Page 44 of Dearest Beast
“She liked to dance,” Michael said quickly, turning to Rebecca, his large eyes now imploring her. “She used to dance with Papa in the hall like they do at gentile balls, but without music.”
Something twisted in Rebecca’s chest as she pictured the lovely scene between the two young parents enjoying themselves.
Together.
“I told you that,” Fannie snapped, interrupting the vision. “You’re just repeating what I said.” She folded her arms across her chest. “You’re a liar,” she pronounced, glaring at Rebecca. “And you’re an ugly old hag who has no business even speaking about my mother.”
Before Rebecca could respond to the child, there was a knocking. All three inhabitants of the room swung toward the sound to find Marguarite standing in the doorframe.
“What in the world—” the housekeeper said, glancing first at Fannie who quickly exited the room with another flounce and then at Michael, whom she scooped into her arms, settling him againsther hip turning back to Rebecca, her gaze apologetic. “I’m quite sorry, miss. I’ll see to it that this gets back to his governess straight away,” she assured her, adjusting the boy once more. “You have a visitor.”
“Me?” Rebecca asked, touching a finger to her chest. “At this hour?”
“The young lady said it was urgent,” Marguarite told her. “She’s waiting in the burgundy parlor.”
Suddenly Rebecca felt a great deal better than she had in days. Weeks really. Ever since her mother left and a voice had whispered in her head, pointing out how many patients rescheduled nonurgent visits until her mother’s return, of all those times over the years when a patient had been visibility disappointed that she’d arrived alone, without her mother, and of how many people, when the two were together, addressed their questions to her mother and thanked her even when Rebecca was the one who answered.
No one wants to interact with someone off-putting, cold, and plain, the voice would taunt.How can you ever expect to sustain yourself when she retires? Without her, you’re nothing.
The dark fears battered her senses, making her doubt, well, her entire future.
But here, now, this was proof that her reputation could stand on its own. Perhaps not as illustrious as her mother’s, but the respect was there. And would grow in time. Provided she kept providing outstanding service.
Which she would. Starting now.
“Excellent,” Rebecca said, leaping to her feet and following the woman into the hall, her heart pounding a touch with anticipation.
After handing the yawning Michael off to the young maid—Rachel—Marguarite led Rebecca to a sitting room that she’d not yet seen, toward the middle of the second floor.
Burgundy covered almost every surface in the space, the color of a rich wine. The rugs, the wall coverings, the furniture, even the marble tops of the end tables and fireplace. It was a wonder that the ceiling remained a deep, unmolested chestnut wood. More than a touch ridiculous.
In the center of the room stood a woman, or at least, given her quite youthful features, a girl dressed like a woman. An absurdly finely clothed woman. A fur-lined cloak hung around her shoulders. Thick, lush mounds of perfectly even curled ringlets, which, despite the weather, still sat elegantly styled on her head, not a hint of frizzle in sight.
An irrational burst of jealousy twisted Rebecca’s gut.
Odd, as she’d never once cared that someone else, especially someone more monied, was better coiffed than she. And found the people who spent the time concerning themselves with the same not worth her own.
“Miss Adler,” the girl greeted her. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“I’m happy to be of service.” Rebecca peered closer as she sought to recall with whom she was speaking. She could not for the life of her remember meeting the girl. “Miss…”
“Teres,” the girl supplied, dipping into a rather overly formal, but admittedly elegant, curtsy. “Miss Leone Teres,” she introduced herself. “My father is on the Commission of Delegates. Our family helped found it when we arrived from Amsterdam.”
Rebecca resisted an eye roll.
“You don’t say,” she murmured, glancing at the clock. Nearly ten at night. Quite late for a social call. Not that she was under the delusion that this was one, that Miss Teres had any interest in her other than the professional. Rebecca cleared her throat. “With what can I assist you, Miss Teres?” She glanced at the visitor’s abdomen.
“One of our maids, Renata, is increasing,” Miss Teres informedher. “Mrs. Henriques is who my family has always used and plans to continue using.” She narrowed her eyes at Rebecca.
Oy. Did she truly think she was so gauche to attempt a poach? Especially given the fact she couldn’t do deliveries for another few weeks in the first place? Rebecca gritted her teeth. It was just like the Miss Tereses of the world to question her business ethics.
“I have great respect for Mrs. Henriques and her practice,” Rebecca informed the girl, her voice sharp to her own ears. She grimaced. Not the way to win future business.
However, instead of appearing offended, Miss Teres merely smiled. “Naturally. She was there for my birth and that of each of my brothers. All occurred within a year of each other, you know? With my older brother conceived barely a month after my parents’ chuppah. My mother was hale the entire time,” she explained, as if such was a skill instead of predicated upon the winds of fortune.
Not that this girl would take kindly to her pointing out that fact.
Miss Teres brushed an imaginary stray lock behind her ear. “Anyway, Mrs. Henriques supplied a tea to calm Renata’s stomach, and it has unfortunately run out. We were hoping you might have a reasonable substitute.”
