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Another week of parties came and went in a flurry of music, sweets, and new uses for butler’s pantries, gazebos, coatrooms, a piano bench, and one tiny Juliet balcony overlooking an alley.
Society was much more amusing with a partner, though a pinch of guilt tickled the back of her mind every time she locked eyes with Hugo across the room. Worse, he’d mouth phrases like “help me,” while boxed between his father and Katherine. After all the years together, she owed him something.
She’d ask Jay. When things were quiet.
Finally, the two had an evening back at her uncle’s, but instead of her plan of “accidentally” getting locked together inside the upper parlor, Jay had other ideas.
Ursula scowled as he led her by the elbow and prodded her down the stairs with his other hand. She was going to trip. Did he not realize how wide her hoops sat and how much balance they required so she didn’t topple? He had no idea how fortunate he was in his trousers. The color might be dull, but there was no metal.
“Why?” she asked.
They could really be doing so many better things at the moment.
“Because you asked me to teach you how to make people tolerate you. You should be able to manage your own family, and not just Isaac. He’s where you’re most comfortable—child, awkward, and male. You need to be able to speak with other women, preferably ones your own age and of your own status.”
“Why?” She whined the word, but the whine was appropriate and necessary. Rachel was intimidating, and Lydia was, well totty, and vindictive, and if she could think of a polite word, she would, she really would.
Besides, she and Jay had become so successful at the parties themselves. She’d never been smiled at by so many people in such a short period of time, and with the help of a few elbows from Jay had managed not to insult anyone all week. Even Hugo’s parents had given her nods. Only the Reeds and Pierponts had scowled at her. After that success, shouldn’t she have more rewards?
At least her uncle was out again. His absence was almost insulting, but still preferable than the perturbed mutterings he emitted whenever she was around. Better than the glares he’d given her mother, but only just.
“Because you need to challenge yourself and because you’ll enjoy having some female friends that aren’t Rose. They smell a lot better than my sex.”
Debatable, especially when he was near. She couldn’t resist leaning against him just a bit, the way the wool of his jacket scraped the back of her shoulders.
“I suppose.”
Jay guided her into the drawing room where Rachel and Lydia were once again, side-by-side on the settee, reading pages of some sort of periodical, in unison, a plate of tea and sweets in front of them.
One, just one. She reached forward, but Jay grabbed her hand, tucking it in his lap. Bloody Hell, he was really going to make her do this. Sober too.
He gave her a prompting nod. She fought the eye roll and cleared her throat.
Right. Think, Ursula, think.
What do they want? What would flatter them? Oh, she was going to fail.
“So, um, how are you both today? What have you been up to? Are those...things...interesting?” Ursula’s eyes darted to her lap more than her audience, but she managed the words.
“That’s a lot of questions at once. Do you really care about them all or just have a tick?”
She glanced at Jay. Lydia had to be joking. Her delivery was poor, but why did Lydia feel the need to put her down to—oh.
Oh.
That was what Lydia wanted, really needed.
“I’m interested in the particulars of what you’re reading. I know you have impeccable taste in that regard.” She craned her neck. “The Dial, what an interesting name. Who writes that? I’d love to hear about it.”
Not her best effort, a bit stilted, but she’d ended with the most important part. Jay squeezed her fingers and—the best reward possible.
Lydia must have been pleased as well because she launched into a ten-minute diatribe about “nature,” and the “transcendence of the spirit” beyond the physical, and some other such nonsense. Ursula had to grind her heel into her own toe so not to snicker during the “transparent eyeball,” lecture.
Still, with a few nudges and strokes from Jay’s hand she managed to make the appropriate, fawning responses and half-intelligent questions. By the end, she was even bold enough to give a few opinions of her own, especially after Jay mentioned how a woman edited the works.
“I dare say, Lydia, I heard you could sing. Would it be too much trouble for you to demonstrate? I appreciate music, but my voice is so lacking,” Ursula said.
Lydia flushed and tittered. “I’d love to, but I can’t accompany myself. You don’t happen to play?”
