Page 21 of Margins of Love
Rachel inclined her head but did not step away.
The scent of vanilla and something else enveloped him, puzzling his mind to distraction. This girl scintillated his senses. He took a deep breath, and her scent permeated his body as if it could nourish his soul.
She blushed.
“What is this scent?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your scent, your perfume. I detect vanilla, but I cannot identify the other note. I recognize it, but I cannot name it.”
“Plumeria.” Her gaze was careful and alert. “Another name for it is frangipani.”
He still did not know.
“Let me show you.” She turned to the shelves of books behind her.
Fave noticed the dark curl that she had wound around her finger now brushing against her neck. It fell heavily and with attitude on her flawless skin. He wished he could tuck it behind her ear, but he would never dare such intimacy. Especially when Lady Bustle-Smith or any of her informants could walk in any second.
Her nimble fingers trailed along the spines in search of a book. “Botany…and even better, botany of the colonies.” She turned with the book in her hand, and Fave deflated in disappointment that he could no longer ogle her back side.
She placed the book on top of the pile on the table and found the page quickly.
Fave read the words.
Plumeria (/plu?'m?ri?/), known as frangipani, is a genus of flowering deciduous shrubs or small trees in the family Apocynaceae, endemic to Asia, Central America and the Caribbean.
When he looked at her, she was close, very close and, oh, so fragrant. Irresistible. Fave leaned in. Her eyes searched for something in his. But before he could act on his impulse to lean in for a kiss, a noise came from the hall.
“Let me put them away. Go,” he said.
She smiled wistfully at Fave and left.
Fave missed her the moment she passed through the door, taking the lovely vanilla and frangipani aroma with her. Somehow, she had made him feel whole. The sentiment was new and unsettling. He took the heavy books from the table and spotted the paper shred she had used as a bookmark. He opened the book to that page.
From the Greek word for green “smaragdus,” emeralds are the most vibrant green gemstones and are prized for their rich color. Considered the jewel of kings, emeralds are part of the Russian imperial collection.
Fave blinked. He checked the other book. It had something in it. He opened it and Rachel’s fountain pen rolled onto the table. He caught it before it dropped to the floor. He skimmed the page but stopped next to drawings of gemstone cuts. Fave was all too familiar with the rose cut of diamonds, flat bottoms, and dome-shaped tops. Next to the rose-cut diamond was a cushion-cut emerald drawing, the latest rage, with its slightly curved edges forming a soft square. In the past few weeks, he had sold several cushion-cut citrines and amethysts. But an emerald as the one drawn here with such a small table, high crown, and larger cutlet would look too harsh and could reveal inclusions too readily.
Fave dropped the closed book on its spine on the table, and a page opened.
Cleopatra famously donned emerald jewelry and had her own emerald mines in Egypt. In ancient Greece and Rome, the emerald was said to be the gemstone of Venus, the goddess of love. Wearing an emerald was believed to reveal the veracity of a lover’s oath.
Fave sat back and pinched the bridge of his nose. What could she be doing? He turned over her fountain pen in his hand. It had an inscription, but it was worn and illegible. This girl was full of riddles. He should be cautious and suspicious, but instead, Fave was intrigued. She could not, he concluded, enter a cushion-cut emerald into the King’s competition. If she was in the race for the Royal appointment, she was not a serious threat. He had only met her a few days ago and realized how little he knew about her and her family.
“Fave!” Lizzie’s voice jolted him out of his thoughts.
She was next to him in an instant and skimming the open pages before him. “Oh, did you begin the research for the contest? What do the flowers have to do with it?” Her gaze was illuminated with sincere interest.
“Nothing.” He straightened and closed the books.
When he was about to reshelve them, he turned to see Lizzie who was slouched in an armchair reading a paper, if one could call the two-pager that. He leaned over her and peeked into the Community Circular, London’s only Jewish newspaper. “Make sure nobody catches you reading this. It is a gossip column.”
He was not particularly interested in the paper the rabbi’s daughter put out. True, it was the only way to retrieve news about Jews in London, in English, but Fave never felt included in this community given his lifestyle. Yet, even though he and Lizzie had never been to the Great Synagogue, it held mystery, and for some reason, Lizzie was addicted to the monthly paper.
“I know, I know. I will burn it when I’m through.” Lizzie waved in the general direction of the fireplace.
Fave wished he could rid himself of Lady Bustle-Smith’s gossip and threats as easily as tossing them into the fire. “You sound like Mother.”
