Roger blinked at him. He couldn’t possibly be suggesting…
“No,” he said. Not in a hundred and twenty years could he ever, possibly…
“He’s a good person,” Sol protested.
“He’s a bore,” Roger protested. And would probably be such a smug, condescending arse if they worked together. Especially considering the content of some of the barbs he’d directed at the manduring their competing courtships of Isabelle. Not one of his finer moments, but he couldn’t undo the past, only hope to avoid it in the future, which for him, meant avoiding Aaron Ellenberg as much as possible despite their mutual connections. Studying with him in any capacity would go against that.
“He studies regularly,” Sol argued. “Has for years.” He gazed at Roger. “You should consider it.”
“I will,” Roger lied.
Sol rolled his eyes. “Liar,” he successfully deduced. “But returning to Miss Adler, I’m happy for you,” his friend said, clasping his hands together and changing the subject so quickly, it took Roger a moment to recall what they’d been discussing. His relationship—if one could call it that—with Miss Adler. Of which Ellenberg would certainly not approve. That was another reason to ignore Sol’s foolish idea to include him. He turned back to Sol.
“Truly?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at the other man.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Sol asked, leaning back a little in his chair. “Neither of you is married. Miss Adler is a clever woman. I presume you two came to some sort of agreement beforehand?” He raised a brow, and Roger quickly nodded. His friend tented his fingers. “One in which you agree to a time-limited, discreet liaison, which ends once she leaves this house, or something to that effect.”
“You don’t disapprove?” Roger asked, again searching his friend’s face for any sense of insincerity. Or judgment.
“Miss Adler knows her own mind,” Sol declared. “While I’ve been told that there’s old law stating that due to your sexual engagement, you are now married and would require a get if you wanted to marry again, the majority believe that has been superseded. Thus, provided you’re discreet…”
“You aren’t afraid that Miss Adler will become… attached and perhaps desire matters not to be so temporary?” Roger asked,studying his friend once again, his own unease growing for some unknown reason.
“Would you like her to?” Sol asking, raising his brow again.
Roger nearly gasped at the question. Why would he possibly—ridiculous. The idea that he could want that emotion—one he was likely not capable of himself—from this woman who had no place in his life was ludicrous. Absurd even.
“No, of course not,” he told the man, giving a shaky laugh. “Why would I? That would be the last thing—I want to give her pleasure, not pain, and I’m going to marry someone else shortly, so there was always a limit on our engagement. Something we both understood at the outset.”
“Well, you shouldn’t worry,” Sol said, crossing one leg over the other. “Miss Adler is a rather determined woman who knows her own mind. Further, she’s the most trustworthy and honorable among us. She enters into no agreements lightly and would almost certainly rather be boiled alive in oil than renege.”
“A charming image,” he quipped. “But I believe you are correct about the rest. An admirable quality and one I try to uphold myself. After all, I like to think of my own most prominent quality as ‘resoluteness.’ ”
Sol stared at him for a moment. “And here I’d have said it was ‘paranoia.’ ”
“Now, that one is hereditary,” he said, raising a finger. “And useful. Saved us from the gallows multiple times and guided us to a land where we’d no longer need to live as Marranos.”
Roger glanced back down at the volume. Something he would recommit himself to, somehow, someway, setting an example for the community in that regard as well.
“Fair,” his friend said with a slightly bemused smile. “Besides, we wouldn’t want you to become too calm and cheery.”
“I’m not cheery,” Roger said with a snort.
“Not now.” Sol raised a finger, but Roger ignored him.
“I won’t be until I regain my life,” he returned.
“You mean remarry?” Sol asked, cocking his head.
Roger nodded, even though he’d been speaking of the seat. The two were inextricably linked. He had responsibilities, and Leone Teres was the only way they could be properly fulfilled.
Clearing his throat, Sol rose. “Well, I wish you luck in that,” he said.
Roger joined him and gave his outstretched hand a shake. “I don’t need luck, just the right person,” he called as his friend strolled out of the room, leaving him to return to his work.
Sunday and Monday morning went faster than anyone could imagine. Fannie had created a game for herself at meals, asking Rebecca factual questions she was undoubtedly researching beforehand in the library, attempting to stump her—with, based on the sly set of his lip, not a small amount of encouragement from her father. Though, to give the man credit, it certainly wasn’t a bad way to learn. And it was almost certainly an appealing way to a child such as his daughter.
Despite being more occupied with learning, Fannie still found time to sneak down into the kitchens to pose various queries to Rebecca regarding the science behind birth and death, often slightly gruesome and macabre. While Rebecca had been worried Roger would disapprove of her frank answers, when she informed him of it, he’d merely shrugged, saying,She’s likely attempting to make sense of what occurred with Lucy and my mother-in-law. Provided you’re comfortable and she’s not a nuisance, I won’t take issue with it.
