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“New investment possibilities?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Only small stakes, and only a few new, mostly safe and stable.”
Her father stroked her cheek before taking her by the arm. She leaned into his body, stirring images of herself in his arms as a young child. He’d always made her feel so safe.
She might question his choices—Delaware, the estrangement, even what little of the relationship she’d seen with her mother, but she could never question how much he meant to her. Whatever reasons he had, whatever secrets he held were his business. Her mother was dead, the past was the past. The present was much more important. And in the present, with Jay and Hugo and being so muddled, she needed him more than ever.
“Come.” He beamed down at her. “We’ll discuss them more in the carriage.”
“Perhaps Jay has some thoughts too.” She squeezed her father’s arm tighter. He laid a kiss on the top of her head.
“Perhaps, perhaps.”
Chapter Thirteen
Ursula lay in bed, Arte’s warm fur against her neck. A breeze from the window lowered the temperature, but not enough to make wearing a living stole bearable. She rolled onto her back.
The door to the bedroom creaked and Hecate jumped from her perch onto Ursula’s lap. Arte fled to a corner.
A figure appeared at the foot of her bed.
“Ursula,” a young, male voice whispered.
She blinked as her eyes adjusted. Her cousin’s slumped shoulders and gawky form were unmistakable. She sighed. “Isaac? What are you doing in here? It’s the middle of the night.” She pulled the covers to her neck, even though he was still a child.
Isaac had no sense of propriety—must be a family trait. He sank onto the corner of the bed and pulled his knees to his chest under his dressing gown.
“Sorry. I know I shouldn’t be in here, but there’s something you must know.” Her cousin stared at his hands.
Beneath the sheet, she sat herself up and tucked her legs under her gown. Still no eye contact. Not a good sign. Not only shouldn’t he be there, but he didn’t want to be there. His behavior was reminiscent of her own, the time she fed her mother’s diamond bracelet to Peony, her favorite pony, when she was six. Who knew “carats,” and “carrots” were different things?
Her temples pulsed. Isaac better not have fed Hecate any jewelry.
“What would you like to tell me?”
Isaac poked his feet on the bed and picked at his bare toes. This was going to be worse than a marmoset with indigestion, wasn’t it? She rocked on her knees, so she could move closer to him.
“What is it, Isaac? You can tell me.”
His head remained down, focused on his work. She’d have to remember not to share any food he touched. She craned her neck and thrust her head in front of him.
“It has to be something important. You wouldn’t be here if not. I won’t be mad at you. I promise.”
He raised his eyes and blinked. “You might.”
Dash it. How did one respond to that? With an adult, blind assurances were customary, but with a child or someone particularly honest—she hugged her knees and shrugged.
“Maybe.” Ursula scooted closer again, the bedsheets rumpling. Confidence. She prodded her lips into a small smile. “But you’re my cousin. You’re family. I might be mad for a little, but I can’t stay mad long.”
Isaac rocked back and frowned, though he looked her in the eye, an improvement.
“Your father and my mother have been mad at each other for years.”
Fair point. If she’d had a sibling, she’d want to be with him or her all the time. Uncle Bernard was part of the problem. Why anyone would marry someone like that...she pulled her lips inside her mouth, so she wouldn’t voice her thoughts. That certainly wouldn’t help the situation. Best to keep it simple.
“But we’re not them. Besides, they still speak. Just with glaring.” She swallowed.
A lot of glaring.
