“I’m going to murder your children—do you know that? I should’ve never given them gifts.” She scowled, but her lips twitched at the image of the conversation that must have been had.
Her uncle winked at her—winked at her like—well, like Jay. Bollocks. She was going to cry again.
“My children only confirmed what the Hales told me. Silence is not a family trait. You should’ve been more specific with your bribes, a lesson for next time.”
She blinked up at him through her tears. The unending pain remained but the numbness dissipated, almost as if she were alive again.
“Enough.” Her father had his hands over his ears.
Family. Regardless of what was said in the papers or what happened to her, he and her uncle and her cousins would always be her family, right or wrong, and she would take care of them. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
Her father mopped his brow with the cuff of his sleeve. She should purchase something less tempting for him, so he’d use the dratted handkerchief in his pocket.
“I’m warning you, Ursula. You aren’t too old to be locked in your room and forbidden from attending that party.”
She sucked in her lips to prevent the full smile. Locked her in her room indeed. That’d been impossible since she was eight and discovered lattices. Besides, she was a married woman—if her marriage could sustain Rabbinic scrutiny, which she doubted.
To be fair, her uncle’s plot was actually genius. Even if the marriage wasn’t legal, in the Jewish or gentile world, going through the motions of asking a rabbinic court for the necessary paperwork—a Get—to undo the marriage contract, as if the parties believed it valid, would give the family plausible deniability regarding her reputation. Not that she’d actually need the process to remarry, if the marriage was valid, as Jay wasn’t a Jew, but gentile society wouldn’t know that.
Ursula shook her head. Just brilliant, especially as Uncle Bernard had no desire for her to marry Jay in the first place. He’d have his cake and eat it too. He should’ve been a lawyer.
Her father kicked the balance book corpses, so they ricocheted off her uncle’s footrest.
“Bloody Hell, Judah.”
“She’s destroyed her reputation,” her father roared.
He had to be daft. If there was one reputation that couldn’t be destroyed...not after what she did and who her mother was. There was truly nowhere to go but upward in people’s esteem.
Ursula pressed her hand over her mouth, so her father wouldn’t see the telltale signs of the giggle forming in her throat. It wasn’t amusing, but crying was so tiring.
When she regained control, she lifted her chin with as much dignity as she could muster.
“News of my reputation’s demise has been greatly exaggerated thanks to Uncle Bernard. We should all buck up. These past few weeks weren’t a total loss. At least there was some sort of benefit to me because Mr. Truitt is quite skilled—”
Her father slapped a hand over his forehead.
“Ursula, I don’t want to know what sort of ‘skills’ Mr. Truitt may have. You should all now be glad he’s presumably left town as if not, you’d already be running everything as I’d be hanged for what I want to do to that little—”
Ursula frowned. What did her father think she was discussing?
“I was praising his dancing prowess. Besides, you referring to Jay Truitt so ‘little’ certainly isn’t an apt adjective.”
The expression on both of their faces was so horrified it took her a second to hear her own words in her head. He was certainly tall—oh—well, so not “little,” in multiple ways.
And her face burned again.
Oh dash it all.
Ridiculous. She couldn’t have her heart broken without stumbling into some sort of inappropriate joke.
It shouldn’t be funny, but—the laughter exploded from her chest. She dipped her head, her body shaking as her father and uncle spoke around her.
“Bernard, what am I going to do with her, with this?”
“Come, Judah. She’ll survive.” Her uncle shrugged.
She raised her chin, so she could meet each of their eyes.
“I will.”
She really would—divorce, annulment or anything in between. Life wasn’t always what one wanted. But even without Jay, she wasn’t going anywhere. She might not be swimming yet, but she was certainly treading water.
If only Jay could see all he’d given her. He deserved so much credit. She swallowed. If only. For now though, she’d endure.
Chapter Thirty-One
Jay stared at the canopy of his childhood bed, before glancing at his feet. He should’ve removed his boots before he soiled the white eyelet linens. The staff didn’t deserve the additional work, but he couldn’t muster the energy to complete the task. He turned the pipe over in his hand, stroking the clay. Neither it nor the small lamp Caleb had sold him were as fine as his old ivory-handled ones, but they would do.
The door creaked open.
“So, this is what you’re going to do until your ship leaves?” Snideness dripped from his father’s voice. “How much have you had, exactly?”
Jay turned his head to the side. Just his luck, the man now sat on a chair in the corner, glaring at him.
“None, as of now. You forbid me to do it in this house so I’m counting down the hours until I’m gone. Unless you want to throw me in an asylum again, though I’m not sure you have the time nor the ability right now.”
He closed his eyes. Maybe if he went to sleep, he could obtain the same effects. He’d purchased a ticket to Paris—just a few more days—he’d be gone and free.
“So, you can die on that ship and break your mother’s heart?”
“And your father’s as well,” a female voice added.
Jay’s eyes flew open. What was his mother doing here? Last time, when he’d been taken away, she’d been purposefully out of the house.
His mother leaned against the door, turned the key and placed it up one of her large bell sleeves.
“What are you doing, Matilda?” His father spoke through his teeth.
“What I should’ve done a long time ago. We’re all going to sit here and say our piece, together.” She arched a brow. “Well, you shall sit, Jay shall lie, and I shall stand, but the concept shall be the same.”
“What’s there to say? I’m a failure. I’ll admit it. I’ve admitted it before. What do you want from me? I’m not and shall never be my cousins. I’m terrible with numbers. I did poorly in school. We all know about my character, and I’m weak. I crave opium in any form, no matter what it does to me.” Jay swallowed.
He was worse than that even, worse than they understood or even knew.
“I made so many mistakes. Even when I tried to do the right thing, I failed, hurt someone who should’ve been protected.” He closed his eyes. There was more. What he’d done to Urs—that was unforgivable. He’d never recover from that. “And I did something awful. I ruined the one person who thought more of me than I did, and I abused her trust and I—”
Jay couldn’t say the rest of the words. He couldn’t speak of how he behaved towards Urs, and what had occurred in the bedroom that last time, before he abandoned her.
“Miss Nunes, yes.” His father folded his arms.
Was that a note of disdain in the man’s voice? Bloody Hell. Jay pushed up on his elbows so he was sitting, scooted towards his father and matched his posture.
“Don’t you ever say one negative word about her,” he snapped.
“I wasn’t—”
Jay clutched at his frock coat so not to use his hands on his father as the unfairness of anyone criticizing Urs spiked through his blood. “First, she’s not her mother and no one has any idea what that poor soul endured. Second, I happen to like that she’s a Jew, not some boring, fussy-button, prudish Delaware deb
utante.”
The words tumbled out faster than the waterfall over the dam in Brandywine Creek. “I enjoy that she’s willing to try new things and doesn’t treat me like I’m worthless, but also doesn’t treat me as if I’m made of glass. She expected things from me. She relied on me and when I did something that pleased her I felt—but when I didn’t she never pretended, never—”
A pause echoed through the room, bouncing off the wooden door that locked from the outside. The scratch marks he’d made over two years ago were covered with thick paint.
“She sounds like a remarkable woman, but we all saw that when she visited,” his father said.
He pressed on his elbows and stared at his father.
“Well.” His father ran a hand through his hair and stared at his lap. “I have—”
“Your father means that he has an apology to give you. He’s been paying off any Tom, Dick, or Harry who comes to this house claiming you fathered an illegitimate child with an unnamed servant without requiring proof.” His mother sniffed, but her voice caught. “She told us about Sophie. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I should’ve. We both should’ve.”
Jay’s face burned. His father had believed he was capable of abandoning innocent children and of taking advantage of people with no status? Good lord. His own father?
Urs’ voice echoed in his ears.
I trust you, Jay. You’d never do anything to hurt me or force me to do anything I absolutely didn’t want to do.
His eyes misted. Love. She loved him, like he loved her or even more and he’d left her.
“Yes.” His father cleared his throat. “I’m so sorry, Jay. When Sophie’s son wrote me, I should’ve spoken to you. I paid him instead and tried to send you away—treated you like a child. I should’ve known you were better than that. Worse, I believed lies instead of seeing you for who you were. I mistook grief and pain for weakness. I was wrong and I’m sorry.”
Jay’s head spun. So much information. Was his father actually apologizing? What did this have to do with Urs?
His father wasn’t finished. “When she came, and put her own reputation in jeopardy, especially given her background, and the way she advocated on your behalf—in front of those vicious men and after, it appears, going to see Agnes and Priscilla Reed—”
Blast.
She’d gone there? Unprotected and permitted all of them to think that the two had done—well, what they actually did?
“When?” He choked the word.
“Several weeks ago. Right after the party where we saw you two.”
That long ago? They hadn’t been—oh—the poker game and what came next. She’d seen the dragon. He was such a fool. She’d still been a virgin then and yet she’d permitted everyone to think...to save him. She trusted him, more than he could ever imagine.
His mother coughed. “She’s a lovely girl. A brave one too, especially for someone as innocent about quite a few things. A nice girl from a nice family who already had social difficulties—she had the least motive to make herself a sacrificial lamb on your behalf. And yet she did.”
“And then I—I left.” It was hot, so very hot. He fanned his sweating neck. “But I did it for her. She believes in me. I’ll dash all her hope, take away her light. I’ll fail her worse than I failed Sophie. I had to leave, for her own protection. It was the only unselfish thing to do.”
His parents glanced at each other.
“So she’s as clever as you say, and she has faith in you, but you still think you know better? Abandoning her won’t bring Sophie back. Besides, Sophie bedded and married you of her own free will. You shouldn’t need to pay more penance for a choice that was mutual. Miss Nunes certainly shouldn’t have to pay for it.” His father raised an eyebrow.
Jay could only gape. It was all too much.
“I believe you know what you need to do, in your heart.” His mother moved towards the bed. “I shall say though, if you’re going to rectify things and not run away to Paris, you might want to make a decision soon. Your ship leaves in mere days.”
“Before the party.” His father straightened his cravat. “I hear everyone in Wilmington’s coming.”
Urs would be there. If he didn’t leave, she’d be in his house. But how? How could he ever even speak to her?
She deserved better no matter how he longed to lock her in a room and get down on his knees and beg her to never leave him. He sighed. It didn’t matter. He’d already lost. He’d deserted. He’d never be permitted to return.
“But how can I even approach her after everything? And I’ll still fail her. Her uncle was right. I crave and yearn, daily.”
Tears shone in his father’s eyes. He’d never seen his father cry. He’d caused that. He did that to his father. Mercy, what had he done to Urs?
“I know. It tears me apart.” His father’s voice cracked.
“But a mistake is not a failure.” His mother raised her tone above the men. “And a valiant fight against illness isn’t weakness.”
Urs. Urs said that, didn’t she? A mistake. A mistake sounded so trifling after all he’d done, all he was. He’d never be what she deserved. He’d always be on the edge of mistakes or worse. Before, he might have been almost enough, even if no one truly was worthy of Urs, she was a goddess after all. But he lost all hope of redemption seven years ago. He’d never be a whole person.
“Even if I caused the illness?”
“You made a mistake. How much should one suffer for a single mistake?” His father’s voice was strangled. “Everyone makes mistakes, some are just costlier. Many men in your position would be dead. It’s a credit to you that you recognized your mistakes and are still here. And more, you’re striving to make it right, and for something good.”
“When she speaks of you—the you that you are now—her entire face livens. She notices everything. You’re her favorite subject, except for perhaps animals and sweets.” His mother stroked his father’s shoulder.
He had to smile at that. Urs. All Urs.
“And your face matches.” His mother bent down and took his chin in her hands. “You fit. When you speak of each other, when you’re together, you’re both happy, as you are. That’s a gift, a precious gift, not something to doubt or question. Very few people are able to find that sort of light.”
She moved her hands down and spread his shirt. His eyes widened. She turned to his father. “It’s a dragon and it goes quite low, it seems.”
Jay snatched back his shirt, his cheeks scalding. “Mother.”
She shrugged. “Your father wagered a scar from a knife fight, but I know my son is more of a lover than a warrior. He now owes me a night at the opera and a new settee for the front parlor. I enjoy green silk.”
“Mother.” He slapped his hand over his forehead. He had to be dreaming.
His mother giggled before slipping her hand inside his father’s. The two strolled to the door.
“The choice is yours, son. You still have time. We’d understand if you went to Paris, though if you don’t, I’ve noted that women enjoy gifts. Jewelry is often nice.”
Jay rubbed his eyes.
“Amethyst would look lovely with blonde hair and blue eyes—large amethyst, to balance out certain parts of a certain figure,” his mother added.
Before he could say anything the two left the room. He patted around the bed. No, he’d taken nothing. The lamp and the pipe and the powder and the tablets, everything he bought from Caleb, were present, staring at him.
He squeezed the burlap, the coarse hairs scratching his sticky skin, already soothing him. The scent. Two feet away he could still smell, still want, still need. No. If he took any more he’d have his decision made.
Match. He needed a match. He rushed to his desk, pulling out drawers until he succeeded. With shaking hands, he created a fire, his doom and his salvation. He held the flame and s
trode to the fireplace.
The lone log flashed into light. He’d pay for this later, require a ton of ice. Before he could change his mind, in flew the entire bag. He turned away, so he didn’t need to see as he placed the pipe and the lamp on the ground.
He raised his boot and stamped. He stamped over and over, releasing all the memories, all the years, all the comments and judgments and whispers and sneers and pats on the back turning into mocking when he left rooms.
Again, and again he raised his boot. Splinters littered the floor. His chest heaved and he closed his eyes.
Cherries filled his senses and all he could see was Urs. Urs, on his arm, across the table, in his bed, every place and everywhere and with him. They didn’t make sense, but they belonged to each other, for better or worse.
He opened his eyes. The fire blazed. He called for a valet to take care of it and the mess. He had a purpose and errands and precious little time to accomplish all he needed before his parents’ party.
* * *
Ursula tugged on her cameo as Hugo handed her wrap to the Truitts’ butler. Gold gossamer. She should be enjoying it more. Same with the matching golden gown. Like a queen. Rachel made the declaration when they’d chosen the fabric and at the fitting when they examined the expansive flounces and embellishments.
She’d lined her lashes too, risqué, but if one had a certain reputation one could at least take some sort of enjoyment from it, and if there’d be no physical enjoyment, cosmetics would have to do. Besides, the dress demanded attention and so the rest of her had to be up to snuff.
“Are you going to be all right?” Hugo rubbed Ursula’s arm.
“Yes.” She grasped his bare hand in her gloved one. “Yes, I believe I am. I believe we both shall be all right.”
Her heart thumped in her chest. Was she really going ahead with this plan? Her own plan?
She peeked at Hugo. She had no other plan left. If only Jay was still her partner. Once again, she had to fight with the army she had not with the army she wanted. Isn’t that what George Washington did and look where it got him?
Appetites & Vices Page 25