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And he had. He had lived in the fog for almost three years straight until his parents caught wise. Coming back to reality had been brutal. The weeks shivering and vomiting, locked in his bedroom, nearly killed him. And after? He’d sworn never to go back to that place and yet here he was, inches away from a repeat performance. Why was he so weak?
Why can’t you buckle down and work, Jay? Why can’t you be like your cousins? Do you know how much I’ve had to spend paying for your mistakes?
His father’s words never left him alone without heavy assistance. The man loathed him despite having no idea Sophie ever existed. Compared to his actual deeds, his father’s litany of misadventures was quaint.
Jay rolled out of the bed and pulled on his trousers. He didn’t bother with a shirt and instead donned a robe. He padded downstairs. Jews drank, didn’t they?
He peeked around the corner and started. Blonde curls dripped down the back of the library’s velvet covered fainting couch.
Jay walked around the side and sank into an armchair. He closed his eyes. At least her robe was thick and ruffled so her body was obscured.
“So, you couldn’t sleep either?” he asked.
She shrugged. Her legs were tucked beneath her and her head was framed by the large wave-like curves on the back of the piece—a mermaid on a rock—a scarlet velvet rock.
“What happened at the party? I didn’t think it went poorly,” he asked.
Ursula hugged her body, but said nothing for a long moment. “The parts with you in them were enjoyable.” She almost mumbled the words, but she said them.
His eyes widened. Another compliment? Wonders never did cease.
“You play the pianoforte well and are a skilled dance partner,” she added.
Jay laughed.
Oh, Ursula.
“High praise indeed.”
“More than that.” She leaned forward, hair spilling over her shoulders just below her beautiful...
She sighed. “You’re amusing and do really always know the right thing to say, something that I never know no matter how much I watch and study. I can never do that. It’s like everyone else has a guide—instructions on how to interact, both gentile society and Jewish, and I was given access to neither.” Her voice shook. “I don’t want to rule either social circle, I just want to be smiled and nodded at. Is that too much to ask?”
Tears dotted the lace and he was going to come undone. Bugger, why was there no whiskey anywhere? She’d kill him. If he could just pull her on his lap and into his arms. No, no, that could never be for so many reasons. Still, he wanted to—had to—touch her.
Jay reached forward and clutched her hand. “You aren’t going to want to hear this, but most of your problems stem from their issues not yours. You’re a target, Ursula, for a number of reasons—a rather large target.”
“How do I stop being one?” She sniffed a little, her nose now dripping as well.
She was a mess, a captivating mess.
He rooted around in his pocket and located a handkerchief, one of the obnoxious monogrammed ones. He handed it to her and she wiped her face without a shred of embarrassment. Though, why should she be embarrassed? Red and blotchy she was still a vision.
“If you became a complete recluse you could cease being one. That’s the heart of the matter—you want them to like you, badly. You care too much, and they can smell that on you. That’s your biggest sin, more than your past actions or the things you can’
t change about yourself. Being a Jew, the way you look, your father’s money. You aren’t blessed with natural social status, but you could still improve your position. You just need to read a room better. You’re intelligent, you can learn what to say. That’ll be simple, but what—”
“Can you teach me?” Ursula blew her nose and blinked at him with such hope—his hands and arms tingled, even his muscles longed.
“Yes, but that wasn’t what I was trying to say—”
“Now?” She patted her eyes.
Her chest heaved though her breaths returned to normal. The wheels in her mind were spinning, there was no doubt as to that. She certainly had energy, and stamina, and drive.
And hadn’t he wanted to help her, give her a few pointers? Fix her enough to smooth his guilt over the inevitable consequences of their scheme. And, for once, find an occupation for his mind other than sex, sleep or oblivion. So, why not?
“Not this instant. It’s the middle of the night. Tomorrow, perhaps. When we’re both dressed and fed.”
