He lifted Urs off the floor a little on the turn and she squealed, crinoline and hoops floating around his legs. Couples passed, but they were mere shadows weaving outside the glow radiating from Urs.
Urs.
That was who she was to him now because she needed a nickname and it needed to be from him.
“I’m not sure that’s part of the dance.”
“It is when we do it.” He twirled her again. “We’re making a name for ourselves in Philadelphia.”
“As provincial Delawareans with odd ideas?” She pulled back, her steps in perfect time to the music, plum-colored flounces swishing.
How could anyone else compete with her on the floor? No wonder Carolina had been jealous. Urs dazzled. How had he not seen it before?
He drew her back, her body against his, her dark gold curls brushing the fabric of his shirt. “The most charming and attractive couple on the floor.”
“The first for you, certainly, and the second for us both.” Urs laughed against his chest.
“You’ve got charm.” Jay whispered the words in her ear, reveling in her scent once more.
“How much have you had to drink exactly?” She gave him a withering glare.
Not enough, but the quip died on his lips. In the moment, it wasn’t true, even clothed and on display. With her of all people. Urs was almost like a friend. A real friend, or at least the closest he’d ever had to one. He relished her nearness for the last note, his hands in hers, fitting. Jay held her for another beat and sighed.
“I suppose it is getting late,” he said.
“There will be many other parties and dances. We’ll impress them at each.”
His breath stopped. How many more would there be? No, he wouldn’t think of that. He squeezed her hand. “True. Go find your father, Urs.”
She stiffened and tightened her jaw. What was the matter? What had he done wrong?
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
He grinned. That was the issue? He’d be calling her that for the rest of his life now.
“So, I can be the only one. Hurry, I’ll fetch your wrap and the hats.”
Before she could retort or huff, he made his way through the crowd, still smiling. He neared the waiting servants when someone reached out and caught his sleeve. He whirled around, and it was as if mud splashed in his eyes.
“I heard you’d be here.”
“Caleb.” He hissed the name.
His cousin Matthew’s valet’s lips smiled but his eyes were hard. Why could the presumptive man never stay away?
Jay gulped, his palms already sweating. Just when he banished the nightmares, the past clawed at him once more.
“It’s been a while, Jay. More than two years.”
“I don’t want or need any of it.” Jay wriggled from the man’s grasp. His words, though, were strangled by a catch in his throat.
Caleb’s jacket, his hair—the scent, the intoxicating scent was everywhere.
“Really?” Caleb moved in front of him. “I don’t have just tablets this time.”
Jay’s heart beat faster.
“Liar.”
He veered left, but Caleb moved in front of him, blocking his path. The man reached into his jacket and withdrew a pipe and pouch, large enough to hold a small lamp as well.
The breath left Jay’s body. The pipe. Not mere Dover Powder, but pure opium, real opium. He resisted closing his eyes, but the memory, the sounds growing quiet, the height, the weightlessness, the state he’d entered that first time, so many years before sung to him. To be like that again, to exist but not exist—the laudanum he’d procured on his own couldn’t even hold a candle, no matter how many tablets he took.
No.
He couldn’t, he wouldn’t. How much could there be in that little burlap bag anyway? A few days’ worth? After that, what, back to cheap substitutes? Caleb would be on a ship and his cousins and all their employees were under strict orders not to give or sell him anything.
“This is a rare opportunity, Jay.”
His muscles clenched. Caleb was always so familiar, wasn’t he? Especially with him on the ropes.
“I don’t need it.”
He didn’t. He really didn’t, except he did. He hadn’t really slept in, what, two years? Ever since they put him in that place. The memories of that torture would never leave and the past six months on his own were their own kind of Hell.
“Of course, you don’t.” Caleb inched closer. “You can smell it, can’t you? I see your nose twitching, and your fingers. You’re ready to reach for your purse.”
Jay balled his fists. Oh, to punch the smug little man. He could refuse, he could.
“I don’t.” He made his voice firm. “I’m engaged now, or haven’t you heard?”
Caleb threw back his head and laughed. “If there ever was a reason to buy some that’d be it. You’ll never be able to settle down. You’ll need a double dose to deal with the shrill cries from your wife and her constant hounding.”
“Someone doesn’t like women much.” Jay raised an eyebrow and smirked at the scowl on Caleb’s face. One point for him.
“I like no one, only money, which is why I’m good at my job.” Caleb’s voice was steady though his eyes still blazed.
“Well, you won’t get mine tonight.” Jay pushed to the right.
The scent wafted again. The room spun.
No. Urs. Think of Urs.
He had to be on his game for Urs. He’d promised her. Though if he could sleep he’d perform better.
No.
He would keep on the ground now, but—his stomach clenched. Now was temporary.
The doctors’ warnings rang in his head, but the whispers, the promises, grew louder and louder. He could control himself. He’d just purchase it now and use it later. Nothing would matter then anyway and he’d be how he wanted to be. And he could sleep—a deep, floating sleep without worry, or responsibilities or chances to fail.
Possession of the instruments was necessary and prudent at this juncture. He wouldn’t have a better opportunity and it came from the best source. Truitt—now Hale—was the largest, most reputable supplier in America. This was a reasonable course of action. There was nothing wrong with just purchasing.
He leaned forward. Blast, he hated giving the man the satisfaction, but there was no choice, was there?
“How much?”
Caleb grinned. “I knew you’d make the right decision.”
* * *
Ursula pawed her way through the ballroom beneath the glow of the tiered chandeliers, silk brushing against silk as she passed. Her fanning arm was getting a workout. Even with the windows open it was ungodly.
She swept by the refreshment table. The white linens and silver trays and glorious food called to her. Just one or two raspberry tarts. Tasty, very tasty. She licked her thumb.
“Ursula.”
Not now. She wrinkled her nose, but forced herself to turn.
“Hugo, how are you?” She clenched her jaw as his eyes widened.
A stab hit her stomach. Jay needed to help her with her delivery.
She softened her tone. “I apologize. It’s always lovely to see you. I’m just looking for my father. It’s becoming late and we need to mind my cousins.”
“I had wanted to speak with you. I’ve—” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging on his sand-colored curls. “I’ve been miserable here tonight. My father made me dance with Katherine. You know I’m a terrible dancer. We had to stand with her parents the entire time and converse with people like the Reeds and the Gibbs and the Bookers and all they wanted to do was discuss politics and society and I just wanted to—”
“Find a quiet place to retreat.” Drat. She was a traitor. She should’ve been with him. That was the essence of their childhood pact—together so neither
one was alone. She’d had such fun with Jay and abandoned Hugo. She clenched her fists and resisted touching her lips. They still tingled.
“Yes.” He grasped her hand. “You understand me.”
He was touching her. In public. Had he gone mad?
“Hugo, people could see. You’re almost engaged to Katherine and I’m engaged to Jay.”
“You’re engaged to Jay for another month, at most, and we’re going to change that as soon as you help my father accept the match.”
She pursed her lips. Did she sound like that when she whined?
Guilt manacled her innards. Hugo was her dearest friend. How many times had he come to her side, been with her when no one else outside her family would speak to her? How many times had they laughed and joked together?
“We’ll think of something. We won’t let you be forced into a loveless marriage just to promote your father’s career.”
Hugo released a loud breath. “Do you really think so?”
“Yes, if we want it enough, we can work together and make it possible. Your parents won’t force you to be unhappy. They just can’t.” Why could he not give suggestions of his own? Well, he was Hugo, quiet, sweet, shy Hugo, but sometimes, couldn’t he fight, a little?
She glanced to the side. Lemon tarts, with powdered sugar and fresh strawberries. Maybe just one, or two. She popped the first into her mouth and offered the other to Hugo. He waved a hand in the negative. His loss. Sugar glided down her throat, the tartness heaven.
“We shall succeed.” They really would. She’d protect him from Katherine. “We’ll find another time to talk. Come call. You should use both of us. Jay has quite a few good ideas.”
Hugo squawked. “Jay Truitt? The three-time failure? Honestly, Ursula, I think you might have had too many pastries.”
She stuffed the second tart into her mouth so not to speak. Heat flared through her gut. Hugo could run circles around Jay in quite a few ways, but he didn’t even know him. How would he like it if people made horrible assumptions about him based on rumors without investigation? Like they did with her.
“He’s a great deal cleverer than people give him credit for. In social situations, he’d easily best us both and that sort of finesse is what we need if we are to free you. You should give him some respect. He’s a friend, a dear friend, who’s committed to this cause, your cause.”
She ground her jaw. Yes, the words were harsh, but who was Hugo to expect other people to fight his battles and not appreciate those same people? He’d better shape up before marriage, or worse, children. Her father may not have solved her and her mother’s problems when she was little, but at least he tried and listened and bought her dresses and pets to make her feel better.
And jewels for her mother. Lots of them. And he’d sit with her when she was too sick to leave her room and hold her hand.
Ursula’s vision blurred as the memories of her mother’s final days rushed back. Her father cared about both of them. And never failed to show it. Her chin trembled as she turned back to Hugo.
Bollocks. She wasn’t marrying him, was she? There was just no way. Even if he was the only candidate, didn’t she deserve a bit more? Didn’t he?
Hugo opened and closed his mouth like a fish.
Double blast. How did she tell him? He was so forlorn over Katherine and the truth was so unflattering.
We can’t marry, Hugo, because you want children and the idea of you kissing me again makes me gag so I don’t believe anything else is possible.
Couldn’t say that. That would go against every one of Jay’s teachings.
Hugo squinted at her in the most innocent manner. Telling him was going to be like kicking a puppy.
She pressed Jay’s handkerchief to her lips and inhaled. Mint, and whiskey, and cloves, and cherries and another scent. A faint, but familiar one. No. It couldn’t be. She had to be confused and mixing reality with the memories of her mother.
No, no, no, no, no.
Ursula took another sniff and closed her eyes. Unmistakable and real and present. She fingered her pendant. The only thing that made her mother calm at the end, the only substance that gave her relief. And when she didn’t have it... Opium robbed her mother of any lucidity so she didn’t recognize her own daughter or husband when she died.
Oh Jay, no.
Why did she have such a good sense of smell? She needed to—she didn’t know what she needed. She turned from Hugo and fled.
Chapter Twelve
Chewing on a third—all right, fifth—pastry as her mind raced, Ursula hurried into the hall only to slide on a floral runner and slam into her father and Jay. The former caught her wrists and kept her on her feet.
“One minute,” he murmured in her ear. He tilted his chin. “Mr. Truitt, why don’t you inquire after our carriage again?”
“Certainly.” Jay furrowed his brow at her father’s expression, but pressed through the crowd towards the waiting servants.
What in tarnation? Her father clutched her elbow and led her inside a marble-floored anteroom. She leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over her gown. She’d need a new way to hint at displeasure as her sleeves were wrinkling. “What’s the matter, what’s wrong?”
His frown deepened as he searched her eyes. He clasped his hands behind his back and paced the room. He repeated the action several times, muttering to himself.
Ursula hugged her bodice tighter, as a million terrible thoughts cycled through her brain. Had the banks crashed in Europe? Had someone died? Rose? The sweat on her back chilled.
No, nothing happened to Rose. Rose was in the house. So, what was it?
“Stop it. You’re frightening me. What’s wrong? Please, just tell me.” She bit a nail.
Her father ceased his movement and closed his eyes. “I’m not sure how to say this, Ursula, but I have come into some information about Mr. Truitt.”
Bollocks. What did he know? Please not what she suspected. On the chaise, he’d hinted at it, but it wasn’t until she recognized the telltale scent. She shuddered. If only she wasn’t so clever for once. If only she wasn’t good at puzzles.
“What sort of rumors?” She delivered the question in the most soothing tone she could fabricate.
“I’m not sure how to say this.” He clasped and unclasped his hands, twisting his fingers.
Ursula mimicked her father’s motions with more vigor. J.T. Truitt wasn’t a fool and wasn’t so rich that the loss of a major profit line didn’t hurt. Had her father finally guessed? He had the same memories as she did of her mother’s last days. And he’d been the one to make sure she had the purest, safest version of the medication. All the strain and fear and hopelessness. He’d cursed the stuff time and time again.
She clutched the handkerchief harder. If her father found out about Jay... He couldn’t be privy to that kind of secret and she couldn’t dwell on what it meant.
“I’m not a delicate flower, Father, you know that. You’ve never treated me as if I was fragile or couldn’t understand the truth.” She forced a faint smile. “Now is certainly not the time to start. I’m too old. Besides, I’m not naïve. I know there are many less than desirable facts regarding Mr. Truitt’s past conduct. Fortunately, this engagement will end in a few weeks so that won’t be our concern.”
Her father clenched his fists. He leaned forward, locking in on her eyes. Her breath stopped. She could shrink, melt away to nothing. But why? She’d done nothing wrong, nothing to hide from her father.
She ran her tongue over the back of her teeth. He was suspicious, but of what? She’d never withheld anything from her father and certainly had never lied to him. “What is it?”
He folded his arms and returned to pacing. Back and forth, back and forth, across the room. He halted and scowled.
“He hasn’t touched you in any way, has he?”
Bolloc
ks. She had to clutch her hands not to touch her lips. The memory made her dizzy. Well, there was a first time for everything. She forced eye contact to answer.
“No. He’s only touched me in courteous ways, as a fiancé would, and while we’re dancing, of course.”
Her throat burned. She stroked it.
Could he see? She’d lied, lied to her father. Her lungs strained against her ribs. It wasn’t a complete lie. He’d only kissed after she asked, really demanded, so why should he get in trouble? Also, why should there be trouble? It was a kiss—a single kiss, and they were engaged...
“Good.” Her father’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Now, we, of all people, should understand that rumors are rumors and take everything cum grano salis—”
Ursula giggled at the stilted rendition of the Latin, taught by less skilled tutors than hers.
He smiled only with his lips. “Perhaps your children will be taught the language as well as Greek and French in the finest schools. None will be closed to them.”
Ursula blinked. Yes, in the future her children would have all the privileges they’d both been denied. How though? Not with the Middleton name. She resisted a grimace. Her father gave her a wry smile.
“That’s the benefit of marrying one of them.” He voiced her thoughts though the judgment in his words cut. Regret rang in his tone as well.
What choice did she have in the matter, really? Did he not understand that? Being raised alongside but never among both Jews and gentiles left her undefined. Hugo’s name would’ve given her a place. She’d give anything for a place—well, almost anything.
“Regardless.” Her father released a breath. “There are rumors that young Mr. Truitt fathered illegitimate children, by multiple women, and that J.T. pays to hide them. People believe their finances aren’t what they seem and Jay was the reason they sold the medicinal line.”
No, no, no, no.
Those were impossible rumors. Especially as she’d bet her own inheritance on the fact the last part was true, but for a very different reason.
Ursula twisted her knuckles, running through every comment Jay’d ever made about his liaisons. Everything involved precautions and mutuality and discretion—the opposite of the gossip. She squeezed harder. Yes, she wasn’t skilled at reading people, but it’d be illogical for Jay to offer lies appropriate of and in response to nothing. Wouldn’t it?
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