“She’s not interested in you,” he protested, despite himself.
“No. She is not,” Roger said plainly, while his more foreboding but less loquacious brother nodded. “Partially the fault of my eldest brother. She and David are like oil and water, it seems.” He shrugged before raising a finger. “Nevertheless, even he cares about her and wants what is best for the community and the business. Which is not Solomon Weiss.”
Wait—what? This was about . . . Weiss? They were going to all this trouble just to prevent Isabelle from marrying Weiss? A man whom he didn’t even particularly like. Though, given the circumstances, he had suddenly shot up in his esteem.
“Pardon?” he managed to ask.
Louis leaned forward now. “He and his brother bring nothing but trouble. They are too bold, too ruthless, too ill equipped for the subtleties that are required for maintaining our clientele.”
Perhaps the Berabs should look in a mirror.
“They risk turning them away from our community for good, at least based on what we’ve seen.” Roger shrugged, too tense to be casual. “Charm only gets one so far without proper training.”
“Or lineage,” his brother added, sniffing. “He might have the money and the garments, but he lacks the true spark that has madeourpart of the community the most significant contributors to our people’s advancement. Keeping us free from degradation and decay.”
If the Berabs’ idea of advancement was to make themselves feel superior to their fellow Jewish people by spouting goyishe nonsense—as if elevating people based on where their ancestors had lived and the alleged purity of their blood was a concept that had even been theirs in the first place—then he was perfectly fine being one of the degraded. Aaron opened his mouth to make a smart remark about such, but Roger chimed in first.
“And if he becomes a delegate—almost a guarantee for Miss Lira’s husband—he will throw off the balance,” the youngest Berab added. “Which is why it’s necessary for her to choose one of us.” He flinched and hastily straightened himself with a cool dignity.
“Miss Lira knows her own mind. Further, she’s clever and educated and savvy. She is the best arbitrator of her own future,” Aaron burst out before grimacing at his own conviction.
As the two men exchanged inscrutable looks, he added, “But I’m just her errand boy. We’ve barely spoken.” He swallowed. “I only suppose she has those qualities.” The brothers turned back to him, their presences somehow growing larger. Had the carriage gotten smaller?
“Lying does not become you, Mr. Ellenberg,” Louis said. Aaron shivered at the dark warning in his eyes.
Roger’s smooth voice was a cool salve against his brother’s. “We want what’s best for everyone, including Miss Lira.” He turned a sympathetic gaze on Aaron.
“Even the Duke of Sussex has made clear his preference for a man from Bevis Marks.” Louis frowned, but his tone was near mocking. “In fact, if she chooses Weiss, he and the gentiles might see it as an affront.” Louis folded his arms before leaning forward, as if sharing a secret. “Perhaps enough to pull their support for the bill. And then where will the community be?”
“I—” Aaron opened, then closed his mouth, unable to find the right words.
“But if she chose one of us . . .” Roger cocked his head, and Aaron could only stare. “Our family was one of the first here in England, even before the Liras, something gentile culture values.”
“It’s rumored that Weiss’s mother never learned English,” Louis added, shaking his head. “He had a German accent until she died, and his brother corrected matters with tutors.”
This was wrong. So wrong. And not just because he’d spent years losing his own accent.
Isabelle was a person. A manipulative one, to be sure, who played her own games and had far more money than anyone should have access to, but still a person. With feelings. And a sly sense of humor. Who kissed well and cared deeply about her family.
Shame on all of them for trying to decide her life without her.
Roger leaned forward, clasping his hands on his lap. “You have a chance to finally help the community. To protect it. You want to protect the community, don’t you?”
Aaron swallowed. Of course he did. The community was paramount. However, Isabelle was also important. And deserved better.
Better than them. Better than him. Better than all of this.
“Can, I, um, sleep on it? Consider the best approach?” he asked. Not that he planned on doing what they’d asked. But he needed to leave. And think. “It’s been a long night, and I have floors to clean tomorrow.”
“Naturally.” Louis tented his fingers, that sly half smile grazing his face once more. “You wouldn’t want to lose the first job you’ve held on to for more than three months. After all, a man can’t make a match when he’s fallen out of favor with both the rabbis and the delegates.”
Aaron blinked as the words—as the threat—washed over him. Chilling him once more.
“You know what you need to do,” Roger added coolly. His calm dignity—and handsome face—would make him a good match for Isabelle and her family.
The thought made his stomach roil. Aaron’s throat closed tight, his skin burning, and he had to leave. Now. Before he vomited or swooned or, worse, gave into the fire in his gut and did irrevocable harm. He tugged at his suddenly too tight cuffs and turned to bid the duo good night, hand already on the door.
“Good night, Mr. Ellenberg,” Roger said before knocking on the wall behind him. “Have a long rest, and in the morning, think about your duties and what it is you owe to the community which has given you so much.”
