Page 86 of Dearest Beast
“You’ve managed to travel in it quite well,” Rebecca pointed out.
“I’m special,” Isabelle declared.
“That you are,” Rebecca conceded. “Though, I might remind you, most people of whom you speak would send their servants.”
“You don’t care about their servants’ safety?” Isabelle argued, apparently not ready to let her win. Most people did so almost immediately.The woman’s grandmother, Rebecca, and now Aaron were the only people who made her actually work for a victory.
“I don’t want to get into a war with another midwife, as I am highly unlikely to win such a contest,” she attempted to explain to her friend. “Especially after my mother retires.” She swallowed again at the thought.
“Why?” Isabelle frowned. “You’re the best midwife, not merely in the community but in London. You’re well trained, experienced, organized, efficient, calm in the face of any emergency, and learned, keeping abreast of all the latest techniques while remembering the past.”
If only that was all which was required.
“I endeavor to be, and I succeed. Most of the time,” Rebecca admitted, wagging a finger at her friend. “But I’m also obnoxious and disliked.”
“Only by people with no taste,” Isabelle responded.
“Which, according to you, is quite a few people,” Rebecca reminded her friend, easing the conversation to a more comfortable plateau.
“People would have to be fools to not desire the best, and you are the best,” Isabelle argued. “And our people are not fools.”
Rebecca raised her brows at her friend.
“Fine,” Isabelle scowled. “They’re mostly not fools.”
Rebecca didn’t need to respond.
“Usually,” Isabelle continued, waving her hand a little. “In some matters, and this is included those matters.”
Rebecca laughed despite herself. “If you say so.”
“I do,” Isabelle said, with a finger wag of her own. “But you’ve not answered my question,” she continued, peering at Rebecca. “How are things here, with Roger?”
Grimacing, Rebecca glanced toward the staircase, half expectingto see the man himself standing there, watching her work, ready to invite her to bed if she lost track of time.
“Lower your voice,” she whispered.
“Why?” Isabelle scrunched her nose. “We’re in the kitchens with sulfur-cured intestines. This isn’t exactly his milieu.”
Rebecca resisted a giggle. If her friend only knew.
“You’d be surprised,” she murmured.
“Would I be?” Isabelle asked, leaning forward again. “How so?”
“He’s…” Rebecca bit her lip. “Complicated.”
“Really?” Isabelle cocked her head with interest. “How so?” she repeated.
Telling her friend more would risk confessing what had occurred between them to Isabelle, and while she trusted her friend more than anyone on earth, telling her would make everything more… real, one would suppose.
Not to mention that while Isabelle would always be on her side, the idea of her friend seeing her as so… well, foolish to have engaged in such a manner was more than she could bear.
“Good evening,” a voice called, startling her but thankfully ending the interrogation.
However, Rebecca’s gratitude was short-lived.
“I hope I’m not interrupting.” Nina Berab glided down the staircase into the now suddenly too small kitchen.
