Page 62 of Margins of Love
“You’d…?” Fave could not form the words. Would Arnold sacrifice his freedom for Fave’s chance at love?
Arnold looked positively menacing, but Fave felt his brotherly compassion. “I had fun. Maybe I should wield this iron of the perfect match while I can. The Rabbi had surely chosen a special bride for the reputable Feivel Pearler.” His hands drew lush curves in the air.
Fave could not help but smile.
“Go!” Arnold pushed him, and Fave nearly fell over another guest. He looked for Rachel in the crowd, but couldn’t see her. Where had she gone?
CHAPTER40
Meanwhile, in Bustle-Smith’s retiring room, Rachel had found a broom closet for a moment of privacy. She had seen Fave standing beside Arnold. Dashing did not begin to describe him. His black evening attire provided a contrast to his golden unruly hair. The northern lights paled by comparison to his shiny hair and bright smile against the dark velvet over his broad shoulders. She had been too far away to see, but she knew his lashes provided the perfect frame for those glowering eyes, which never failed to turn her bones to the texture of clotted cream. She had to get away for a moment or he would crush her heart. This ball was her debut, but it seemed like her last supper. The season at Almack’s would not start until Wednesday, but she’d be married by then. Her debut tonight marked her last evening as—
Somebody’s voice rattled the room and Rachel instinctively pulled the closet door shut.
“Get out!” Eve shouted at the women in the retiring room. “Leave us!” she added when they rose slowly.
Rachel peeked through the keyhole.
Gustav peered around the doorway, “Can I enter safely?”
The last two guests scuttled out, and Gustav stepped in.
“How dare you—” Bustle-Smith started, but Eve placed her dancing index finger before her mouth.
“Our turn now. You listen, Carol,” she said and glanced at Gustav.
Rachel wiped away her tears, distracted by the going-ons.
“Carol, you’ve outdone yourself this evening,” Gustav said, but his face was grim.
Rachel could not see Bustle-Smith’s face, but she noticed her head jerk backward.
“What did this little gathering cost me? Five, six, seven thousand?” Gustav’s voice was menacing, and Bustle-Smith remained quiet.
“What he’s trying to say, dear, is that—”
“I can speak for myself, Darling.” He turned away from Eve and stepped close to Bustle-Smith. “You owe us nearly fifty thousand pounds, Carol. More than you can ever hope to repay us.”
Bustle-Smith shook her head. “Surely it cannot be.”
Gustav produced two books that he’d kept under his arm. “It’s right here. Decades of loans, loan forgiveness, and not a single time did you repay us.” He handed her the books.
A moment of silence passed. Rachel held her breath for fear of being caught. She’d never spoken directly to Eve Pearler. The closest she’d been was when Eve had admonished Lizzie for slouching in the drawing-room after dinner at Brockton House and then again at the orangerie. Rachel closed her eyes at the terrible memory. Now that Rachel studied Eve, she reminded her of a Greek goddess on Mount Olympus—stern, strong, and composed. She personified everything that Rachel was not. No wonder Fave could not settle for a girl like her if this had been his role model. Rachel felt small, cowering in the closet like a mouse.
She heard a few pages rustling. Then Bustle-Smith rose from the ottoman and walked around the room. Rachel saw her face now, but Gustav had his back to her keyhole vantage point.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk… my friends.” Bustle-Smith approached the small fireplace. Her shiny gown reflected the flickers from the flames, making it look as if she were on fire like the Fury of vengeance in Greek mythology.
“This is how you repay my years of friendship?” Bustle-Smith’s tone was alarming.
Rachel saw Gustav and Eve shaking their heads in unison. But they remained silent.
“Day in, day out, I doted on your every whim,” Bustle-Smith said while Eve hmpfed indignantly. “Without me, your business would have never taken off.”
“Be careful what you say, Carol!” Gustav stepped closer to the Fury before the fire.
“Oh, I am, I most certainly am,” she responded haughtily. “You haven’t a leg to stand on. After decades of loan forgiveness, any court of justice would favor my interpretation of the matter.”
“And what might that be, prey tell?” Gustav snarled.
