Page 5 of Margins of Love
Lizzy sighed and closed her eyes. Fave could tell she was pretending to sleep—avoiding conflict was her only fault. But it would be a fatal one to her soul. Nonetheless, Fave bit his tongue and held back a sly retort. Better not to aggravate his mother more than Lady Bustle-Smith’s summons already had.
“I may become distracted, dear, and you must chaperone Lizzie in my place,” his mother said.
It was ridiculous that Fave must abandon his business to stroll in the country and protect his little sister’s reputation, when Lizzie’s cherished virtue would be sold off to the highest bidder in a few years.
“Mother, Lizzie can look out for herself. I am surely not needed for the entirety of the week.” Fave did not want to be around Lady Bustle-Smith and her spoiled daughter, Allison. He had spent many a house party in his childhood trying to escape the chit. Luckily, Arnold was usually by his side, equally eager to get away from Allison.
“I know, I know,Favaleh.” When she called himFavalehas his grandfather had, his heart melted. “It is not her I am concerned about.”
Lady Bustle-Smith’s influence permeated the ton like the roots of a weed. “You cannot think she will spread rumors that could hurt Lizzie if Father is paying for her country home,” Fave said.
His mother shook her head and leaned forward as if to impart some profound insights to her naïve son. “In her mind, we are paying for our place in society.” Her voice remained calm even though they were alone in the carriage; she could not break the habit of speaking quietly of their secrets.
“You mean she is not even repaying her debts?” Fave asked, his voice significantly louder. In his mind, justice dictated that the whole world needed to hear of this ludicrous arrangement.
His mother shook her head to cut his stream of consciousness short.
“Son, stop it already,” Gustav snarled, looking up from his ledgers.
“But it is not fair, Father! Did you read her letter? It was not an invitation; it was a summons with a threat!”
His mother gave his father a telling look and shook her head as if Fave were a lost cause.
“Life is not fair,” his father said, smiling indulgently at Fave’s mother. He had always seemed more understanding of Fave’s idealism.
“It is all that unhealthy idealism your father taught him,” his mother growled at his father. She had relinquished many of her motherly duties to the grandfather, but she didn’t appreciate the Greek myths Fave’s late grandfather had taught her son. They were not all he had imparted; he had also divulged to Fave that Eve’s level of education and fortune had been unrivaled when she was a young girl and married Gustav. Her poise and elegance were unique for the time, and so was her distrust in humankind.
“It is a tax, darling. Nothing more,” she said.
“A tax? Who is she to levy a tax upon Jews in England?” Fave stretched his arms and realized how confined the carriage was with all four of them crammed together.
“Not upon all Jews in England. Only us,” his father said as if it were a natural cost of doing business. He rifled through his ledgers again.
Fave felt the vein on his forehead pulsating with anger. “So we work, and we pay their bills, but they still blackmail us?”
His father nodded.
They were more assimilated than most; that was why Fave could not live out his Cohanim privileges at London’s Great Synagogue—a famous epicenter for English Jews and a world apart from the ton. The worlds did not mix, but they were drawn together by virtue of coexisting, just like Demeter’s and Hades’ worlds. Grandfather had been right. History repeated itself. And even if Eve thought Fave wasted his mind on mythology, he knew he had his father’s implicit approval. Gustav had been raised by the same man, after all. His dear grandfather had taught his son and later Fave what to do as a Cohen in service, performing the privileges of this ancient priesthood. He had explained elements of religious services and uncountable sacrifices, but Fave had never practiced them. He could not be caught in a synagogue in case a gentile were to spy on him. It was the contradiction of his life, one he had learned to live with. Being assimilated and mixing with the ton meant clandestine Judaism.
A spark of rebellion boiled to the surface.
“Then I am going to get our money’s worth out of this house party,” Fave growled.
His mother’s brows rose in a warning, but Fave ignored her.
“I suggest you do the same, Lizzie. I know you are not sleeping,” Fave added.
“Don’t you dare!” His mother’s voice vibrated through the carriage.
They remained silent for the rest of the journey until they arrived at the country home of the late Earl of Swathmore. Both Fave and Lizzie had to marry with their virtues intact, though for vastly different reasons, but only Lizzie’s could be out in the open.
CHAPTER5
The day, Fave decided, could hardly get any worse. He had spent hours sketching settings for tiaras and crowns but it was impossible without seeing the emerald for the centerpiece. He needed to see the way the stone’s fire played with the light. Designing a jewel without having the gem in hand was like composing music without an instrument.
He wanted to burn off his anger, but Arnold had been delayed in London and would not arrive for a few more hours, too late for a fencing match. It was too early to go to bed, and he loathed the silence in the country. Most people cherished it, but he preferred to sleep with the constant city humming faintly in the darkness. And dark it was, for their hostess showed her hypocritical frugality by lighting only a few hall sconces. The only diversion left was in the library. Fave hoped the widow had not pawned off the rare collectible books that the late Earl of Swathmore had obtained from the King himself. They would provide the only enjoyment he foresaw during his visit at Brockton House.
A few minutes later, Fave ran his hands along the dusty spines of the classics, taking note of the disarray among the library shelves. The late Earl had kept his books in better order, but Lady Bustle-Smith had sold off anything not of vital importance to her. If it would not impress the ton, she sold it and used the money to buy something that would. Fave despised her vanity and greed.
