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He turned up his lips at her joke despite himself—but oh, such a mess. When had she spoken to his parents? Did his father know about the pipe?
“But?” He could form no more words.
“I see you, Jay. I watch you, all the time. You stroke and pet the materials, especially when you can’t sleep.”
Everything within Jay sagged. It was all too much.
She grabbed his hand and held it to her breast. Her heart beat below his fist. He closed his eyes. He could get lost there, lost in her scent, in her rhythm, in the safety they promised, but those were illusory, especially for the likes of him.
No.
He broke away and laid his forehead on the wall. He couldn’t look at her. He didn’t deserve to look at her.
“Then you know, Urs. You know I’m inches away from death or an asylum. What would that do to you? You deserve more and better, so much better.”
A hand rested on his shoulder. His skin scalded. Didn’t she understand how the images she brought tortured him? He shrugged her off. Her breath hitched.
“You need to leave, Urs. I’ll go to my parents’ within the hour.”
“You’re strong enough, Jay, and good enough, and we could be astonishing together. However, I cannot believe in you and us alone. I need a partner. And I do deserve that, we both do, but if you cannot—” A choked sob swallowed the rest of her statement.
He closed his eyes, slumping farther as the door shut, the retreating footfalls sounded down the stairs.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ursula shivered beneath her robe. Why was it so cold? Or more, why was it so cold to her? Rose had doused her own body twice with water since she entered, but Ursula still shook. The maid ran a brush through Ursula’s tangles.
“How many dresses have you ruined this trip? Four? Since when did you go from responsible to spendthrift?”
“We have the funds, Rose. Your salary will be paid.”
Rose snorted and loosened a knot with her fingers.
“You know that’s not my worry,” the maid said.
Ursula closed her eyes and pulled her robe tighter. Perhaps she should put on something. It had been two days, two days since Jay left, or more since she’d forced him to leave.
She glanced towards the sentinel-like painted wardrobe in the corner. It was so far—and standing and being buttoned—maybe she could wear her robe and stay in the room forever. She did own it, or two thirds of it, after all, since the company owned all the family properties.
Perhaps servants could bring her the accounting books in the room. She could take meals in the room too. She’d purchase more robes and nightgowns. She patted Arte and pulled the cat closer. The creature squirmed in her arms.
Cats.
Ursula sighed and released her. Arte skittered under the bed skirts.
“You could throw things, you know.” Lydia stuck her chin out from her perch on the window seat next to Rachel. “You’d be perfectly within your rights to do so. What he did was completely wrong and unfair and cad-like.”
The tears prickled and taunted behind her eyes. No. She couldn’t, wouldn’t give in, not in front of Rachel and Lydia.
You don’t owe anything to anyone, only to yourself. Remember that. If there is anything you need to remember, it’s that.
Her mother’s voice, strong and clear echoed from the past, from the day after an incident involving a rather expensive vase. She expected a scolding. After all, the hostess’s mother screamed “irreplaceable heirloom,” and referred to her mother as “uncouth,” “common,” and “unfit.”
Even in the present Ursula recoiled a little, hot tears scalding her cheeks now. So much for no tears.
Her mother never flinched, and instead marched the two of them out of the house, head held high, later dismissing the nanny for the evening and rubbing Ursula’s back herself.
Drawing in all the air she could, Ursula forced her chin upwards, emulating the image her mother made so many years ago. Roseanna Simon Nunes hadn’t fought every moment of her rather short and unfair life for her daughter to squander hers feeling sorry for herself.
