Which should make this a great deal easier.
“Don’t worry. Our more prominent scholars might be a hair younger than some of yours, but we do require a ketubah on my side of the community as well,” she told him, making her voice as cold and calm as she could. She would not give him the satisfaction of anything else.
Especially as he was now most certainly right. She didn’t merely understand that she should regret what had transpired, but she most certainly did. Very much.
But she couldn’t think of that. Not with the way he was gazing at her pityingly. That she could not bear. She inhaled, drawing on the well of anger and frustration that sat just below the surface to fortify her.
“I agree, our union would be completely inappropriate. As well as inconvenient.” She waved her hand. “Imagine what it would do to my reputation. A woman of science married to the Sephardis’ best imitation of a fop?” she added, making her tone as derisive as possible.
He stared at her for a moment, probably shocked that she had the audacity to suggest he wasn’t the prize he believed, before buttoning his cuffs. “Good. Then we shall never speak of this.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Berab,” she returned, without a flinch. Smoothing her skirts, she marched to the door before an impish urge drove her to pause and turn back, her lip curling a touch. “I’ve already forgotten.” She exited the room, her head held high.
An excellent parting line, if she did say so herself. Even if it was a complete lie.
Whitechapel, London, England
January 1833
Every muscle and bone in Rebecca’s body ached—along with the roots of her hair and seemingly the blood in her arteries, even if the latter wasn’t physically possible. Between two long deliveries with new mothers who required extra assistance, as well as aspecialcall from the Commission of Delegates—the body that internally governed and externally represented both parts of the Jewish community—she’d not slept in almost three days.
Yet, despite being currently tucked into her own warm bed, with a roaring fire protecting her from the outside snowy chill, she could not fall asleep. True, it was late afternoon, but midwives rarely kept regular hours, and she’d adjusted to her mother’s routine in infancy. But with her mother in Brighton for the next two months, her home was unusually quiet, hindering rather than helping her insomnia. With a groan, Rebecca spun onto her stomach, throwing a pillow over her head to block the light from the setting sun.
Sheneededthis rest. At least if she wanted to maintain her profession.
Her profession was who she was. What gave her both purpose and value. Without it, no one wanted to see, let alone talk, to her, no matter how correct and wise her opinions were. At least as a midwife shehad gravitas, not to mention, could maneuver herself into the right circumstances and force people to at least hear, if not listen. Thankfully, more often than not, they conceded. Just without giving her credit.
Which she didn’t need. No. She just needed to maintain her place.
And thus, sheneededto coerce herself into slumber.
Why that was so hard as of late, she had no idea.
Yes, her world was a shade emptier, what with her mother away and the only people she could even possibly consider friends—Isabelle and, since November, Hannah—both recently married. But neither had abandoned her, even if the newly pregnant Hannah now spent most of her waking hours over a bucket.
Rather,Rebeccahad been filled with the urge to avoid them. Strange. It wasn’t as if she disliked their husbands. Both were unusually kind men and quite loyal. Moreover, she was happy for them. Both were suited for marriage. Wanted it. Something she most certainly did not.
Besides, while she wasn’t immune to the physical charms of men in the community, she’d not met one with whom she’d want to share her life.
And I’m sure you recognize that it would be completely inappropriate for us to marry.
Groaning again, Rebecca placed her head over her pillow as blasted Berab’s words rose in her mind.
Schmuck, schmuck, schmuck. She was supposed to have forgotten it and him.
And she had.
Mostly.
Even if she was privy to gossip about him and his family due to her communal position.
Even if they were often thrown together during events where she could not ignore his existence.
Even if she might have occasionally recalled a few of the sensations she’d experienced with him.
Truly, she’d mostly forgotten the entire affair and would again. This time for good.
If she could just get some sleep.
