Weiss? Again?
Why was the banker everyone’s favorite topic of conversation now? First Isabelle, then the Berabs, then Pena, and now Miriam. Why did everyone believe he had some great insight? Also, it wasn’t Miriam’s concern, was it?
“Nothing.” Aaron stared at a knot in the floorboards. “Well, not nothing. They’re probably getting married.” Not probably, almost certainly. He slumped farther down the door before giving Miriam a rueful smile.
“The girl likes him best, does she?” She waved a hand in his direction, and her sleeve slid enough to reveal a ring adorned with precious stones, glinting in the dark, as well as a jeweled bracelet. One that could fetch her much better garments than her ragged cloak. Odd. Was she holding on to it as a token, as a reminder of a past period of her life? He’d never taken Miriam for sentimental, though to each their own.
“Or she doesn’t want to credit the Berab brothers for having any sense regarding what type of choice would benefit the bill?” She sniffed again before straightening her shoulders, her voice cold. “What, you don’t think the community’s leadership knows what’s happening within its bounds?”
And the temperature in the room dropped about ten degrees.
“Beg pardon?” he managed to say.
“I know why you suddenly wanted information on America—the price you will pay if she does not marry a Berab,” she stated. “To their suggested concern—while most of the community’s leaders don’t believe marriage to an aggressive, overly bold Ashkenazi will spoil the bill, if I were you, no matter how good my intentions, I’d be careful not to lurk in libraries with unmarried women. People might make assumptions. Especially important ones, whose opinions are paramount.” Miriam’s voice held a sharp warning that most certainly sent a shiver through him.
Oy. Very much oy. His cheeks flushed with humiliation even as his mind churned. “Does that mean you or someone connected to the Commission watched and listened to all my . . .” He swallowed. Humiliation wasn’t the half of it.
“No one went into the room with you.” Miriam leaned back and the bed creaked once more. “But people have decent imaginations.” She tapped the base of her cane on the floor, her tone completely nonchalant, as if they weren’t discussing, well . . . that.
Blast. They were in trouble—well, more her than him. Which wouldn’t do. He held up both palms, shaking his head. “We didn’t—I can’t make any claim on her, or more, no one else could claim that—”
“Let’s not embarrass either of you.” Miriam sighed. “I have no interest in that.”
“Good, because she doesn’t deserve it.” He glared at the woman. “Nor does her family.” No matter how strong and careful and cunning Isabelle was, the world was not kind to elderly widows without a family to prop them up or former valets with no one to serve. “They’re doing their best—she’s doing her best—to protect and keep what’s rightfully hers, and she doesn’t need anyone interfering.”
“No. She doesn’t.” Miriam made a circle in the dust with her cane.
Aaron’s stomach squeezed at the memory of them together.
“And yes, Weiss is a solid ally and would relish joining her against the Berabs, but she won’t be able to control him like she wants.” He ground his jaw in frustration. No matter what skills she had. She and Weiss were too much alike and too different in the wrong ways.
“No,” Miriam agreed.
“And they’ll make each other miserable.” He folded his arms tight across his chest as if he could press in the aching feeling. “Or more, he’ll make her miserable.”
“Unless they’re honest with each other and can come to an agreement, give each other a fair chance.” The woman waved a dismissive hand. “And learn the rest. Like most couples.”
“I suppose.” Aaron kicked at the slat floor. Hard.
“It could be a fine marriage.” Miriam was nodding, as if saying it aloud could make it true. “He’s handsome and clever and, from what I hear, not a bad man, just a bit ruthless.” Her voice became wistful. “Not something she’d dislike, nor that doesn’t resemble herself. And if the two put their minds together, they could probably solve a lot of problems with the business.”
“She deserves better.” The words were out of his mouth before he could take them back. But they were true. She did. Yes, Weiss seemed to be at least attracted to her—though who wouldn’t be?—but she was still an object to him, still a prize, not a person who deserved all the privileges he’d gain from the union in her own right. “She deserves love from the start.”
“What we deserve and what we get are often quite different things.” Miriam stroked the handle of her cane.
“I know.” His shoulders slumped. Though what precisely did a man like him—someone with no particular brains, nor skill, nor talent, who’d made a thousand mistakes—deserve? Probably what he had. Probably a life sweeping floors.
“The bill will likely fail due to the people’s resentment and prejudices, no matter how much the gentry enjoys the flattery—and more, the money—of our wealthy, and thus does not turn on her marriage.” She tapped the butt of the instrument on the ground, punctuating each word. “And she will be fine. As will the business.”
An image of Isabelle—the determined glint in her eye and the way she tipped her chin when she spoke of her father’s legacy—flashed in his mind. Yes, the business would be fine, better than fine. Regardless of what happened in her marriage. She’d make it so, and of that there was no doubt. And even if she couldn’t, she’d build something bigger and better without the worthless Berabs.
“She will.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But you said you had news about America? For when the Berabs seek their revenge after she, and presumably Mr. Weiss, have frustrated their other designs?” he asked, rubbing his aching neck again. Oy. He really needed some rest.
“Indeed.” She slapped a hand against her knee. “Rabbi Raphael himself, from Bevis Marks, has a cousin in New York who is starting a theater company and looking for investors. Especially one who could act as a stagehand on the side.” Miriam adjusted her cloak. “Your two hundred pounds and cleaning skills should suit quite well.”
Aaron stared at her. They would. Very well.
“I can see the appeal for you, whether or not the Berabs could actually succeed with their threats.” The woman’s voice was soft beneath the shadows of her hood. “A true chance to start anew, to be any character you desire, has to be rather tempting.”
