Chapter 13
“What did I walk into?” Greg asked with a chuckle when he arrived too early for dinner at his friend’s house near St. James. Fave, Arnold, and Greg were almost like brothers. Emphasis on almost because Fave and Arnold were openly Jewish, married to loving wives of the same faith, and fathers to some of the prettiest children Greg had ever seen. Greg had been to their births, brit-milahs, every birthday celebration, and many times in between.
Tonight, something felt different.
Maia, Fave’s five-year-old daughter, usually looked as pretty as her mother, Rachel. Long milk-chocolate colored hair, eyes sparkling like Montana sapphires in cornflower blues and sweet light pink and white dresses. In short, Maia usually looked like a doll.
Not tonight.
Fave was in his black evening coat with a starched white cravat. Rachel wore one of her breathtaking gowns that shimmered in purple and raspberry, and even Arnold was there with his wife Hannah, a fiercely intelligent beauty who’d initially bristled against Greg but had since become a good friend.
Their two-year-old daughter, Elke, was in Arnold’s arms. Their son, Izaac, was standing on Hannah’s feet in an adorable striped suit, his dark hair slicked back.
“We’re here, we’re here!” Lizzie called out, her daughter Miriam in tow, who was only a few months younger than Maia with a head full of blond bottleneck curls—just like Lizzie.
“Where’s Caleb?” Greg asked when Lizzie greeted him with a warm hug, and Miriam climbed into his arms. She had a way of fumbling with his earlobes that was equally annoying and endearing, so he allowed it. Nothing was off-limits for a daughter of Lizzie Klonimus, née Pearler, so Greg thought it wiser not to try.
Lizzie clapped in her hands. “In position, everyone!”
Hannah danced backward to the wall lined with elegant Gobelins, little Izaac still on her feet. Fave set Maia down, bowed to her, and offered his hand for a dance while Rachel and Arnold took their positions near the side table, each picking up a sheet of paper.
Arnold cleared his throat. “It is my pleasure to welcome you all to the annual Purim play chez nous.” Rachel curtsied at the mixed crowd.
“It’s not Purim for another week,” Greg whispered in Rachel’s ear.
“Today’s just the rehearsal.”
“Oh, Caleb is late.” Lizzie curled her lip in a frown as she gazed at the clock on the mantel.
“He’s delivering some pieces to the palace this morning,” Rachel whispered to Greg. Why don’t you step in?” Rachel’s tone sounded hushed but wasn’t a whisper; she was putting him on the spot.
“Please don’t make me!”
“Greg, stand here for a moment,” Lizzie pulled him by the arm. They’d grown up together, and there were no polite requests necessary. “You’re here already. Just play Mordechai until Caleb returns.”
Greg deflated and followed Lizzie’s instructions. He felt a bit silly, but their attire now made sense.
Fave was Xerxes, Rachel probably Queen Vashti, and—he sighed—he’d be Mordechai for the time being.
Rachel handed him her script and shared Arnold’s, her cousin-in-law, yet here at the Pearlers, everyone was family. No matter how many times someone was removed from the table of consanguinity—cousins twice removed and related by marriage were still related—the family was family, and everyone was close. No Pearler, Ehrlich, or Klonimus would betray another kin. Mishpocha, family, was the word in Yiddish.
And yet, Greg wasn’t part of the family. Even as Fave and Arnold’s closest friend, he felt he didn’t quite make it into their ranks.
“How about some entertainment? Teresh, go get Queen Vashti.” Fave exaggerated his enunciation in his role as Xerxes.
Izaac walked out the door and returned right away. “The queen refuses to obey your orders.”
Rachel, the queen in question, gave Fave a sweet smile over her shoulder. Greg knew they’d probably never disappoint each other … although there’d been a time when they almost missed the mark, but that was another story.
“The king must banish her.” Maia, Miriam, and Izaac screamed in unison. “Banish the queen!”
“And the entire palace broke into chaos,” Arnold read aloud, but his voice couldn’t be heard over the kids running wild around the room, colorful scarves in hand, swirling them to music that must be in their heads.
Maia, a big pink ribbon atop her head, came to Greg, tugged the hem of his coat, and stepped onto his shoes. Her head only reached his thighs, and he instinctively put a hand on her back to ensure she wouldn’t topple off his shined shoes.
“Dance with me!” Maia cast him a smile, showing her tiny baby teeth.
Greg searched for Fave in the noisy crowd. There he was, the proud father, the golden boy of the Ton. He smiled at Greg, put a hand on his chest, and gave a proud nod. His little girl wanted to dance with his friend, and Fave gave him permission.
He could be their friend, dance with them, and defend their honor with his life, but when it came to marrying, Greg wasn’t Jewish enough for a distinguished family like Fave’s. He learned as much when Caleb had the mistaken suspicion that Greg wanted to court Lizzie. It would be preposterous, almost incestuous, to even think he’d do more than treat Lizzie with the respect of a sister. Yet, it stung because he was a Baron with a gentleman’s education and two and a half decades of friendship and devotion to the Pearlers. But he wasn’t Jewish. His parents had made sure of that. Even his clean bloodline didn’t matter. He could never be worthy of Fave and his family. They were just so good, but he wasn’t good enough. Greg loved them all, even from afar, and he loathed himself for envying his dearest friends.
He looked down at little Maia, held his left hand out, and took Maia’s little hand in his. Her fingers couldn’t rest on his like a lady; her entire hand fit into his.
He bent down, placed his right hand on her shoulder, and bowed. “Thank you for the honor of this dance, Miss Maia.”
The little girl beamed at him, and his heart melted like ice in the sun.
Carefully, he took a small step forward with his left foot, and Maia came along for the ride. He swayed through Pearlers’ green drawing room to the cacophony of humming children. His heart soared with pride, for this was Maia’s first dance with anyone besides her father, Fave. Greg couldn’t have been more honored. Nor could Maia have been in better hands; he knew that for sure. He’d defend her life with his own to ensure her smile. He’d known her for all five years of her life and watched her blossom from a toddler into this little princess dancing on his feet.
His friends’ children were the closest he’d ever come to having any, so Greg didn’t hold back his love.
After the dance,once Maia ran off to play with her cousins, Arnold came to Greg’s side. “You do know that dinner isn’t for another three hours?”
Greg put a hand on his chest and inclined his head toward his friend. “I came to ask for permission to pass.”
“Why?” Arnold asked.
“It’s … ahem … I don’t want to leave Hermy dining alone at my house.”
“Why would you do such a thing?” Arnold cocked his head. “She’s your guest,” Arnold said, lowering his voice. “Is she your fiancée yet?”
“Fiancée?” Lizzie, who’d eyed Greg suspiciously, rushed to their side. “What?”
“She is,” Greg mumbled to Arnold.
“You’re engaged and didn’t tell us ?” Lizzie called, looking at Rachel and Hannah.
“She said yes?” Fave asked as they approached and formed a semicircle facing Greg: Fave with Rachel, Arnold with Hannah, and Lizzie.
“Of course, she said yes. She’s quite ashamed of it,” Greg said in as authoritative a tone as he could muster. She needs my help, and I mustn’t take advantage of her distress. However, his friends’ glances back at him were disconcerting. They knew him better than he knew himself.
“We have to make her unashamed then,” Rachel said.
“There’s no shame in marrying Gregory Stone!” Hannah added with a wink. There was a time when she’d disagreed with that statement and judged Greg rather harshly for being a traitor who’d forsaken Judaism for Christianity, but once she’d opened her heart to get to know him, they’d become friends. Oftentimes, friendship forged from initial distrust was as strong as steel forged in fire.
“Shed the cloak of shame and wear your scars as armor.” Lizzie was always ready with a proverb.
“When’s Caleb back from the palace?” Greg asked Lizzie.
“I’m not sure. He was supposed to be here already.”
“Does he know?” Greg asked Arnold and Fave, who answered with a nod. “And everyone knows I need to?—”
“It’s a fabulous idea,” Rachel said, hooking her arm into Fave’s.
“I hope Arnold will be able to walk the bride down the aisle,” Hannah said, leaning against her husband as he wrapped his arm around her.
“You mean, you’d all be there?” Greg couldn’t catch up with their wedding plans. Hermy had said yes to him, which was the extent of his plans.
“Weren’t you going to invite us to your wedding? You were at ours. All of us.” Lizzie gave a piercing look worthy of her mother’s supercilious glance honed over decades among matrons at Almack’s.
“When can I meet her?” Rachel asked. While Fave, Arnold, and Lizzie had grown up with Hermy, Rachel, and Hannah had married into the family only a few years ago, so they didn’t know Hermy yet.
“Why isn’t she coming to dinner tonight?” Hannah asked Arnold.
“Why indeed?” Arnold shot the question right back to Greg.
“Please take the carriage and pick her up. It’s time to welcome her properly,” Fave added.
“Hermy,would you like to go out for dinner?” Greg asked when he entered his study, where Hermy had set up a new chess game. “Did you move the furniture again?”
His desk was now facing the door ninety degrees from its usual position. His two-seater was facing the fireplace and separated from the two matching armchairs beside the window on the small rug. And the hearthrug was now the coaster to the dog’s basket.
“Gambit needed a cozy spot by the fire, and I didn’t want to waste gas for light while pondering which opening to use on you.”
“You want to use some tricks on me?” Greg approached, searching her hands for the ring.
She put her left hand on her hip as if to say I’m wearing it; I’m not backing out. “Where are we going?”
“Sunday dinner,” Greg said. He was close.
Not close enough.
“You don’t mean they still do that?” Hermy asked as realization dawned on her.
“They never stopped.”
“This is going to be my new life, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean? What’s wrong with my friends? Arnold agreed to be your guardian.”
“You’d fall on your sword for any of them, Greg. You’re not the black sheep for the Jews but their knight in shining armor.”
His mien fell as if she’d hurt him, even though she tried to do the opposite. “You mean I’m not good enough for your family’s Earldom because I have Jewish blood and friends?” Disappointment colored his voice.
“No, that’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean? That it’s only temporary until I die, when the title passes to your son and your ancestry is cured of my Jewish heritage?”
“If I had a son, you’d have one, too.”
“Would you tell me if I did?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You left five years ago, and there might have been … you know!”
“I do know! There wasn’t! And I’ve been locked up.”
He harrumphed.
“Why didn’t you seek me out?” she asked the lowest hanging question, heavy with the stench of reproach.
“Your brother said he’d kill me if I fathered a bastard with Jewish blood for his line.” Greg walked to the window. “I didn’t return because he made it clear I wasn’t good enough. He didn’t want me to drag the line down with me.”
Hermy closed the distance and stood behind him, both facing the window.
“I wasn’t good enough for you, Hermy. I’m still not.”
“That’s not true.”
“Oh, but it is. I understand the value of a pure bloodline. It’s a matter of honor, pride in your heritage, and respect for your ancestors, for the Jews as much as for aristocrats like you. I don’t even blame you for not liking my friends.”
“I like them.” She grimaced and flinched.
“I love them all, Hermy. They are the closest I ever had to family. I grew up with Fave and Arnold; I traveled to America with Caleb and India with Ben. I’ve been there for their weddings, the births of their children, even when they stood before the entire English aristocracy and admitted to being Jewish. They are the Crown Jewelers, Hermy. Do you know how hard they worked to get the respect they have?”
“You speak as though they have done more than you.”
“They have! I’m only a bridge between two layers. The Jews are trying to earn their place”—he held out his right palm—“and the aristocrats who hold close what’s been theirs for generations.” He held up his left hand.
“And as Earl, you could tip the scale toward the Jews?” She shook her head. “Is that why you stepped into the line of a discovered attack facing David?”
Greg looked at her, confused. “No, of course not.”
“But it is convenient to rise in rank at my expense, isn’t it? After all, I’m a safe bet; you’ve tupped me already, and I long to return to my hole in Kent. Hermy the hermit.”
“What?”
“I’m useful, Baron Stone. I see your strategy. The Black Knight has nothing on me; you were never able to see as many steps as I did.” Her eyes burned with tears of rage, and her voice quivered. “But mark my words, Gregory, the Black Knight’s heart can crumble just as much as black marble. It’s a question of the blow you’ll suffer.”
She pivoted and made to leave.
He blocked her way, standing tall in the doorway, his mien dark. “Are you finished?”
“No.”
“Good, because you’re wrong.”
She crossed her arms. “Prove it.”