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The lady in question was another matter. How old was she again? Twenty, twenty-one? She couldn’t have been more than fourteen the last time she’d been in his house for a party.
Ursula Nunes was all grown-up now. Big blue eyes, thick lashes, cascading blonde curls, adorable pert mouth, any fetching feature one could want. Her jaw and brow were a bit wide, but no one was perfect.
Besides, what made little Miss Nunes interesting and, more, delicious—was her figure, on complete display in a snug-bodice gown cut to show her shoulders, collarbone, and much more. Like her impressive décolletage—two crème puffs set atop a flute of plum wine. A bit much for some people’s taste, but only the boring frowned upon excess.
Her lack of interest in anyone else’s money or status was a bit refreshing, actually, as was her confidence. But for Hugo? Poor, poor Hugo. She’d never do, unless the man aimed for a heart attack and early grave. Everyone in Delaware knew the Middletons were so stodgy Puritans appeared hedonistic by comparison.
Jay clasped both hands over his mouth to muffle his laughter. All he could picture was the pushy blonde next to Hugo at Lower Brandywine Presbyterian Church in scarlet or something equally inappropriate. She’d probably critique the Gospel.
Loudly.
He peered out the cracked guest room door. Her looks really were a waste. If she’d been fortunate, she’d have been born docile-but-plain or at least a sedate pretty. Society rewarded conformity. The woman was doomed. Ursula Nunes was a four-time deviant. Her Jewishness, her wealth, her near-aggressive beauty, and her charm—or lack thereof—made her almost hopeless.
Jay paused as she wrapped her arms tighter around her body, clutching her elbows. Her shoulders shook, but she made no sound.
“What to do, what to do?” She repeated the phrase as she stalked back and forth between the bannister and the wall, half muttering, half projecting.
He blinked. Good lord, she was bouncing. The puffed sleeves slid down from her slender shoulders. Jay swallowed. It’d been too long. Way too long. Why had he sworn off women again? Whomever decided that their collars should lay beneath their shoulders should be elected President, or better, be given his own riverboat.
“Philadelphia. I have to get to Philadelphia. If I can talk to his parents, I’ll make them understand. They’ll have to let us marry if I argue it right. I just need to get into the parties. How hard can that really be?” She nibbled on her fingernails, diluting her attractiveness a smidge.
He held his breath to fight his raging case of the snickers.
The woman was delusional, but intriguing. Not even her father with all his money would be able to secure the right invitations outside of Wilmington.
And arguing her position to Hugo’s parents? Yes, a perfect way to display her social aptitude. Jay swallowed his chortle. If Ursula Nunes thought she could convince those self-important snobs of anything, she was the one who belonged in an asylum. Not him.
He cracked the door open a touch more. Her eyelashes were wet, but her cheeks remained dry. Most people, not just women, would’ve withered in her shoes, and yet she still fought. Fascinating.
An idea formed—a terrible, awful, wonderful idea.
His mother’s words echoed in his head.
You’re more than you think, Jay. All you need is a bit of stability, perhaps a wife. Come home. If you can show your father you’ve changed, he’ll trust you and we can be a family again.
As if his father would ever trust him. The man found fault with the tone of his cry when he emerged from the womb. As for a wife—he was never doing that again. If his mother only knew...
Jay inhaled through his nose. If the scheme turned out, perhaps his parents would leave him alone. As for Miss Nunes, well, he’d do his best. Maybe he could give her a few pointers.
He squinted through the crack. Was she still muttering nonsense to herself? More than a few pointers. Not the worst occupation for his mind.
Even if he couldn’t fix her, watching her and Hugo’s drama would be decent distraction for the next two months. He glanced back at the mirror. If he wasn’t in his father’s house there’d be less temptation.
Yes, the next moments held quite a bit of promise. He just had to execute. Time to turn on the charm—to be the old Jay, the one who collected multiple garters at every party—one last time.
Glass in hand, he swung the door open until it cracked against the wall. Ursula jumped. He centered himself in the doorway and settled into a lean.
“Good evening, Miss Nunes.” He lifted the flute in her direction. “You probably don’t remember me. I’m Jay. This is my parents’ house and I have a proposal for you.”
