
“It’s a copy ofDavid. From Florence,” she said. “I’m not sure if it’s accurate, though I presume it is. My family spent a great deal of money having it commissioned.”
