As do youwas implied. A slight growl from Pena confirmed that she wasn’t the only one who’d heard it.
“The other members of the Commission are already anxious to fill his seat. My brother is the one holding them back,” Roger added.
“And yet you continue to be difficult,” David continued, even as his brother touched his arm.
Roger smoothed the front of his coat, giving her a pointed stare. “The Commission trusts and respects our commitment to them and to the business.” As if she couldn’t read between the lines.
“And my husband can be part of this future, but not me—is that it?” Her chest heaved.
“First, a woman could never be a delegate and I doubt you would even want to be. And second, you know that the gentile clients will also not negotiate business matters with a woman, especially not a single woman.Especiallynot a single Jewish woman. You know their customs.” David’s exaggerated patience made her skin itch.
Isabelle gritted her teeth. “And you will do nothing to change that.” No, instead, the brothers elevated themselves by conforming to the aspects of gentile culture from which they benefited the most and women like her—their own kind—the least. And yet, provided they gave the community enough financial support, they were declared heroes.
“You know we don’t have that power,” he responded in the same irritating tone.
True. But they could make room for her in the company, willingly and graciously. As had always been the plan—her father’s plan.
David—and Roger and Louis, who were clearly content to fall in line, based on Roger’s appearance—just didn’t want to. Because even if the company split, no matter how good her work, the Berabs would have no issue stealing all their gentile clients—and with their standing and experience, probably a great deal of Jewish ones—burying her and the Lira name for good. Leaving her with no choice but to find a man with whom to ally that she could trust to push her agenda.
But as the handsome custodian had warned, it was hard to resist power once one had it in hand.
She knit her fingers so they’d not shake. With rage, she told herself, not fear. Because she was not afraid of any of them.
“Don’t you have a meeting, Mr. Berab?” she asked in her coolest, most regal tone.
“I do.” David nodded and tucked the Agha file beneath his arm. “I ask you to consider what we said.”
“It isn’t too late to change your mind,” Roger added from his brother’s side. “If you find no one fitting after your festivals conclude, my offer will still be on the table. As will my brother’s.”
As would be the threat marriage to any of them posed.
“Noted.” She stuck up her chin as she marched past him to the door. “Thank you so much for stopping by, Mr. Berab, Mr. Berab. It’s always a pleasure to see you both.”
“Likewise.” Roger gave a small bow, and they both trudged out, Pena following behind them, leaving her alone.
Surrounded, in her father’s former study, by books and notes and contracts that still smelled like him.
Isabelle sank into her chair once more and rubbed her temples. A lump welled in her throat. But she swallowed again and again until it was gone, because the time for tears and mourning was over. She would be fine. She’d find the perfect husband to give her what she wanted. Certainly neither of the Berabs, and . . . it had become clear that it could not be anyone within their sphere of influence.
She pulled out the matchmaker’s list from the desk drawer and stared at the names. All schooled, monied, and from her part of the community. The Berabs’ part of the community.
Isabelle frowned, again recalling the custodian’s warnings from the day prior.
No. None of them would do. She crumpled the sheet in her hand.
She needed someone else. Someone free of their influence, or whose influence was at least up for grabs. Someone from the other side of the community. Still scholarly and monied, and clever—though not too clever—and socially adaptable for the clientele.
And most importantly, someone she could ensure was loyal to her and only her. Which meant she needed to put together a new list. Using new sources of information.
Her lips twisted into a smile as a plan, a rather clever—no,brilliant—one, if she said so herself, came into her head. And she had just the man to help her make it a reality. Provided she found the right leverage to get him on her side. Which shouldn’t be too much trouble.
After all, she was still her father’s daughter.
She might not be a maiden locked in a tower, but she risked a similar fate if her grandmother discovered her sneaking about. However, her research excursion this morning had proven fruitful, and this next step was necessary. After having the hack drop her off at Bevis Marks so she’d not arouse suspicion, Isabelle strolled southeast toward Aldgate, past sloped wood-roofed houses and storefronts. Jewish tenants lived here now, but this neighborhood had been built at least two centuries ago, generations before her family had come.
Before the likes of her could live legally in England.
The bright midday sun didn’t chase the grayness from the sky, nor the last bit of bluster from the wind as it flitted over her least conspicuous gown, a dull green with tiny lavender flowers that did nothing to flatter her hair or complexion. To complete her disguise, she’d borrowed a maid’s apron in an attempt to downplay its limited charms even more.
