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“Bernard.” Her father’s voice grew in volume.
She pressed a hand over her mouth. Memories of Jay’s hands, twirling her on the floor, dabbing sugar from lips, stroking her curls out of her face flooded her mind. The warmth from those simple touches—no. She might never understand her parents’ relationship, but she understood her own. She was not Jay’s caregiver. They were partners.
“It’s not the same,” her father whispered.
Her uncle reared up in his seat. “Like Hell it isn’t.”
“Bernard.” Her father tugged at his brother-in-law’s sleeve.
“What, Judah?” Her uncle’s voice softened. He always did have endless patience for her father. All the enmity was never directed at him, just at his choices, and at her mother.
“She loves him.” Her father lowered his eyes.
Blast, bollocks, and bloody Hell all at once. No, no one was supposed to know. Saying the words out loud might snap the rope binding her soul to her body.
“What?” Uncle Bernard’s voice was strangled.
“She loves the worthless little sluggard.” Her father’s near scream reverberated through the carriage. Hecate screamed back, tucking her body behind Ursula’s shoulder. Arte dug her claws into Ursula’s travelling cloak. At least it was last season’s.
“She’s infatuated and wants to care for him like she does her animals. We’ll find her someone who will adore her and care for her, instead of an opium fiend who’ll leach every shred of vitality from her.” Her uncle was insistent.
“She loves him, like you love Miriam.” Her father choked on the words.
The tears she’d tried so hard to lock away spilled onto her lap, soaking the white cloth. Why were they speaking about her as if she wasn’t there, as if the unyielding agony already killed her? It wasn’t fair. Didn’t they understand she’d give anything to make the throbbing go away—make it all untrue and never have happened?
“Damn it all.” Her uncle ran his palm over his head, the only way not to tangle his fingers in his curls, so much like Isaac’s.
He reached towards her. She couldn’t. He cared, but he’d scraped her already raw innards too hard to trust him even with her palm. She tucked her head in her hands and sobbed.
“We’ll find you someone better, someone from our community, who understands who you are.” Her uncle’s voice shook. “We’ll send you to Europe, so you can be protected the way you deserve to be protected. One of the Cohens married a Rothschild. They have a boy the right age. No family could offer better security. They’ve been given titles all over the continent. You could be a countess. A marriage like that could make everything right. We’ll send Mr. Truitt instructions so he can ask for a Get.”
He moved to her side of the carriage and grabbed her hand this time. Every word was a dagger in her breast, but she had no strength to yell or scream or kick or fight. She buried her face in Uncle Bernard’s frock coat and sobbed so hard she hiccupped, until one word reverberated in her brain, stilling all the sadness.
Did her uncle say “Get?”
She and Jay were only engaged, not married.
Weren’t they?
Ursula’s head shot up. She wiped her sleeve across her eye.
“Uncle Bernard.” She made her voice calm. This was too important to misunderstand. “Why would I need a Get?”
“To remarry. You can’t have two husbands.” Uncle Bernard drew the words out as if she was an imbecile.
She may not have been raised in the community, but her parents imparted some knowledge, including what a Get was and what one undid.
Impossible. She’d have remembered a wedding ceremony.
“Jay and I aren’t married.”
Her uncle sighed. “He gave you a ring and he signed a Ketubah.”
Ring yes, but the contract? She’d never seen one, though truth be told, only Jay had to sign. Still, the Ketubah belonged to the bride. But he wouldn’t have signed one without telling her, would he? And to make the marriage legal he was supposed to have presented it to her.
“When?” she asked.
Her uncle rubbed his temples. “Right after you arrived. You think I would permit him to stay in my house when you’re only betrothed? I don’t care what our assimilated relatives in London do, that was not going to happen in my house.”
