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“Bloody Hell, Judah.”
“She’s destroyed her reputation,” her father roared.
He had to be daft. If there was one reputation that couldn’t be destroyed...not after what she did and who her mother was. There was truly nowhere to go but upward in people’s esteem.
Ursula pressed her hand over her mouth, so her father wouldn’t see the telltale signs of the giggle forming in her throat. It wasn’t amusing, but crying was so tiring.
When she regained control, she lifted her chin with as much dignity as she could muster.
“News of my reputation’s demise has been greatly exaggerated thanks to Uncle Bernard. We should all buck up. These past few weeks weren’t a total loss. At least there was some sort of benefit to me because Mr. Truitt is quite skilled—”
Her father slapped a hand over his forehead.
“Ursula, I don’t want to know what sort of ‘skills’ Mr. Truitt may have. You should all now be glad he’s presumably left town as if not, you’d already be running everything as I’d be hanged for what I want to do to that little—”
Ursula frowned. What did her father think she was discussing?
“I was praising his dancing prowess. Besides, you referring to Jay Truitt so ‘little’ certainly isn’t an apt adjective.”
The expression on both of their faces was so horrified it took her a second to hear her own words in her head. He was certainly tall—oh—well, so not “little,” in multiple ways.
And her face burned again.
Oh dash it all.
Ridiculous. She couldn’t have her heart broken without stumbling into some sort of inappropriate joke.
It shouldn’t be funny, but—the laughter exploded from her chest. She dipped her head, her body shaking as her father and uncle spoke around her.
“Bernard, what am I going to do with her, with this?”
“Come, Judah. She’ll survive.” Her uncle shrugged.
She raised her chin, so she could meet each of their eyes.
“I will.”
She really would—divorce, annulment or anything in between. Life wasn’t always what one wanted. But even without Jay, she wasn’t going anywhere. She might not be swimming yet, but she was certainly treading water.
If only Jay could see all he’d given her. He deserved so much credit. She swallowed. If only. For now though, she’d endure.
Chapter Thirty-One
Jay stared at the canopy of his childhood bed, before glancing at his feet. He should’ve removed his boots before he soiled the white eyelet linens. The staff didn’t deserve the additional work, but he couldn’t muster the energy to complete the task. He turned the pipe over in his hand, stroking the clay. Neither it nor the small lamp Caleb had sold him were as fine as his old ivory-handled ones, but they would do.
The door creaked open.
“So, this is what you’re going to do until your ship leaves?” Snideness dripped from his father’s voice. “How much have you had, exactly?”
Jay turned his head to the side. Just his luck, the man now sat on a chair in the corner, glaring at him.
“None, as of now. You forbid me to do it in this house so I’m counting down the hours until I’m gone. Unless you want to throw me in an asylum again, though I’m not sure you have the time nor the ability right now.”
He closed his eyes. Maybe if he went to sleep, he could obtain the same effects. He’d purchased a ticket to Paris—just a few more days—he’d be gone and free.
“So, you can die on that ship and break your mother’s heart?”
“And your father’s as well,” a female voice added.
