Which meant if he wasn’t coming to her, she’d just have to go to him.
Quick as she could, she rang for Judith to assist her in changing into a simple paisley light wool gown and a bonnet. After calling for a carriage, she dashed into the parlor to inform her grandmother she was going to see Rebecca.
“See if you can convince her to style her hair less severely tomorrow night,” her grandmother instructed, barely glancing up from her correspondence, Pena at her side, a frown on his face.
Isabelle paused. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” they both said a bit too quickly.
“Not nothing.” She frowned, hands on her hips, staring as the two sat in grim silence. Not good—which meant one of two things. “Is it me or the business?” Her blood pumped faster in her veins as she offered a silent prayer that the entire community had found out what had occurred in the garden. Because she could survive that damage better than another blow to her father’s legacy.
The pair exchanged guilty expressions, and a lump grew in the pit of her stomach.
Isabelle closed her eyes. “It’s the latter, isn’t it? Or the latter combined with the former.” She stalked over, snatched the letter they were fretting over before either could stop her, and scanned the contents. Her mouth dropped open as panic spread through her body. She pointed at the words. “You weren’t going to tell me? This is a threat.”
“It’s not a threat,” her grandmother muttered. “It’s more of a reminder. Of things you already know.”
“One that you weren’t going to share with me.” Isabelle slammed a hand on the table.
Pena ducked his head. She closed her eyes. That was the only answer she needed. “They’ve already sent the documents, haven’t they?” she whispered. “The ones they referenced—the division of assets, a ketubah, crafted without our input, with a space to write in the groom, the spellings of each of their names.”
“We didn’t want to worry you.” Her grandmother took Isabelle’s hand in hers and squeezed, the scratchy lace of her sleeve rubbing against Isabelle’s skin. “The terms of the ketubah are at least fair. I don’t think we would have negotiated anything substantially different with any potential husband for you. And you have so much pressure on you already. You didn’t need another thing to fret about.”
“But I do need to fret about it. Fair or not.” Isabelle pulled back her hand. “They’ve moved up the deadline from Shavuot if I choose to marry someone else. They’re demanding a meeting with my betrothed the day after the final festival to negotiate whether the business goes forward or dissolves, with his contributions being the deciding factor. They’ve gathered a group of gentile clients demanding to know who they will be dealing with before they continue their association, already weakening any independent company I might form.” She shook her head, marveling at how fast this had all come, how organized and lined up against her. How fast the life she knew was ending. “The final battle is upon us.”
She was going to really, truly need to marry Weiss. Not that she hadn’t known, but somewhere, a small part of her had believed there might be an exit strategy, another way. That David Berab would actually be reasonable for once. But clearly, that was not going to happen.
“Which we shall win.” Her grandmother smoothed her skirts, not meeting Isabelle’s eye. “I know you are leaning towards Mr. Weiss, and he is a fine choice. His family has quite a few plum gentile connections. There will be no reason for anyone to leave, and we will have enough power based on your husband’s attributes to retain our control. Your plan is playing out as expected. Everything will remain as close to what it was when your father was alive as it possibly could.”
“It will. Especially as everything your grandmother recounted is still accurate, isn’t it?” It was Pena who spoke, raising a suspicious eyebrow as he placed his hands on her grandmother’s shoulders. His eyes searched Isabelle’s face and narrowed.
“Yes.” Isabelle’s cheeks heated, but she managed to keep her chin up. “Don’t worry—I will marry the right person and we will win.” With a lift of her skirts, she rushed over and gave them each a kiss on the cheek.
“I’ll be back shortly.” Before either could question her further, Isabelle slipped out of the room and down the stairs, her heart pounding with guilt in all possible directions.
After wrapping herself in a loose cloak, she climbed into the carriage. “To the Great Synagogue,” she told the driver. Closing her eyes, she leaned back as the vehicle bumped over the stones, cutting through the bustle of the shipyards that carried up from the south. The sun shimmered through the curtains but provided no warmth as she shivered with nerves. Unease stirred in her stomach the entire ride.
Finally, the carriage halted, and the driver assisted her onto the ground. “Thank you so much. I’ll return in a moment,” she told him before pretending to enter the building and instead ducking around the side. She rapped on Aaron’s door.
No answer. Isabelle frowned. It was between services. He should be resting at this point. She repeated the action, louder and more insistent.
“Aaron,” she called. After rapping harder, the door swung open to reveal the man himself, wearing nothing but trousers and an unbuttoned shirt, and what appeared to be fading bruises. However, before she could inquire as to their origin, his gaze met hers and his entire face lit with a broad smile. Though his eyes held a darker note. Almost like fear. Or worry.
“What are you doing here?” He pulled her into the room, yanking the door shut behind her. “You’re going to get yourself in trouble. There are people about who will most certainly tell your grandmother. And Weiss.” He cocked his head. “Isabelle? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She waved the clear concern in his eyes away before grasping his bare hands in her gloved ones. “I just wanted to see you.”Even if I shouldn’t. Even if I can’t have you. Even if it’s wrong to keep you about.And liquid swam in her eyes.
“It isn’t nothing.” He squeezed her wrists together before guiding her to sit upon a wooden chair. “You’re shaking.”
Her heart was in her throat. This was a mistake, wasn’t it? Coming here? It was selfish and awful and—“It’s just . . .”
“Just what?” He leaned forward, lips almost brushing hers. She stroked his hair, probably for the last time, before taking a breath and letting go of him. Like she had to.
“It’s the Berab brothers.” She inhaled. “I thought I had handled them—well, I was handling them.” She drew her hands back so she could grip the edges of the chair for support.
“I—I don’t understand.” Aaron rose, wrinkles marring his brow.
She pressed her fingers to her temple. It had all seemed so reasonable in the beginning. But what did the gentiles say? The road to hell was paved with good intentions? Or something like that. “They’ve moved up the deadline, and they’re better organized than previously believed. If I’m to marry someone other than Louis or Roger, they want a meeting after the announcement to negotiate new terms or dissolve the partnership. A group of gentile clients has decided to hold their renewals until they meet my husband and approve him.” She drew in another breath. “Which means I have no choice but to marry as planned.”
