Page 28 of Appetites & Vices (The Truitts 1)

He closed his eyes, his body throbbing. If she only knew. He listened for the door before relaxing his shoulders. He adjusted the lock. Perhaps he should barricade the door as well.

Chapter Nine

Two days later, Ursula glared at herself in the heavy-framed double mirror as Rose pinned her hair. At least her aunt and uncle invested in one of a proper size. Imagine having to get dressed with only a hand mirror or nothing at all. She shuddered.

Idiotic party, idiotic dress, idiotic day. Her father monopolized Jay the entire evening prior foiling any hopes for more direct lessons. Worse, she’d been forced to practice socializing with Rachel and Lydia, both Jay and her father’s idea. Learn to get along with women who aren’t Rose indeed.

You should really spend more time doing works in your own community, Ursula.

Bugger. Even in her head Lydia’s voice was annoying. There was nothing wrong with the charity projects in Delaware, and Nunes made donations to the Female Hebrew Benevolent Society. The travel was just too long for any other involvement. That explanation led to another barrage of questions and judgments about living in Delaware in the first place. Why should she have to defend herself to some nothing lawyer’s daughter? And what sort of person spoke endlessly of their own devotion and goodness?

Yet... She really didn’t have a good explanation for why they lived so far away from, well, everything. Especially as half of the business resources were in Philadelphia. She should ask her father but somehow every time she glanced at him the words refused to form. What was the matter with her? She’d never been a coward.

Ursula smeared beeswax on her lips—sure to draw some remarks about propriety. At least her uncle was out again. He’d made himself so scarce these past two weeks, she’d almost forgotten him.

She managed only one meal with the man. He’d muttered something to her father about Lord Shaftesbury jeopardizing their family’s standing in London. She’d mentioned Sir Goldsmid’s knighthood last year and how cousin Moses expected similar treatment—something her father referenced many times.

Uncle Bernard ignored her and instead prattled on about the failed attempts at Jewish “emancipation” in England which led to an argument between the two men about the prudence of the Philadelphia community’s letter to the president regarding the Damascus affair. Her uncle felt the American and European Jews who pressured the Ottomans to stop the blood libel called too much attention to themselves and would regret being seen as a nuisance.

How the other men of the congregation hadn’t murdered him yet was a miracle. If only she could have some of their self-control. She’d need all of it for the evening.

Ursula crossed her arms and scowled. “I don’t want to go to this party.”

“You’re here to go to these parties.” Rose tugged harder.

“Ow.” Ursula rubbed the area by her part. “Why are you pulling so hard today?”

“You’re knotted. You need to be smooth near the top. Be thankful you already have the curls. Your cousin Rachel requires hours of heat. Yours aren’t as tight as your mother’s, but with just a little coaxing they’re perfect. You’re very, very lucky.”

“Lucky indeed. Even when curls are fashionable mine aren’t the right type. People want straight hair tortured into ringlets, not the real thing.” She gritted her teeth.

She was being childish, but internal admonishment didn’t quell her frustration. She was going to see Hugo again and watch his parents throw Katherine at him while he moped in the background instead of taking action. How was she supposed to work with that?

Ursula chewed on her lip. She’d ask Jay in the carriage. Perhaps he had an idea of how to involve Hugo more.

“I don’t know why you’re so cross,” Rose continued. “You’re stunning, the dress is the latest style and you’re going to be on the arm of a handsome man.”

“Who’s using me to force his parents to leave him alone or some such nonsense.” Ursula wrinkled her nose. Why did saying it twist her stomach so much? Why should she even care about his real motives? She wasn’t friends with him, not really. He’d been rather nice as of late, but she barely knew him. If he hadn’t been in the hall that night she’d never have even remembered he existed. Why should she care?

A bitter taste enveloped her mouth and did not subside the entire ride to the party as her father and Jay made small talk around her. If only she had Hecate or Arte to hold. Everything would be all right. No, even without them, everything would be all right.

Her hand shook as Jay helped her from the carriage and led her past the butler to the host and hostess, who each gushed over them. Like they were excited to have her as well as Jay in attendance.

“Friends of my parents,” Jay whispered against her ear as the two entered the foyer, every side covered to the hilt with grisaille wall coverings. Expensive, but a little muted for her taste.

She gazed back at the owners. They had been lovely and she could get used to the effusive treatment. Though that was why she was marrying Hugo in the first place, right?

“Refreshments?” Jay asked.

Ursula nodded, taking in the sights. Another beautiful home with high ceilings and bright candles and throngs of people in the latest fashions. Billows of sleeves and skirts and ties of silk frothed in the air.

“I promise I’ll bring you lots of sugar.” He lowered his voice once more.

“And champagne too?” She pressed her lips together but couldn’t muster a smile.

“I’ll come right back.” He squeezed her arm. “We can dance and if it gets too much, we’ll sneak away somewhere. I know this house well. Oh, and we’ll find Hugo and his parents. We’ll make a good showing.”

She knitted her hands. If only she could believe him. To be fair, she could believe him, it was just spending time with the Middletons was so much less appealing in the moment.

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