Rose brought in Mr. Meijer's evening tea with a mixture of smugness and dread. It was an improvement from usual, when there was only dread. Mr. Meijer seemed to despise her for reasons she still could not quite understand, and it was worse when he was moody. And he was always moody. He wasn't quite the witch herself, but he could certainly make her quake. 

But today was different. Last night she had become an engaged woman, and though she still felt the familiar fear, having to go near her employer, she knew her position was different now.

Rose quietly put the tray on the table beside Mr. Meijer,  but then cleared her throat, pulled a letter out of her pocket and placed it on the tray beside the cup. "I'd like to hand in me notice, ser." That came out like a terrified plea rather than a smug statement. Damn it.

Zechariah had his heels up on his desk, reading a newspaper. He did not glance up at her. Instead, he shifted one hand to brace the newspaper by the bottom center of the paper so he could sweep a sip of tea without interrupting his oh-so important editorial section.

She was still there, perceptible from the corner of his eye. Lingering. He looked up disdainfully, blinked, then set his tea cup down – only then noticing said notice.

He opened it, taking his time reading. Looking for any misspellings.

“And what prompted this, Miss Ward?”

Apparently he did know her name.

"I'm getting married, ser," she replied, her voice a little more stable, but still not quite able to keep a tremor out of the middle. She had felt so pleased with herself, but now she dreaded his mockery, his snide comments, or his shouting. It shouldn't matter. He had no power over her now. Yet her folded hands were sweaty.

One quizzical brow etched with skepticism quirked at that, still reading the letter.

“To whom?”

Would that flower shop fall for the same trick twice? Oh, he hoped so.

She wanted to tell him that it was none of his business. She certainly didn't believe that he was asking out of polite interest. But she was too scared to do anything but answer his question. "Mr. Willaby, ser. 'e's t' baker that's been 'elpin' t' local school, ser." She had almost mentioned the other Mr. Meijer. She still wondered whether they were related. But she did not dare to ask, and then again, it was almost impossible. Mr. Meijer the school teacher was far too good and kind to be related to this petulant man-child.

[[CW: Oozing misogyny.]]

Willaby … Willaby … he hardly paid attention to bakers. Some man with enough sobriety to keep shop, from the sounds of it.

He had his sympathy.

There was a slight raise of his head at the mention of the school, but then outward disinterest reigned once more.

Zechariah looked to Rose – or, more specifically, her stomach.

“I wondered.”

This was probably the last he was seeing of her. A relief, he supposed. An unwelcome one at that. Unless her husband-to-be mysteriously dropped dead, she was a kept woman. But when did facts keep him from a cutting remark?

“I shall keep your post open a couple of weeks,” he said blithely, as though her boomeranging back after a failed marriage was to be like rain in London. As though he were doing her a grand favor instead of rubbing her brother's sins in.

Rose turned bright red, not with shame, but with rage. That absolute git! That good for nothing, arrogant, slimy... ugh! She dropped her arms, balled her fists, but she would not engage. He was just sad because nobody loved him! She was dying to tell him that, but...

There was still the fear that his 'offer' might be necessary. That Andrew might find out uncomfortable secrets from her past. That he would realize he didn't love her after all. That some harlot came along and snatched him up.

She lifted her chin slightly. "If that will be all, ser...?" Her eyes were burning, but she was not going to cry in front of him!

Oh, he was watching her now.

“What? You are living with him?” In sin? “Already?” he asked, smugly.

"Wha-," Don't cry. Don't cry. "No ser! We're gettin' married in three weeks! I gave ye a two weeks notice! I wouldn't live with a man I'm not married to, ser!"

This was absolutely none of his business.

“And so you will only live with him one week out of wedlock?” he asked, openly amused.

That was what made it gratifying.