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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?”
