Was he ever going to be permitted to speak or just be gestured to like an object?
“We all have a lot more to lose than the Truitts. As you well know, they have privileges we don’t, new world or not.” Bernard folded his arms. The lines on his brow deepened and his eyes grew darker, almost as dark as Judah’s. Resentment flared through his features.
What had happened between the two men? Why, if there was so much enmity, were they even in the Levy household? Unease and fear stabbed at his senses.
“Yes, you like to remind me that ad nauseum though I’ve lived it quite a bit more than you.” Judah closed his eyes for a moment.
Jay swallowed. Was this what ghosts felt like? He cleared his throat. Bernard and Judah each turned, Bernard with an outright sneer while Judah’s face was unreadable, surprise, disappointment, sadness, no one emotion could describe his expression.
“Mr. Truitt,” Judah said. “Why don’t you go see the staff in the kitchen about Artemis and then join us?”
Chapter Nineteen
Hot tears streaked down Ursula’s cheeks in the carriage. Rose made grunts of concern, but she ignored them. She had to think. Her first plan failed, but there had to be other options.
Think, Ursula, think.
She fanned herself over and over. Heat, enough insects to be considered an eleventh plague, frustration; it was a wonder she didn’t burst into flames.
“You’re going to break that.” Rose had an elbow leaning out the open window. The maid used her hand to bat away a fly. Probably hit the thing too.
Ursula scowled. “It shall be fine.”
“Naturally.”
So much judgment, yet she was the only one whoever did anything. Everyone else, even her father, only spoke about things. At least she took action. She just needed a new plan.
If the Pierponts wouldn’t back down, she’d have to convince everyone they were liars. Well, not everyone. She needed to convince one person.
“Stop the carriage,” she cried.
Rose jumped in the air at the sound and struck her head on the window.
“We’re going to be in trouble with your father, aren’t we?” The maid rubbed her head as they came to a halt.
“I’m never in trouble.” The retort was automatic, but a twinge of doubt tickled her stomach. Good lord, how did she think she could do this, especially after the last failure? Still, she was all Jay had—Don Quixote in a corset.
The hurt, the injustice, the unfairness burned behind her eyes.
What her father didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, right? She wasn’t actually doing anything bad. Not really. Besides, this was a dire situation. What they were doing to Jay was wrong. Just wrong.
Bollocks.
She did whine, even in her head.
The coachman came around the side for instructions and she worked to keep her voice level. She would come out on top. There was no other choice now.
* * *
“Miss Nunes.” The Hales’ butler’s voice followed her up the staircase after she shoved him aside. She ripped off her own bonnet as she took the twisted stairs of the narrow townhouse two at a time.
Rose called to her as well, but she paid them no heed. The new, alternative plan was in full swing. Nothing would get in her way. If she slowed, she’d lose her nerve.
The door creaked and all four men at the poker table turned. Eyes widened at the sight of her. Each rose, as was proper. No matter their other sins, the entire group at least had rudimentary manners.
Ursula’s heart thudded in her ears as she approached.
Why was J.T. Truitt so tall? Not as tall as Jay, but he towered over her. The Truitt men were giants.
At least she was eye-to-eye with Silas Middleton—Hugo’s father, while Morris Reed, the man who sired Pricilla, only came to her shoulder. The fourth man, what was his name? He was some sort of lawyer—a friend of Middleton’s. He was a squirrely one. Jones or James—something like that. Lydia would probably know. And have opinions.
Ursula resisted a snicker.
She had to perform, had to be brave—had to be, well, whatever she was supposed to be for Jay. She cleared her throat. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”
“Miss Nunes.” J.T.’s eyes were wide. “Why are you here? Where’s Jay? Aren’t you staying with your father’s family?”
“Jay and my father are attending to other business. I’m making calls alone today, with my maid as a chaperone.”
Show no fear, only dignity. In the end, that’s the one thing no one can take from you.
Right. What her mother said.
“I’m here to speak with you, for myself, and of my own accord. Neither Jay nor my father directed me nor knows I’m here.”
“Speak with us?” Reed raised his gray-tufted eyebrows. “Speak with us about what?”
Ursula clasped her hands together, so they wouldn’t shake. “Things have been said about my fiancé. Rumors, vicious false rumors—lies actually. He has been slandered.”
“Slander?” The lawyer with the “J” surname sneered at her. “That’s a very serious charge, Miss Nunes. Pray tell, what precisely do you mean?”
She clenched her fists, but locked on J.T. She’d get through to him, somehow. Regardless of what Jay claimed, he cared about his father’s opinions, even more than she cared about her father’s. Much more.
“There have been rumors regarding your son and one of the Pierpont servants.” She swallowed. “The family has accused Jay of fathering an illegitimate child. You’ve never met the mother or child, but I have it on authority her employer is demanding payment to keep the story quiet.” She forced herself not to look at Reed.
“There are rumors that young Jay sired quite a few children.” Middleton laughed. “You should’ve taught him to stick to whores who don’t ask names, J.T. That’s always been the rule in my family.”
Ursula’s stomach roiled as the man who might have been her father-in-law slapped Jay’s father on the back. J.T. grimaced, but his eyes never left hers.
She rose on her toes to peek at Middleton’s hand: a pair of tens, a jack, a five, and a two.
“Face the facts, Miss Nunes, you’re engaged to a cad who has warmed every bed on the eastern seaboard. You’ve made a rather bad bargain. J.T. here is constantly paying for his mistakes. I’m sure he’s relieved to have the Nunes contributions. Once you produce a legitimate heir, he’ll maintain your status and whatever dignity someone like you has, despite his son’s behavior,” Reed said.
What did he mean? She bit her tongue to stifle a gasp. How dare he? Her eyes stung. Was Jay the only man in his circle who believed women were more than china dolls to protect or bodies to use?
Also, poor Pricilla. Her own father might not always understand what she needed, but at least he recognized her as human. He certainly saw her as more than a mare to sell for breeding. Her womb constricted in sympathy for her enemy’s potential fate.
J.T. Truitt clenched his cards enough to show his three kings. “Miss Nunes, you need to leave. Please don’t pretend to be the authority on subjects you know nothing about. I’ve lived with and corrected my son’s mistakes for years. How long exactly have you known him?”
Her throat burned. A horrible truth washed over her. J.T. Truitt knew about Sophie’s pregnancy. It was written on his face. He’d paid someone, probably one of Sophie’s brothers, to keep that secret. Without telling his son. Without trusting him to take responsibility.
Any pity for the man who bore Jay vanished. In that moment she hated J.T. Truitt.
“Long enough to see, actually see him, something you haven’t done in years.” Her voice and body vibrated with rage.
She gathered the edges of her dress and squeezed the fabric, but the tremors didn’t cease. “My fiancé has only engaged with the utmost care and has taken precautions not to create illegiti
mate children.” She gulped down air, filling her lungs. She had to finish, put on a show for all the men, no matter how painful and terrifying. Jay needed that from her.
“Jay Truitt is an honest man. You may not agree with his actions, but he would never leave someone in a bad situation—never abandon someone. Especially not a child.”
“You’re saying my family is lying?” Reed’s voice echoed his daughter’s—two snakes, copperheads. His hand flashed opened—nothing—queen high.
She ran her tongue against the back of her teeth. Her silence had the desired effect.
Reed’s face turned the color of her new evening gown. “Eggplant” was what the dressmaker called it. The lawyer slid back from his companion, but J.T. Truitt glowered at her.
She glared right back. “I’m not sure what the goals of the rumors are, except the ones I stated. I, nevertheless, wouldn’t do any business deals with the Pierponts nor provide them any additional funds. Jay is a good man. A man, mind you, not a boy. One who can handle his own life and make his own decisions. He’s clever, very clever, cleverer than any professor has ever given him credit for, which is quite a shame.”
She would not flush, she would not. If Jay could withstand the judgment, so could she. “And, as I said, he’s taken precautions against disease and pregnancy for the past seven years.”
J.T.’s face paled after the phrase “seven years.”
Reed threw back his head and laughed. He stepped towards Ursula, his eyes inches from her pendant. “And your word is better than family’s? We’ve been in this country a great deal longer than you and have always been good, honest, Christian stock.”
He clenched his fists, spittle forming at the corners of his lips. “You’re a silly woman and a Jew, not exactly a people known for their honesty. If you had more sense one would think you’re taking advantage of Jay for his social connections. Sadly, after your last statement, I’m not even sure you’re clever enough for that, despite your background. I suppose that should be of comfort to you, J.T.”
She could vomit. Or throw a chair. Or both.
Bollocks. Double bollocks, blast, blast, blast, blast, blast.
Tears pricked the back of her eyes. She never received the benefit of the doubt.
Like Jay. Jay’s name and money insulated him from the snubbing, but not the gossip and rumors and worse, not his own father’s distrust and disapproval.
Her heart sat in her throat, swelling the lump more. What would it take to change J.T.’s mind? Because in the end, only what he believed mattered.
Priscilla’s demand popped into her head.
Proof.
What proof did she have?
Bloody Hell.
There was proof, wasn’t there? Clear as the nose on her face. She was nothing to any of them anyway. She’d never fit, never be right. She wasn’t marrying Hugo, so her place in society was immaterial. It was time to save Jay. She bit her tongue so hard she drew blood.
“It doesn’t matter what you gentlemen think of me or my father. What matters right now is Jay and I can prove that Jay has no living children. I could prove it in a court of law, if necessary.”
“Proof?” Reed snickered. “What could you possibly provide to contradict our information?”
She swallowed. The die was cast. “Before you slander my fiancé any further, see if any alleged mother can answer this question: does Jay Truitt have any distinctive markings above his knees, but below his trousers? If no one can answer, I would apologize immediately and work very hard to dispel that rumor.” Her voice shook, but she managed each and every word.
Tears blurred her vision as she turned towards J.T. Truitt. A cloudy image of his mouth wide open sat just beneath the veil of wetness. It was done. They would all think what they would about her, but the man should have to live with how he misjudged Jay.
“I recognize that it’s quite impertinent for me to say this, but I shouldn’t have needed to prove who Jay is to you. You should know your son better. If you did, you’d have known he has been mourning the death of his wife and child-that-might-have-been these past seven years. You should’ve spoken to him instead of paying off Sophie’s relatives.”
Before anyone could say another word or, worse, they could witness the tears already snaking their way down her neck, she turned on her heels and fled with the last of her dignity.
Full streams of liquid dripped down the top of her bodice. She had to leave—had to grab Rose and hide in the carriage. She gripped the bannister so not to fall.
She could make it. She’d return to the house and Rose would draw her a bath and she could pretend the afternoon never occurred, excellent memory and hearing be damned. She’d sit in the warm water and everything would melt away.
Her feet touched the edge of the runner from the entry. Just a few more steps.
“Miss Nunes.” A female voice rang in the corridor.
If there was a God, he really didn’t care for her much, did he?
She brushed her eyes with both palms before turning.
“Mrs. Truitt.” She stammered the two words before falling silent.
What else could she say? What else was there to say? She’d made things worse, humiliated them all.
“Why don’t you come and sit and have something to eat before you leave?”
Ursula blinked. Jay’s mother’s tone was neutral, as if she wasn’t speaking to a sniveling mess on the verge of ruining her family’s floors.
“I’d hate for you to leave without at least offering you something.” Mrs. Truitt’s eyes glittered with moisture, but her voice was kind and held a hint of mirth almost exactly like Jay.
Her stomach rumbled. It was impolite to rush out, and this was Jay’s mother. And, if she could pull herself together before she returned there’d be no questions. She swayed back and forth, hopping from foot to foot.
“It wouldn’t be any trouble.” The note was there again, the Jay-like note that was such a siren’s call no matter the words.
Ursula wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Just a few minutes wouldn’t hurt.
Chapter Twenty
Ursula followed Mrs. Truitt through the house and out into the bright courtyard. She blinked in the blinding sunlight and dabbed her eyes with Jay’s handkerchief. So soft. She was never returning it. No matter what. Even if it exposed the secret he hadn’t shared.
Blue and white urns of potted flowers, yellow and orange and pink surrounded a clothed table set with similar porcelain—the advantage of the far-east trade.
Jay’s mother indicated to a pristine cushioned chair. Ursula sank down while the other woman slid into a seat across. She rang a small bell and a housekeeper appeared. After a little discussion of tastes and choices, tea and a plate of pastries were set before them.
Chocolate. So much chocolate and jam, apple, raspberry, and lemon curd. Ursula reached for a sweetbread and put it to her lips.
Paradise.
The lump in her throat began to dissipate. Her stomach still clenched and ached, but she was able to breathe once more. The sun tanned her face, but it didn’t matter.
Sugar was perfect. Well, almost. Her lips curled upwards as images of her and Jay the other day flashed in her head. How would that work with sugar? Perhaps sprinkled down Jay’s body for her to find, after he took a turn at the same game...
“I heard you were fond of sweets.” Mrs. Truitt’s voice broke her from her sugarcoated flights of fancy.
At least there was no censure in the voice, only amusement. Thank goodness the woman didn’t have her son’s mind-reading abilities. Or did she? No, she was talking about the sweets and her appetite—for food.
She fiddled with the napkin on her lap before clearing her throat. “Is it that common knowledge?”
“It’s the talk of Delaware.” Mrs. Truitt laughed, a full throaty laugh, like Jay, almo
st exactly like Jay.
Ursula’s stomach fluttered. She had a dimple, too, and fine, soft, brown hair, streaked with gray. Would that be what Jay’s hair would look like in twenty years? He’d be even more handsome that way. The little crinkles around his mother’s eyes would suit him. It’d be infuriating, but he’d age so well.
“They could say worse things about me.” She had intended the words as a quip but today they made her sniff more. Humiliating. A tear trickled down her cheek. She waved it away, pretending to push back her curls. She fingered her spoon. “I’m sure they do.”
She peeked at Mrs. Truitt through her lashes. The woman dabbed her own mouth with her napkin before taking a delicate bite of a berry. She chewed for a moment, her eyes never leaving Ursula.
“Jealousy, mostly. It is a bit unfair that the girl who eats the most has the smallest waist.” Her eyes, the same color as Jay’s, glided over Ursula’s body. “Though I suppose the weight did eventually find somewhere to go.”
What did she—? Ursula glanced down.
Et tu, Mrs. Truitt?
The apple really didn’t fall far from the tree. The knot in her stomach loosened a bit more though. “You sound like your son.”
Mrs. Truitt laughed again and took a sip of iced tea. Ursula did the same. The cold glass was already tepid after a few moments outside.
She offered the woman a small smile, but a shadow passed over Jay’s mother’s face.
“You would know that better than I, these days, I’m afraid.”
Ursula knotted the handkerchief in her hand. How does one even respond to that? Poor Jay—to be so estranged from one’s parents. She sniffed again. Please don’t let her cry. Why did her body always betray her?
Mrs. Truitt’s expression grew even more pinched and pained. She laid her hands on the table. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to distress you. You were brave, what you did, saying those things, out loud, to all those men. Few have that sort of courage.”
Brave? She was an imbecile. She should’ve never fancied she could make a difference, not that way. It would’ve been better if she’d convinced her father to donate the funds.
Appetites & Vices Page 16