Page 95 of Dearest Beast
As he turned to go, an unfortunately now familiar form blocked his path.
“Hello, Berab,” his least favorite custodian said, a distinct note of displeasure in the man’s voice as he nearly spit his name.
“Hello, Ellenberg,” he returned, straightening to emphasize the stark differences in their heights, one thing he still had over the upstart who’d stolen his seat.
“I hear a mazel tov is in order.” The man kicked a now visible cobblestone with the toe of his boot.
“I didn’t build it myself, but I’m skilled with invoices.” He glanced back at the house.
The other man rolled his eyes. “I meant your upcoming wedding to Teres’s daughter.”
This was the trouble with a community like theirs. Gossip spread faster than feathers.
“Sol told you,” he stated more than asked.
“He’s happy for you. And so am I,” Ellenberg added after a beat. “I truly didn’t know how much you craved that seat.” The self-righteousness could choke a horse.
Ugh, the man was awful. Sol’s idea of studying together would never work. He’d just have to find another tutor with the time to assist him because there was no way.
“At least you’re honest,” Roger said.
“Is it not true?” The man folded his arms across his chest.
“I’m not ashamed of what I want,” Roger declared, matching the former custodian’s stance—but with much more elegance. “Over the years I’ve worked very hard to continue to develop my skills so I can offer the community the best leadership moving forward. It shall be an honor to serve.”
“And Miss Teres?” Ellenberg asked.
“Has indicated a similar sense of duty, as well as a like-mindedness about our future.” More or less. It would be like what he’d had with Lucy—with a few, subtle shifts in lifestyle regarding the children, to which she’d likely not object once properly discussed. He cleared his throat. “Not all marriages start as garden trysts,” he added rather triumphantly, proving that he was not the only one who could access gossip.
“More like the library,” Ellenberg said after a pause.
Roger started. What did the man say? No. No. He couldn’t have found about the last festival, about how he and Rebecca had—
“Pardon?” he asked, working not to gasp.
The man had the nerve to smirk. “You don’t know everything, do you?” he asked in a rather singsong tone, quite unlike his usual seriousness. “You should’ve been paying better attention at the balls.”
Roger gazed at Ellenberg once more, working to determine whether he was referring to the encounter between him and Rebecca or his own with his now wife. He finally gave up, as nothing good could come from probing the matter further. He cleared his throat.
“Regardless, if we are married—as the betrothal is not finalized—Miss Teres shall be happy,” he explained. “I’m a good husband, Ellenberg.” Or he would be this time. No matter what.
“As with everything in my life, when a job is mine, I see that it’s done,” he continued. “To spectacular results.” He waved a hand toward the house as an example.
However, he could not stop picturing Rebecca’s reaction to the building as it was now. One that included her improperly throwing her arms around his neck and him equally improperly swinging her around. It would be completely out of character for both of them and quite unlikely to happen. Not that he’d truly want such in the first place. A pleasant “thank you” would suffice, as by that point there’d be nothing left to say. Like they’d agreed. Which was for the best. He forced himself to return to Ellenberg and the conversation.
“Impressive, indeed,” the man said, his voice oddly pensive, troubling certainly, especially as such activity would have to be taxing on someone like the custodian. Roger opened his mouth to make a similar quip, despite its slight meanness, but Ellenberg cleared his throat. “Well, may you both live to one hundred and twenty.”
“Thank you,” Roger said, returning the tip of his hat and walking home, disquieted for reasons he could not quite conceive.
The feeling did not dissipate for the remainder of the morning and continued even as he trotted down the staircase ready for lunch, as a commotion rang through the hall.
“Aunt Nina,” Fannie, who he’d not even known was behind him, cried, practically knocking him down as she ran toward the entryway, where Lopez was assisting his sister-in-law with her pelisse.
“Hello, darling,” she said, bending to kiss his daughter on the cheek. “How has your week been? I heard a nasty rumor about your father acting as your governess.”
“It’s true.” It was Michael who spoke, running to the woman and wrapping his small arms around her skirts as if he hadn’t seen her in months.
“He hasn’t quit or been sacked yet,” Fannie informed her, swishing from side to side, then bending down, cupping her hands around her mouth, and adding in a stage whisper, “But I might have to take matters in my own hands if he starts on about triangles again.”
