Chapter Eighteen
He should have stayed in bed. That was what Roger determined by a quarter past eight the next morning. With Miss Adler, preferably. But she had crept out some time before sunrise without a word.
A logical, prudent, and necessary course of action, but for some unknown reason, it had left him in a foul humor.
From there, well, despite his best intentions, his day just grew worse.
Not only had he tripped on a patch of ice on his way to attending his first weekday morning minyan in god only knew how long—this was why he should never listen to Sol—resulting in a tear in the knee of his favorite pair of trousers, but he’d jostled Ricardo upon entry, who most certainly did not accept his apology.
No, the man had instead proceeded to glare at him the entire time. At least when he wasn’t suspiciously whispering to everyone and anyone who neared his seat.
Ugh. He had no luck. Ricardo was like him and rarely attended daily prayers, but he’d chosen the anniversary of the man’s mother’s death to make his return and now was stuck with the consequences.
Worse, his bathwater was cold upon his return, and he accidentally splashed some on his copy of Isaac Aboab da Fonseca’s translation of Beit Elohim, which he’d swiped earlier from the library just to test out his Hebrew skills.
Thus, not only had he confirmed his abilities had atrophied to an embarrassing extent, but the volume his family had acquired back in Amsterdam was now, if not ruined, badly damaged.
Not an auspicious start to the day at all. Truly, if he could go back to bed, he would do so. But he could not, as he lacked both a governess and a nurse. There was no one to supervise his children’s meals but him until he found at least one replacement.
Thus, wearing new trousers, he made his way into the dining room for breakfast, only to be halted by Miss Adler.
“After I returned to your guest chamber last night, I was thinking…” Those were always dangerous words. “I know it is not my place given the limited nature of our intimacy, but I—you need to tell them,” she whispered, her voice grim.
“Tell who and what?” he asked, his mind searching for a possible meaning regarding her words. Other than the obvious. Which was not possible unless the woman had gone completely mad.
“The children. About Miss Teres,” she hissed.
Roger frowned. Not the topic he’d been expecting. Not at all. Especially as it was most certainly well beyond the boundaries they’d erected—that the woman seemed so keen to maintain.
“Beg pardon?” he asked.
“That they shall have a stepmother in the next few weeks.” She huffed, as if his confusion was unwarranted. “They need to know,” she insisted.
“Which they shall,” he told her. Obviously. “Once matters are settled.” Still the most prudent course of action.
“That’s a mistake,” the woman returned.
He stared at her. “Beg pardon?” he repeated.
Miss Adler pursed her lips. “Even happy change can be difficult, especially if it’s not in one’s control,” she said rather slowly. “Matters generally go a great deal more smoothly if the possibilities are discussed beforehand.”
Irritation flared in him. How dare she, a woman with no children of her own, imply that he was mismanaging his own?
Did she think so poorly of him?
Everything within him wanted to strike back at her with a smart quip.
Even if it was beneath him.
And unfair to her. She might still think poorly of him, but he did not think poorly of her.
Not in the slightest. Not because he was blinded by their physical relationship.
No, he genuinely enjoyed her company, and while she might not always be correct, no one could accuse the woman of being foolish.
Which made the matter more upsetting, compelling him to listen instead of react.
“And you’ve come to this conclusion, how?” he asked, keeping his voice even.
“From years of caring for people on the cusp of dramatic change that also includes risk to their person,” she replied.
“That’s not even remotely similar,” he pointed out as gently as possible.
“Not on the surface,” she said after a beat taking an audible breath. “Just consider the matter,” she told him, her voice soft.
And that made Roger pause. In her mind, this was important enough for her to attempt managing him to get her point across.
He stared at her another moment, then nodded. “All right,” he agreed.
And he was rewarded with a small smile, thankfully fortifying him for what came next.
The trouble started prior to their first bites of food, when he’d asked his son to say the blessing out loud instead of in their heads as they did when gentiles were present.
Michael opened his mouth but was interrupted by his sister.
“He doesn’t know it,” Fannie declared, sticking her small nose in the air.
“I do so,” his son insisted, balling his fists.
His daughter made a noise, but Roger held up at hand to halt the brewing argument.
“Excellent.” He turned to Michael. “You may begin,” he told him.
Glancing up at him with his large dark eyes, his son took an audible breath. “Baru atah Adonai elohainu meleh ha’olum, hamotzi lechem in ha’aretz,” the child recited rather quickly before grabbing a bun from the center of the table.
“It’s ‘Baruch,’ ” Fannie corrected, emphasizing the “chet” at the end of the word. “And ‘min,’ not ‘in.’ ” She raised her little chin.
Baby, she might have muttered under her breath. Her younger brother’s eyes watered.
Miss Adler made a small noise of disapproval as she helped herself to a boiled egg and a touch of quince jam.
“That’s true,” Roger said, making his tone both thoughtful and, more importantly, calm.
He turned to his daughter. “But perhaps we can inform your brother of that in a kinder manner.” She should learn this lesson now, lest she attempt to use such a tone outside the house, for which they’d all pay a price.
A twinge of guilt rippled through him as he recalled some of his more recent comments to Miss Alder. He should apologize.
If it wouldn’t irritate her, which he could not guarantee.
“It’s a prayer. It should be done correctly,” the girl argued, pulling him back into the present.
“True,” he agreed again. “But criticism can be conveyed constructively.” It should be in most circumstances. After all, one received a great deal more with honey than vinegar, or whatever they said.
Unfortunately, this did not convince Fannie, as she folded her arms across her chest and glared.
“But let’s not quarrel,” he said, preempting god only knew what his daughter was fixing to retort, while studiously ignoring her expression.
He cleared his throat. “Let’s just have a pleasant morning.
” He took a few bites of rice porridge then made the mistake of glancing at Miss Adler from the corner of his eye.
She’d managed to spill her teacup, something that merely a few weeks ago would’ve disgusted him, or at least made him mentally remark on her lack of grace. Instead, he sat mesmerized for a moment as she dabbed a handkerchief along her perfect, pert—
Zut alors.
As quickly as he could, he turned back to the children and to important, necessary topics.
“Unfortunately, Miss Pardo shall no longer be part of this household,” he informed them. “But don’t fear. I shall be endeavoring to hire a new governess as well as a nurse as soon as possible.”
“Yes, Papa,” the children said in unison. Michael stuffed a sweet bun into his mouth. He was going to have to speak to his new hire regarding his son’s table manners.
Fannie, for her part, ate properly, though he could not help but notice that she stirred food on her plate more than ate. Was she ill? Her eyes were focused, and she didn’t appear feverish.
“I changed Miss Fannie’s dressing this morning,” Miss Adler affirmed, as if she could read his mind. “And Dr. Maduro is coming to check us both this afternoon.”
Roger blinked at the woman in surprise. That was… well, above and beyond anything required of her.
Admirable to say the least. And thoughtful. Not that Miss Adler did not think well, but he’d never expected her to consider such things, especially in regard to him.
“Thank you,” he told the woman taking a fortifying sip of spiced chocolate. “Thank you so much for all your help.” He turned back to his daughter. “Does your arm hurt, Fannie?”
The child shook her head. “No.”
“What happened?” Michael piped up, the sound slightly muffled as his mouth was still filled with food. Roger resisted a sigh.
“That’s not your concern,” Fannie snapped, anger marring her small face once more.
Mercy, her moods were most certainly mercurial, weren’t they? Perhaps Miss Adler was right. He should broach the future sooner rather than later.
He cleared his throat. “In addition to a governess and a nurse, the household might acquire another member,” he told his children.
“Who?” Fannie asked, setting down her utensil. Michael continued to chew on a bun.
Roger searched his mind for the best way to bring up his potential betrothed.
“Her name is Leone Teres. Her father is an acquaintance of your Uncle David. She’s a little younger than your cousin Sofia.
You might have seen them together.” He glanced between his children for a glimmer of recognition but received nothing.
Why did this need to be so difficult? It shouldn’t be. People remarried frequently. Especially when it bettered their family, like this would. He forged ahead. “She might come to live with us.” The children blinked at him. Well, Fannie did. Michael merely continued to eat.
“She’s a bright, vivacious woman,” Roger explained, using the most appealing descriptors he could think of. “Quite fashionable as well.”
“I thought Rachel helped me dress,” Fannie returned, frowning again.
Definitely not his morning.
“She’s not coming to work but to be a member of the family,” Roger explained, searching his children’s faces once more. “How would you like that?”