Chapter Thirty
Moments after David and Ellenberg exited, Roger bounded up the staircase and knocked on the guest chamber door.
“We need to speak,” he told a rather startled Rebecca as he entered the room.
She stepped back, folding her arms across her chest. “I think we’ve said all we need to say. I’m happy for you and the life upon which you shall be embarking with Miss Teres,” she told him, her tone clipped.
“I’m not going to marry her.” He took a step toward her.
At that she blinked. “Pardon?”
“You were right,” he told her.
“Me?” Her eyes were huge behind her spectacles.
“She’s too young for me,” he joked then took a deep breath. “And we aren’t suited. Not to mention, I don’t love her.” He took another step forward.
“You’ve barely met her,” Rebecca reminded him as she moved back again. “Most relationships don’t start with love, merely compatibility. You and Miss Teres are certainly compatible.”
“Perhaps. Once.” But not any longer.
“She fits into the life you want perfectly,” Rebecca argued. “She’s practically made for you and your goals.”
“Goals can be changed. Or modified,” he countered. “Especially when the circumstances demand it.” He took a deep breath. “When people change, or discover who they actually are.”
“I don’t—what about your seat?”
“The seat can hang,” he told her, raising a finger. “I’m not even sure I would be what the community needs in the first place or that I even understand what we need. But I do believe I understand what my children need in a governess, so I think that’s the position I’ll stay in. At least for now.”
Her eyes grew wide. “But—”
“You aren’t going to congratulate me on my new employment?” he teased.
“Mazel tov,” she said. “However, I still don’t understand why that means you can’t marry Miss Teres.”
Roger smiled to himself. He’d have preferred her to guess, but at least her question placed the subject firmly in front of them. He just needed to summon the courage fully and push them down the path. He took a deep breath.
“Because it’s not the only job to which I’d like to apply,” he explained. “Do you know what other position I think I’m best suited for?”
“What?” she asked, squinting rather adorably through her spectacles.
“Your husband.” He took a step toward her once more. “Please consider it,” he added, his heart now in his throat.
She gasped. “Are you out of your mind?” she snapped, glaring at him as if he was incorrect in his assessment.
“No. I don’t think I am.” He inhaled once more, holding out his hand. “Rebecca, these weeks with you have—”
“Included excellent sexual intercourse, yes,” she told him. “While I know that can produce heightened emotions, thus making one believe in a greater intimacy—”
“You’re really going to deny that it was more than that?” he asked, now a touch frustrated. Because it was obvious. No matter what words they used, their intimacy—their compatibility—extended far beyond the bounds of the physical. There was no one who fit either of them better.
Except, apparently, she was not ready or willing to see.
“It wasn’t,” she argued back. “You were the host, and I was your guest, and we had an amicable relationship in those roles, but now it’s over.”
“Why does it need to be?” he asked, urging her to see the logic.
“Because it does,” she yelled back, waving her arms. “This was temporary. Don’t you see?”
“No, I don’t,” he said, squinting at her.
Faced flushed, she took an audible breath. “Marriage is not temporary,” she told him. As if he didn’t know. “Flaws and foibles are amusing when they shall end, but to live with them day after day after day after day…”
“Are you speaking of mine or yours? If you’re referring to mine, I promise you, I’m quite aware of them but am working efficiently on improving.
If you’re referring to your own, I’d be honored to wake up to yours daily.
” He was becoming a touch annoyed now. How could she not see?
How could she not understand that she was all he wanted, all he needed, and no life could better than one with her, exactly the way she was.
“Provided there aren’t too many pillows thrown at my head. My aging reflexes are not what they once were,” he added with a small smile, silently begging her to return the gesture.
“That’s not amusing,” she sniffed instead. “None of this is.”
“On that we agree, as I’m not amused either. You’re being illogical,” he retorted. “Do you truly believe I don’t know and want the real you and to be part of the real life you lead?” he said, his voice rising as well.
“The life I lead, the life you’re describing, where you spend your time teaching the children and—”
“Making sure you have everything you need to help your patients, yes,” he continued. “While participating in the community and my own study.”
“That might seem enough for you now,” she countered, wagging a finger at him. “But you will miss the rest, including the respect and attention.”
“Doubtful. And even if it wasn’t, I’ll take my chances, as I wouldn’t miss it half as much as I’d miss you.
You bring me joy. No matter what we’re doing.
” He understood that now. The fanciest dinner party had nothing on a breakfast with her and the children.
Besides, there would be dinner parties forever, but there were only so many years where he could experience the latter.
“I’m six and thirty. While not in the grave, I’m old enough to know my own mind.
Even if I denied it in favor of what I thought I should want for far too many years,” he explained.
“I’m done with that now. Done with everything except my children, my books, my roses, perhaps a little Talmud, and you. ”
Except the frustrating woman was not having it.
“Ha,” she snapped. “You say that now, but does your own mind seek the gossip and judgment that our arrangement will engender?” she asked. “It won’t be kind. While I’ve experienced that already, you’re used to adoration, so it—”
“Do you believe that I’m so weak I couldn’t shoulder a few opinions?
” he asked. “Or do you believe I’m so foolish that I can’t decipher the worthless from the wise?
Yes, I’ve been culled by fear in the past, but not anymore and never again.
” He might have been yelling now too. “Not after these weeks. I’m clever enough to know the value of what I seek.
And if I lose a few invitations to events that I don’t really enjoy or have to ignore whispers of idiots, then it’s a small price to pay.
My ancestors risked death to light candles, damn it.
We’re worth at least that.” How could she not see?
Not understand? They could be extraordinary together.
“You’re upset,” she told him, her voice now irritatingly calm. “I understand you’re apprehensive. Marrying again is a great undertaking, and now that it’s become real, you’re frightened.”
“I’m not frightened of marriage, Rebecca.” He glared at her. This was… well, not the way he’d expected this to go. Not at all. He was saying it right, damn. And he was right. She was clever and he was brave, and this should not be happening.
“Of course not,” she placated. If her tone was meant to be soothing, she needed to reassess, as it was grating on his last nerve. “Which is why you should really take more time to consider Miss Teres before you throw away this opport—”
“I don’t need more time,” he interrupted. “I’m in awe of you, Rebecca.”
“You’re confused.” She threw up her hands.
“I’m most certainly not,” he snapped. “For the first time in my life, I know what I want, and when you know, you don’t want to wait,” he explained. “I love you, Rebecca. The life I know we can build together will be spectacular. Please, let’s live it together,” he begged.
“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t. You’re made for marriage, but I’m not.” She turned away from him, squaring her shoulders.
“Rebecca,” he whispered, reaching out toward her.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, her voice slightly strangled, the sound tearing at something inside him. “I’m not for you.”
For a moment Roger stood there, a thousand thoughts and words and arguments swirling in his head. There had to be one that could make the difference. But there were none. Sometimes, no matter what you did, not every bud bloomed.
After a sleepless night and fretful morning debating ways to change matters and finding none, Roger poked his head into the hallway and found his house abuzz with activity.
Trunks, including the one whose mere presence made him smile—at both the memory of Rebecca attempting to carry it down the staircase and of what he learned was inside—as well as, oddly enough, ache, were being packed and carried to the front entry, with his coach taking trips back and forth from Mitre almost every hour.
He spent some time in his hothouse. His newest crop was finally in bloom, and the color, somewhere between an orange and a crimson, was spectacular.
It was deeper than he’d imagined it would be.
And yet he could not seem to feel the usual joy, even as he cut one of the more perfect blooms, inhaling its faint tea scent, before taking it with him.
Unable to sit, he paced the house, probably frustrating the staff. Definitely frustrating the staff, as Lopez had said as much. But he could not stop. He’d made another circle, when Michael’s voice from the entry hall halted him in his tracks.
“Do you have to leave?” his son asked.
Peeking from the front drawing room, Roger spied the child, standing with Miss Adler, who was dressed in one of the simpler gowns from her new wardrobe, a light blue wool, a gray cloak covering most of it, a bonnet already tied on her head, the bag she’d claimed too fancy in her hand.
Ready to depart.
“She has her own house and her own life,” his daughter said, redirecting his attention as she stood beside her brother, her small voice as delightfully officious as ever. “Besides, she can’t stay here now that Papa made her cry.”