He should have allowed her to please him last night. Now it might take a lifetime to get her out of his system. But he knew that for the lie it was. Once would never be enough and delaying it was as pointless as denying it.
His own thoughts exhausted him.
“I’m not a traitor. I’m a woman trying to remain in her home against unfathomable odds. I can’t simply find a job and provide for myself. Do you know how much a charwoman earns? Not enough for rent.”
“I would never suggest that. With your education, you’d be a highly sought-after governess.”
The knife she held slammed against the table. Sissy shrank back. “I don’t want children in my life. Is that so hard to comprehend? I’m a woman, therefore I must want children? You are a man, does that mean you want the newest weaponry, or . . . or the fastest carriage?”
He was a man. Therefore, yes, he did want those things. He wiped the amusement off his face.
“You are a man, does that mean you want to be a husband or a father?”
“Fair point.” He handed her a fresh piece of toast to butter. She tore apart half of it and tossed it at him as if he were as starving as Sissy—which was untrue. The dog ate better than he did.
The water for her tea began to boil. She prepared two cups and joined him at the table.
“You realize I stand squarely on the rebel side of this equation.” There was no point in hiding what he was. In truth, he trusted her. He understood her motives.
Henrietta nodded. “I know.”
“Shrupp’s presence is a constant danger to me. There’s a thin veil separating me from my less legal activities.”
“I know.” The muscle in her cheek jumped. “I’ve decided.” She tore off a bite of toast along the fault lines of her aggressive buttering. “You should leave. It’s for the best.”
“Is it?” He pushed his crumbs into a neat pile and placed his plate on the floor. Sissy licked it clean. “I’ll survive the cart ride home. I have no worries for my own wellness regardless of what your Dr. Nealy says, but that’s hardly the point. What about you?”
She blinked. “What about me?”
“I can’t leave you here with Shrupp. I don’t trust him to respect you. We both know the minute I leave, he is either in Willow’s room or your bed. I’m not a jealous man, Hen, but I doubt that’s what you want.” Lie. He’d never been a jealous man before. He couldn’t bear the thought of her inviting anyone to her bed now. Anyone but him.
She scoffed.
Curse the devil, her show of peevishness made him want her all over again. And now he had the imagery to go along with his fantasies.
Marcus tapped his fingers in a quick staccato against the table. “I can’t compromise my ideals. This promise of a new government means everything. It’s bigger than taxes and tea.” He gestured to her cup and tried to keep the smirk from his lips. “The King doesn’t know his own citizens. We were once convicts and slaves brought here without a choice. What did he expect would happen at the end of the experiment?”
Henrietta laughed. “The Hardwicke family goes back over a hundred years here. I don’t believe for a minute your forebears were convicts. I’d wager they were zealous Puritans who owned the slaves you speak of.”
“Probably.” With a shrug, he took a sip of his tea. “It’s the spirit of the damn thing. Thomas Paine wrote about it. He said, ‘The long habit of not thinking a thing wrong, gives it a superficial appearance of being right.’ That means it’s our duty as Americans to question everything.”
“You are awfully well read for someone who can’t read.”
“I’m a hell of a listener. Look, Hen, we’re already at war even if General Washington or the King have yet to declare it. Where will your coin land?”
Henrietta shook her head. “That’s the problem. I don’t have coin. Besides, what difference would it make? I’m a woman.”
“You are a widow. You don’t have a husband to tell you what to do, how to do it, how to think. Why let a king?”
“That works for widows with autonomy, a business or savings. I have an uncle who lords a piteous allowance over me.”
“Forget him. Forget your plans for marrying Dr. Nealy. I know it’s not here, this house.” He tapped her table, getting to his point. “But I have property.”
“Are you asking me to be a kept woman?” Pink rose up her throat and darkened her cheeks.
They were both from respected families brought up to know their place in society. He gave that up to become a carpenter. None of it mattered to him. He never wanted to marry, and certainly not because society insisted on it. But it mattered to Henrietta because anything less was too uncertain. If she left with him or took up work, society would abandon her.
Or at least, that was the logic she knew.
Marcus scrubbed his hands through his hair. “I’m offering you the opportunity to be true to yourself.”
Henrietta stood and brushed crumbs from her skirts. “And trade one tyrant for another? How shall this war play out?”
“You don’t want this on your conscience, Hen. This is a game men play for a reason.”
“I’m not delicate, contrary to the evidence.” She closed her mouth, pressing her lips to a fine line. She breathed deeply through her nose. “It’s not as if I passed along useable information to Shrupp today, anyway.” Her gaze trailed along the window ledge, far from his face.
“What do you mean?”
“It means, you brick-head, I removed a few keywords, throwing the whole letter off. Your friend’s name no longer appears in any form.”
A wave of rage washed over Marcus. He slammed his hands on the table, making plates and cups clank. Sissy skulked to the floor. “Do you realize what could happen to you when Caldwell figures out what you’ve done? You’re playing fast and loose with the British army! He could hang you for treason, or a thousand other crimes.”
“How would he figure it out? He’d have to see what I wrote. It went to Staten Island while my uncle is in Connecticut!”
“In your world, do messengers exist?”
Henrietta clenched her jaw. “I thought I was doing a good thing.”
“You are,” he yelled. “And a damn mite foolish too!”
“You could be more appreciative.” She downed the rest of her tea and slammed her cup. “You’ve given me a headache.”
Marcus growled. She bolted, leaving behind their mess.
“Shit.” He’d given himself a headache too. “I’ll stay,” he called after her, not sure she heard him. “Because I won’t leave you without protection. I own my decisions!”
If being under the same roof as Shrupp got him arrested, those were his choices, not hers. He wouldn’t blame her, even if he wanted to shake her senseless or take her to bed. “You’re staying too.”
Sissy’s eyebrows twitched dubiously.
Chapter 15
A week went by, and Henrietta still couldn’t face Marcus without wanting to spit. For someone so obviously intelligent, he was remarkably obtuse. He couldn’t protect her from Shrupp, and he was only putting himself in danger by thinking he could. And yes, she took responsibility, could now clearly see the danger, and there wasn’t a bloody thing she could do about it. But he could have at least appreciated the risk she took omitting his friend’s name.
All this frustration poured into her writing. The handsome yet villainous Lord Markham was no longer tied up. Oh, no. Bethia brought him along on her merry adventure. They stayed the night at a castle they’d come upon on the road to Boston. Of course, there wasn’t a real castle, but it was her story, and it was a gorgeously ruined castle.
That night, frightened by the haunting sounds weeping through the stone corridors, the breaking glass, and shrill cries, she left her bed and tiptoed to find its source. She nev
er found it, which was good, because it would have become too scary of a story to write. However, in the East tower, Bethia found an oubliette. She could put Lord Markham there. He’d never assail an unsuspecting lady on the highway again.
The squeals and thumps of the pulley in use broke Henrietta’s concentration. Lord Markham making his escape from the oubliette.
“Hetty Betty!”
Henrietta glowered into her inkwell. Could she not have an hour to herself?
“Hen.” Marcus, who was supposed to be equally annoyed based on the cool, clipped tones he had issued all week, rolled through the arched doorway of the study with a grin on his face. Why was a door never installed? Would it be wrong to ask him and his friends to install one to keep them out? She’d be able to lock Shrupp out as well.
“What, Marcus?” She dropped the quill with too much asperity into the ink. Little black spidery splatters rained down on her work.
“You haven’t given me a reading lesson in a while, nor have I given you another flirting lesson. Don’t you have an assignation with a certain physician today?”
Henrietta meant to frown, but her face was already in such a position. “It’s not an assignation. You told me to forget the doctor. And further, as we have seen, you can read. I have nothing to offer you. Not even pity.”
“Well, I don’t want your pity.”
She moved around him, faster than he could grab her. “In fact, I need to change dresses.”
“Smile for him, Hen. He’ll like your smile.”
“Because you do?” She ran to her room before he could respond. Why was she baiting him?
He wasn’t for her for several reasons. He didn’t want a wife. He didn’t want her. She didn’t want to marry someone she might fall in love with. Because that was definitely not happening. Out of the question. She refused to feel and hurt and care. Her anger at him had nothing to do with any of those things. Absolutely not.
She yanked hard on the strings of her stays to tie them neatly and lurched, nearly falling over. One day she’d have a proper maid to assist her. She’d hire a woman who needed to free herself financially after a man’s mistreatment. That was what she would do if she were in such a position.
There. Her hair was neat, dress of fine enough quality, and she’d affixed a smile on her face this side of brittle.
“Hetty Betty.” Marcus knocked on her door. “The Prince of Darkness has arrived. I hope whatever you are wearing goes well with funereal black.”
She slapped a hand to her mouth to stop her laughter.
~ ~ ~
Dr. Nealy entered the Mizrahi’s house with medical bag in hand. While the practice of ritual circumcision dated back thousands of years, he probably thought his medical advice was both needed and expected. Henrietta hoped he didn’t make a nuisance of himself.
“Did you know circumcision was at the heart of the reason Parliament opposed emancipating the Jews when the law was last challenged?” Dr. Nealy announced in the entryway. “There was overwhelming concern that acceptance of Jews as their equals would mean every man would need to be circumcised.”
Henrietta snickered. “That’s absurd. I can understand a trend such as their beards becoming the thing among men, but getting circumcised to meet a social requirement?” She let out an unladylike snort, “Men!” and walked away laughing.
She found Mrs. Gittel terrifying a seated young man who had no idea where to look when answering her questions, being that her bosom threatened to bat him in the eyes with every breath.
“Mrs. Gittel, I’m glad I found you. May I borrow you?”
The look of relief on the young man’s face was palpable.
Mrs. Gittel wore a lilac dress that complemented the flush of her cheeks.
“Hullo, darling. Isn’t this wonderful?” She handed Henrietta a glass of wine.
“It’s barely past ten.”
“I know!” She unfurled her fan, whipping strands of her loosened hair in a halo around her. “So, you brought the physician with you? Hmmm?”
“I did.” Henrietta sipped from her glass, thankful to have something to do with her hands—though it was ten in the morning—and something to drown out the buzz in her head saying Dr. Nealy wasn’t for her.
Mrs. Gittel waved to Mrs. Medina and Friend Sarah across the room. “Girls, look who’s here.”
“Is Mrs. Moskowitz here?” Henrietta craned her neck for a better view of the guests. She didn’t spot the tiny woman. Mrs. Medina and Sarah joined them.
“She’s in the kitchen giving orders like a regular general in the army,” Mrs. Gittel said.
“Of course, she is.” Henrietta squeezed Sarah’s arm. Sarah wasn’t paying her any mind. Her attention was across the room, fixed on Dr. Nealy. She almost felt compelled to lean in and say, “Take him. He’s no loss to me.” But then, he wasn’t hers to give.
A large man with a thick black beard broke away from the crowd to stand on the first step of the stairs. He wore a fur hat and black suit covered in a silky white shawl.
“Friends, my name is Aben Cardozo. Some of you may know me as the kosher butcher on Dock Street. I am also a mohel. Don’t worry, I brought the right knife with me today.” He paused for the anticipated, awkward titters and to wipe perspiration from his brow.
The mohel continued in a foreign tongue. Much of the gathering responded with nods and laughter. Dr. Nealy materialized at Henrietta’s side as the mohel switched back to English.
“And for those who don’t speak Ladino,” Cardozo said. “I explained the importance of why we have gathered. Circumcision, as God commanded us, binds us to the community. To the generations who came before and to the generations yet to come. We’ll perform the ritual, give the baby a name, bless the wine, and then we eat.”
“This is the format of every Jewish occasion,” Mrs. Gittel murmured to Henrietta, lifting her wineglass in salute. “Do the thing, bless the wine, then we eat.” She noticed the lack of wine in her glass and frowned.
From Henrietta’s other side, Dr. Nealy whispered. “See, it’s a community for them. Aren’t I part of the community? I live and work among them. Won’t they expect this of me?”
“I didn’t hear them ask you to drop your breeches or leave.” Too late to draw the words back, she pressed her lips together.
Nealy huffed. Henrietta tried again.
“This is their community. It operates as a subset of our larger community here in Turtle Bay. You’re part of the medical community. That doesn’t mean I must become a doctor to converse with you.”
Dr. Nealy shuddered at the very thought.
Just then, Mr. Mizrahi descended the stairs, holding his baby in his arms. Frances followed. At the bottom, he handed the baby to a bent old man with a wispy white beard. Though Henrietta was tall compared to the other women present, she still couldn’t see what was happening once he placed the baby on the pillow. There was reciting and singing, and finally shouts of, “Mazal bueno!”
Mrs. Medina’s eyes glittered with tears. Mrs. Gittel beamed proudly.
Henrietta handed her kerchief to Mrs. Medina. “What name did they give him?”
“Levi Isach. Named for the grandfathers.” She sniffled, smiling.
Immediately after the ceremony, Mrs. Moskowitz directed where to set platters about the parlor. Tables groaned under the weight of breads, cheeses, fish, and fruit. There were many sweet cakes. There was enough wine flowing to rival the East River. The room filled with laughter, the conversations grew louder, the noise swelled between the floor and the low ceiling. Henrietta prepared a plate for herself and retreated outside under a maple tree. Friend Sarah followed.
“Prodigiously loud in there.” Sarah nibbled on a piece of cheese.
Henrietta sighed. “Yes. It is a relief to be outside.”
/> Light filtered through the leaves of the maple tree, scattering bright patterns across Sarah’s plain gray dress. The image invoked a memory for Henrietta, of Willow’s baptism. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows of the chapel, painting watery greens and blues on Willow’s white dress. At the time, it seemed an auspicious omen, colorful kisses from the angels themselves. It was nothing more than a play of light.
“ . . . have you?”
Henrietta started. “Beg your pardon?”
Dr. Nealy, who’d joined them, cleared his throat. “Friend Sarah commented on the crowd. I told her this was nothing. A crowd is when they call for a public hanging in the Battery. You might see twenty-thousand gather.”
Henrietta’s wine turned to vinegar on her tongue. She thought of Marcus’s friend, not knowing his fate. Was he destined to hang? Her flesh pebbled with a chill, wishing there was more she could have done than omit his name. “I prefer joyous occasions.”
Dr. Nealy harrumphed.
Sarah’s gaze darted from his to Henrietta’s. “The prisons are overcrowded. There are many who are sick.” She clasped Henrietta’s arm and held tight, putting all her focus on the doctor. “Should thou offer thy skills, it would please us to help.”
“We wou—Oof!” Sarah removed her sturdy heel from Henrietta’s toes. “Gladly,” she squeaked.
“Well,” Dr. Nealy pursed his lips. “As a rule, I don’t practice in prisons.”
“Thou shouldst. ’Tis charitable work.”
Henrietta wouldn’t describe Nealy as charitable, but an inspiring idea occurred to her. If she volunteered, she might find Marcus’s friend. She could pass a message to him, or she might bring him something he needed. Not that she knew what prisoners needed.
“A divine suggestion.” Henrietta warmed to the idea. “I’ve heard there is a prison ship in New York Harbor.”
A Widow's Guide to Scandal (The Sons of Neptune Book 1) Page 14