Chapter Eight
If Roger had believed he would be permitted the respite of sleep after the ill-advised encounter in the hothouse with Miss Adler, he was sorely mistaken.
No, he did not even reach his bedroom before being halted by a rather loud crash coming from his office. Forcing down a large gulp of air, he turned the knob, pulled the door open, and took stock of what had become of his normally pristine space.
Both his chairs were on their sides, his ledgers scattered over the floor, their spines cracked, their jackets tattered, a jar of ink running all over a rug that had belonged to his family since the time when they were in the eastern trades, and the rather fine curtains, which normally nicely blocked out the sun, were shredded from bottom to top.
The culprit sat in the middle of the room, on his daughter’s lap, glaring at him. Whatever possessed him to bring the little beast into his home, he had no idea.
Well, he did. After the High Holidays where reminders of Lucy’s absence could be found around every corner, his children, especially Fannie, had seemed so melancholy.
He’d wanted to bring them a little cheer, and the cat had struck him as a good idea because his daughter was so fond of a poem about one, and well…
Roger closed his eyes for a moment.
It was not the cat’s fault.
Not truly.
Not when he paid very good money to employ a supposedly competent governess who was charged with making sure his children and their accoutrements were in bed and asleep at an appropriate hour.
énervais, énervais, énervait, éneverions, énerviez, éneveraient.
Taking another deep breath, he backed out of the room, closing the door once again.
“Lopez.” He paced to the staircase. “Lopez,” he repeated, a touch louder.
“You rang, sir?” the man asked, right behind him, making Roger both jump and wonder how long the man had been standing and watching him survey the disarray in his office.
“We need to resolve…” He pressed his lips together for a moment, quelling his annoyance as best as he could. “This.” He waved a hand toward the door, behind which he was quite certain Lopez had already seen.
“Certainly, sir,” the man said with an implacable bow. “I’ll fetch a maid.”
“And?” Roger prompted, raising a single brow—a trick that all Berabs could accomplish and effectively deploy. Even on Lopez.
“And I’ll call Miss Pardo to retrieve them straight away,” he assured Roger.
As if that was all that was necessary in such a situation.
Obéirai, obéiras, obéira, obéirons, obéirez, obéiront.
He inhaled once more. “And?”
Lopez frowned. “And?”
Well, now, this was quite the banner day; he’d stumped his usually unflappable man. A rarity. Score one for him. Not that Roger was in the mood to enjoy his victory.
“And ask her why she did not notice one of her charges was down here in the middle of the night when her bedchamber is between the nursery and the staircase,” he reminded the man.
“Miss Pardo sleeps very soundly,” a new voice responded, causing both men to turn around and face Fannie, who was now standing in the hall, feet bare, night braids askew, squirming cat still in her arms. “She works very long hours, and I didn’t want to disturb her when Rose got loose.
Please don’t be upset with her.” She gazed up at Roger with her large, light eyes—his late mother’s eyes—and his heart squeezed.
Taking a step forward, he knelt before her. “Be that as it may, it’s her job to attend to such matters, not yours.” He pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You need your sleep as well.”
“Yes, Papa,” his daughter agreed, her large eyes still serious.
“Good night, Fannie,” he told her, rising again, allowing her and the cat to pass and trot up the staircase, ideally, to sleep.
What they all should be doing. And yet… he turned back to Lopez, who was now leaning against the banister, an odd expression on his face.
Roger cleared his throat, and the man, rather reluctantly, rose to his feet.
“I’ll have a conversation with Miss Pardo,” Lopez told him.
“Good.” Roger folded his arms as the man glanced back at him. “Thank you,” he conceded. After all, it was proper form.
“You’re welcome, sir,” Lopez returned with quite a lack of sincerity.
It was a wonder he didn’t sack the man. But, unfortunately, Lopez knew too much.
And he wasn’t bad most of the time.
Clever and rather loyal.
One of the finest people he knew.
Certainly, better than him.
Though Lopez hadn’t had a day, week, month, or year like he’d just had.
Inhaling, Roger strolled down the hall to his bedroom.
Sleep. Perhaps if he could finally get some, he could finally succeed. Finally get something right. Seize the opportunity that had been given to him from Teres and—
Roger stared at the small form in the center of his bed, rump in the air, cheek on the coverlet, thumb in his mouth. There was his son. Fast asleep.
Sighing, Roger trudged over to the bed and, as gently as he could, scooped Michael into his arms and returned, yet again, to the hall.
“Lopez?” he whispered as loudly as he could.
“What is it?” the man returned, with no small amount of annoyance, his footfalls repeating down the stairs halting before Roger.
“A package for you to deliver while you’re speaking with our esteemed governess,” he told him, pressing Michael into the other man’s arms.
“Yes, sir,” Lopez said with a small bow. “Good night.”
“Unlikely.” Roger sniffed, turning back toward his room. “But I shall endeavor to make the most of what’s left of it,” he called over his shoulder.
“I wish you all the success, sir,” Lopez said with a salute, leaving Roger alone at last.
Shutting the door behind him, he closed his eyes for a moment, before unbuttoning his shirt, shrugging it off, and sinking onto the bed. Forcing off his boots, he shed his trousers and climbed into bed, settling against his pillow.
What a day. Between Miss Adler’s temper and Teres’s offer, and his staff’s incompetence… Roger tutted to himself.
Not what he wanted, but nothing he couldn’t handle.
He’d had worse after all.
His first roommates at school were all third sons of dukes. Three boys longing for a chance to, for once in their lives, dominate. He should’ve been the perfect sacrifice.
Yet not only had they failed to murder him or have him expelled, but they’d all become fond enough to use his business as adults and occasionally invite him to their larger events. Better, he’d managed to learn an entire new language that year—Greek. Quite useful, actually.
Thus, he could certainly succeed with the Teres family, maintain his position despite their requirements, and be a proper host to Miss Adler.
And, naturally, an unbidden image of the woman in the hothouse, the neck of the gown slipping again and exposing her, truly delicious…
No.
No.
He needed less of that.
More… Roger frowned.
Perhaps gifts.
Women liked those.
Not that he knew Miss Adler’s taste per se. He’d have to speak to Marguarite to see what she could glean. As while he was her host, it was clear that nothing good could come from them interacting more than they should.
Or at all.
Though she’d probably notice that.
Unless she was distracted.
By what, though? He tapped his chin. What would distract her?
Books, obviously.
Though who knew this woman’s preferences?
Taste was personal. Though his was excellent. Perhaps a sampling of his favorites.
Now, that was a rather brilliant idea. Yes, he’d just have Lopez pull a few books and see what she preferred. Maybe some of his favorite fictions. A periodical or two.
And the Tennyson.
With some new spectacles. She needed those, did she not?
Mercy, this list was getting long. But he could do it. Could do it all from the comfort of his home.
He grimaced, recalling the state of his office.
He’d have to reassert control over that as well.
Well, delegate the same to Lopez.
Yes, it would all be fine.
Better than fine.
A new beginning. One of triumph.
However, “proud,” or even “pleased,” was not his oldest brother’s reaction to his impending marriage. No, instead of jumping in celebration, David’s cup of spiced chocolate clattered to the floor.
“I apologize,” his brother said as Roger pulled the rope to call Lopez.
“I was just…” His lips made a thin line as he paused for a seemingly infinitely long amount of time.
“Surprised.” David rubbed the back of his neck.
“I daresay… I just hadn’t considered her for you, but I fancy she’s a reasonable choice. ”
A ringing endorsement.
“Do you know her?” Roger asked.
“Only a little,” David told him, still frowning.
“Sofia’s a year older and found her a touch…
puerile. But you know how children exaggerate such things to show their sophistication over those who are their juniors.
I remember what I used to say about you back in the day to whoever would listen. Fictions. Mostly.”
Roger winced. Both at the comment regarding his own maturity and his betrothed’s age. Especially compared to his niece. David’s eldest had been born a little after his bar mitzvah. Not an inappropriate age for marriage, but still a touch uncomfortable given their separate generations.
Though, he reminded himself, David was nearly a decade older than he and never treated him as a peer. No matter how hard he’d worked to be his brother’s equal. But that would change, damn it. Once he had the seat on the Commission.
“But Teres is a good man,” his brother continued. “I was befuddled when it was suggested that he was in league with the others to thwart your ascendence, though vultures even circle wounded lions…”
True. But the seat would destroy all vulnerabilities. Make him invincible.
Or at least as much as he could be.
“This is what we need.” Roger smoothed his cravat.
“With this, we shall be not merely secure in our position but more powerful than we’ve been in years, if not ever.
” He clenched his fists, thrilling at the idea.
However, when he turned to David, instead of pride on his face, his expression was merely thoughtful.
“You’ll be married again,” David pointed out. “Your children will have a new mother.” He cocked his head. “How do they feel about that?”
What sort of question was that? His children would benefit greatly from a second parent, especially one of Miss Teres’s background. Which his brother should know, as he’d been married for more than two decades now to a woman of similar parentage.
“We haven’t discussed it yet, but I’m sure they’ll be most agreeable. They’re sweet things,” Roger reminded him.
David’s chin shot up, and there was a flash of something in his eyes that Roger could not quite decipher. “How does Miss Teres feel about being a stepmother?”
“Quite enthusiastic,” he said. “Her father told me that she has always aided in managing their household and would be quite pleased to select a new nurse as well as direct the governess.” Something for which the entire household would be grateful, considering last night’s events.
Yes, he wouldn’t be marrying a moment too soon.
“That’s certainly a bonus,” David said, but he didn’t smile.
Roger sighed. What would it take for his brother to be happy for him? And, more importantly, to give him a modicum of credit for once in his life?
“Please don’t worry,” he practically begged, standing before his brother’s chair, his hands clasped. “This shall be exactly what the family needs.”
Yet still, his brother did not rejoice.
“And what you need?” David asked instead, cocking his head again.
Naturally. “They are one and the same,” Roger said.
“Truly.” His brother pressed his lips together.
What was wrong with the man?
“Yes,” he repeated. He paused, searching for the correct way to describe exactly what had occurred without drawing further attention to his own failures.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “While I have continued to grow our reputation with the ton, the community has turned a touch cold toward me since the ugliness with Louis.” He inhaled to press down the annoyance creeping into his voice. “I want my place back,” he explained.
“A strategic marriage would do that, and quite a bit more,” his brother said after another long pause. Though at least this time his lips turned upward in a tacit sign of approval. Or as close as he could come when discussing Roger’s accomplishments.
“Besides, I can’t maintain this family alone. I need a partner. One who shares our vision and goals. Someone of whom Lucy would’ve approved,” Roger added, seizing upon the opening. “Leone Teres fits the role perfectly.”
“I’m sure she does,” David agreed with yet another bob of his head, though still less enthusiasm than was proper for the situation.
“Why can’t you be happy for me?” he finally asked, his voice now a touch tight.
“I am.” His brother shifted in his seat. “I’m just adjusting. After the fiasco with Isabelle, you expressed a desire for a respite before seeking a new wife.”
Which was… a fair point. He had said that. Though he’d not been precisely sincere. It was more to smooth any tension between the families when it was clear that he and Isabelle wouldn’t suit.
“I had,” Roger admitted, raising a finger. “But time has passed. Even if it hadn’t, when the right opportunity comes along, you seize it.”
And the right opportunity was present now. The timing and the woman were perfect, so questioning the same would be foolish.
“True,” David said, rising. “Mazel tov, then.” And for a moment, Roger believed his brother might attempt to embrace him, an annoying habit of the man’s wife, but instead he stuck out his hand for a firm shake. “May your days together be long and peaceful,” he added, squeezing Roger’s palm.
“Thank you,” he said when his brother released his grip.
“I shall have Isabelle review the language I was formulating for Sofia in advance of her husband search and add it to the Berab family’s usual proposal for the ketubah.
” David moved to the door, only to stop as Lopez finally appeared to clean the mess.
“What are those?” he asked, pointing to the man’s left hand.
“New spectacles for Miss Adler.” After showing them to David, Lopez handed them to Roger.
“Hers were damaged, and your brother tasked me with acquiring new ones so she could read properly,” he explained.
“Ah,” David said with a nod of appreciation in Roger’s direction. “Good to see you have the rest of the situation under control. I’ll make sure I accomplish my part.”
With another wave, he exited, Lopez following behind, leaving Roger alone to find Miss Adler and make the delivery himself. God willing, this time she’d be wearing more garments.
Leone Teres, he thought, working to picture the woman but somehow only conjuring long red waves and lips that quirked when she believed she’d won an argument.
Mercy.
Perhaps he required a bath. A cold one.
Posthaste.