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She should stop, should flee, should clamp her hands over her own mouth, should bite out her own tongue, but she couldn’t, she couldn’t stop. She didn’t know what she was, but everything, everything was being released.
“But she wasn’t a wife, was she? Even when she still had her faculties. She might have been a companion, a friend, but not a wife. You knew why she was ill. You and she never—”
Visions of her and Jay and all the joy, the desire, the trust, the sheer delight of just being the two as one, coupled with the juxtaposition of her parents’ lives—she ached, burned.
Her father tore at his own hair. “Ursula. There are questions you cannot and will not ask. I am your father and certain topics are not to be discussed. It’s inappropriate.”
He was right, he truly was, but it no longer mattered, nothing mattered. The past few weeks swirled in her head, waltzing couples jostling her on the floor of a ball. The rise and fall of the music, faster and faster, like madness.
“We’re beyond propriety. Besides, don’t people like her, like me, discuss that sort of thing all the time? I believe that’s part of the terms before haggling over payment. I’m—”
The slap wasn’t hard, but it stunned her anyway. Her father had never raised his hand to her, in all her years and she’d done quite a few things that would’ve received a bit more than a slap from most parents. She should’ve cared, but her innards were stone.
“Don’t you ever, ever speak about your mother that way. She would’ve died for you. You will never, ever disrespect her or me or yourself, no matter what happens,” her father growled.
She held her cheek. How dare he? After everything. He permitted her to engage in all sorts of behavior with no context, no warning, no real understanding of her own limitations.
“Respect. You use that word after what you did to me, hiding me from everyone, even myself? That wasn’t protecting me, that was imprisoning me in a false sense of the world. You shielded me and cosseted me and left me almost no choice, but to be a blasted recluse like her, like you. I’m fed and have my pets, but what else is there in my life?”
What indeed? Jay. There was Jay and there were these past few weeks when he’d given—together, what they could be together. She’d never be able to go back to the life she’d led before, not after Jay.
“Why did you permit me to come here?” She clutched at her gown.
“Ursula.” Her name was a plea on her father’s lips.
“You should have told me before I—”
She couldn’t say the words. Her father knew she didn’t love Hugo and assumed the adventure would end as it did, but why hadn’t he warned her? She had, just like Rachel said, gone too close to the sun.
“I’m so sorry. I wanted you to see things, understand why this Hugo business was foolish. I already started speaking to my counterparts in Europe, but I wanted you to be ready to marry for those purposes. I didn’t think things would get this muddled. I’m so sorry. I should have spoken to more—”
Sour, everything tasted sour, as if she’d consumed lye or varnish or—she had to leave, had to get out, had to find some way, some place, some fix. She could mend this. She could. She could plan and do something, and everything would be right again. Jay. She had to find Jay.
“I’m sorry,” her father whispered again.
She paused. He loved her. He did, and he’d aged and he’d done his best and he was human. He was her father, but though she’d always be his child, she wasn’t a child anymore.
She swallowed and went to his side. She tilted up and kissed his cheek.
“I know.” She whispered the words. No. She could speak up. She could be the strong one. She owed that to him at the very least. “I love you too. I will be fine. I will always be fine.”
Before her voice could reveal more, she hitched her skirts and tore down the hall. Jay. The only thing she wanted right now was Jay. With Jay she could somehow find a way to right it all once more.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Bernard Levy poured himself whiskey, straight from the decanter, and lifted a glass towards Jay. Jay waved Urs’ uncle, or whatever he was, off. The man shrugged. He downed the entire contents and poured himself another before returning to a chair. He glared at Jay, his hooded eyes blazing with fury.
“Departing soon, Mr. Truitt?” Levy folded his arms. “I suppose this makes your plan easier. You now have an even better cover to frolic and wallow in whatever cesspool you wish. She doesn’t need to jilt you now. She’s unredeemable. A Jew maybe, a girl from a poor background perhaps, though unlikely, but both, no, your parents would disown you, wouldn’t they? And you couldn’t have that. I mean, what would you do without your allowance?”
He settled the glass and kicked his feet onto a footstool. “Don’t worry about my dear niece. I heard Judah was already planning to buy her a new stallion. Good investment. There are already breeders interested, though she’ll probably want to ride him. He’ll purchase her two and this will all die down and no one can say no to the banks so she’ll have plenty of animals to occupy her for the rest of her days. There will be other men too, our kind of men, ones who can protect her.”
His garments were too tight. If he breathed he’d pop every button in his shirt and trousers. If only he could dunk his head in a vat of ice.
Why did her uncle have to be so hateful, and so close to the truth? When Bernard spoke the words, the lines were black and crisp as fresh ink—ugly—all the beautiful patterns and unexpected surprise washed away.
Jay froze, rooted to the floor. Everything was collapsing. Yes, it was going to happen eventually, but not like this, never like this. And he’d entertained the foolish, idiotic fantasies that perhaps, she and he could—he nearly choked once more.
“This is what her father wrought.” Levy’s voice was bitter. “I begged him to just find the woman a position, not bring her into the family. We were already making a nuisance of ourselves in America, expecting too much, trusting laws and documents to protect us. We didn’t need additional fodder.”
