Page 75 of Dearest Beast
As was his impressively calm demeanor. She’d probably have been pulling her hair out if the child were hers.
Not to mention the fact that he’d told his children about his pending betrothal. That he’d respected her enough to have not merely considered but actually listened to her advice.
At least that had not been the source of the conflict.
Hopefully. Rebecca frowned as an image of Fannie’s face when Michael showed a smidgen of excitement regarding the prospect.
Oy.
This was why she was grateful that she didn’t have siblings or children of her own. Imagine having to navigate such complexity on a daily basis. It was certainly not for her. How people like Hannah, who had a sister she raised like a daughter, survived with their sanity was a wonder.
Now the poor woman had married a man who needed almost as much maintenance and would be giving birth to a child of her own at the end of the summer.
Nevertheless, a ridiculous tinge of guilt twisted Rebecca’s gut.
Several minutes after his departure, Berab returned, a slight bruise beginning at his temple. Without acknowledging it, he slid back into his seat and turned to his son. “How would you like me to go over your Hebrew letters with you before I begin my work for the day?” he asked the boy.
Rebecca’s mouth most certainly fell open.
“Yes, Papa, I would—” Michael was interrupted by Fannie racing in with a scream, barreling toward her brother.
Rebecca barely had time to gasp, but Berab was surprisingly quick on his feet, and caught her in his long arms.
“Pardon us again,” the man said with impressive calm, hoisting the girl over his shoulder and departing the room once more.
The process was repeated twice more, with Berab finally instructing that she and Michael conclude the meal themselves.
“I shall be with you shortly,” he promised his son as he exited once again.
Though “shortly” was a relative term, as for the next two hours the entire house was rocked by a series of thuds as well as high-pitched screaming emanating from the nursery.
Grimacing, Rebecca retired to the kitchens to mix tonics, as she’d received several orders. She had to admit, Isabelle had been right. She’d not been forgotten, and her business was not dead.
Something she should thank her friend for when she wrote her again—or responded to Isabelle’s last letter, which involved quite a great deal of anecdotes regarding the quips the woman’s grandmother and her relation threw at each other. Apparently, the distant cousins had been childhood rivals, and old habits died hard. Rebecca’s lips twitched at the idea of anyone daring to imply the rather formidable Mrs. Lira’s jewelry was gauche and living to tell the tale. Yes, she should most certainly write, posthaste.
Moving toward the staircase, she nearly collided with Marguarite, who was carrying a tray laden with a pot of something hot and two teacups.
“Beg pardon,” she said to the woman, who, despite being perfectly polite on the surface, gave her the distinct feeling she disliked her.
“It’s all right,” Marguarite said, adjusting her load. “I was just bringing this to the master.” Her voice was brisk. “He says this is going to be a long morning, and he needs some fortification.”
They glanced up in unison as more screaming floated, followed by a series of thuds, almost certainly from tiny feet pounding the floor, shook the house.
“I can only imagine,” Rebecca murmured.
The man did have spectacular patience. Unfortunately, so, it seemed, did his daughter.
Well, even their enemies called them a stubborn people, and thus their leaders should have an abundance of the quality.
A sudden impulse struck her. “Permit me,” she said, reaching for the tray.
“You really don’t need to,” the housekeeper protested, still holding on to the other side.
“I’m going upstairs anyway. I know the house has a limited staff.” Wincing at the woman’s expression, she added, “Not that you aren’t perfectly capable of handling additional work with competence and ebullience and in the utmost—”
“Are you quite finished digging that particular hole, or would you care to add some additional complimentary adjectives?” Marguarite asked, though she did relinquish the tray. “I suppose you were of great assistance last night,” she admitted rather grudgingly.
“I do my best.” Rebecca secured her grip with her good hand.
