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Authors: Abigail Barnette
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nursemaid.”
Esau shook his head. “I don’t think she looks on you like a nursemaid.”
“I don’t think I asked you.” Jude immediately regretted his rudeness. “I’m sorry. This separation is going to be difficult for me, and it makes me uneasy. I’ve known Honoria since she was fifteen. She’s become like a sister to me.” It sounded like the lie it was, Jude knew.
At least Esau pretended to believe it. “Well, you’ll miss her, I’m sure. And she’ll miss you.”
Neither of them said anything for a long moment, and then Esau asked, “Why can’t she just stay here? She seems sad to be leaving. Surely her inheritance—”
Jude shook his head and cut the man off. “Honoria’s father was a wealthy man, true. But he sank much of his money into his shipping company. His solicitor, Mr. Poole, owns the business now, as they were partners. He also manages Honoria’s inheritance, on the condition set forth in the will. If she walked away…”
If she walked away, there would be nothing for her to live on. She would end up—well, he didn’t want to think of where she would end up. It wouldn’t be as nice as the school in France, he knew that.
“It’s her money, she should be able to do what she wants with it,” Esau said. “It seems like I’ve heard of a place where there are a lot of people like her. Not an asylum, a real place, an island. But I can’t remember the name. One of the captains we see now and then hails from there.”
“Martha’s Vineyard.” Jude had been there. Their signs were a distinctly different language, but Jude had wondered if Honoria wouldn’t be happier there, where she could come and go as she pleased. Without her inheritance, there was no means of taking her there anyway, so he’d given up thinking about it. “But she’s better off in France.”
Esau looked down at his glass, a derisive curl to his lip. He wanted to say more, would have, Jude thought, but Honoria’s maid appeared at the door, an expression of disapproval pinching her young face. “She’s looking for you.”
“Duty calls, eh?” Esau handed his glass to Jude. “No sense in that going to waste.”
What had drawn her to him, Jude wondered? Esau looked dangerous, rough, and clearly he could be. Honoria had chosen a long-sleeved gown for her evening outing, in defiance of style, to cover her wrists and the marks he’d left there. But there was charm about him, and Jude reluctantly admitted that Esau was not a terrible man. Still, how could she look at him the same way she once looked at Jude? After only two days?
It didn’t matter. She would be in France soon enough and Jude would have to put her from his mind. She wouldn’t look upon either of them with such sweetness again. Perhaps she would find a new man to beguile in France, one who shared her experiences in a way Jude never could.
If he truly loved her, that thought would be a comfort. But his love was selfish, and he did not want her to look at another man the way she looked at him.
It didn’t matter, he supposed as he quickly gulped down the contents of the other man’s glass. She wasn’t for him.
* * * * *
In her bedroom, Honoria rested against the back of the bathtub, trailing patterns of droplets down her arm. The warmth of the fire beside her and the coolness of the water around her were a delicious contrast, and distracted her from the thoughts that had plagued her during the ride home. In the cab she had been seated between Esau and Jude, all of them crammed onto the single bench. It had been a fitting metaphor, she’d thought miserably, as her affection was split so neatly between the two.
Though she could not afford either attachment, what concerned her most was that she could not justify them, either. Jude had rejected her, made it clear that he would never accept anything other than fond friendship between them. Yet still her heart hungered for him. Esau, she had known only two days. Was it intimacy of the body
Esau shook his head. “I don’t think she looks on you like a nursemaid.”
“I don’t think I asked you.” Jude immediately regretted his rudeness. “I’m sorry. This separation is going to be difficult for me, and it makes me uneasy. I’ve known Honoria since she was fifteen. She’s become like a sister to me.” It sounded like the lie it was, Jude knew.
At least Esau pretended to believe it. “Well, you’ll miss her, I’m sure. And she’ll miss you.”
Neither of them said anything for a long moment, and then Esau asked, “Why can’t she just stay here? She seems sad to be leaving. Surely her inheritance—”
Jude shook his head and cut the man off. “Honoria’s father was a wealthy man, true. But he sank much of his money into his shipping company. His solicitor, Mr. Poole, owns the business now, as they were partners. He also manages Honoria’s inheritance, on the condition set forth in the will. If she walked away…”
If she walked away, there would be nothing for her to live on. She would end up—well, he didn’t want to think of where she would end up. It wouldn’t be as nice as the school in France, he knew that.
“It’s her money, she should be able to do what she wants with it,” Esau said. “It seems like I’ve heard of a place where there are a lot of people like her. Not an asylum, a real place, an island. But I can’t remember the name. One of the captains we see now and then hails from there.”
“Martha’s Vineyard.” Jude had been there. Their signs were a distinctly different language, but Jude had wondered if Honoria wouldn’t be happier there, where she could come and go as she pleased. Without her inheritance, there was no means of taking her there anyway, so he’d given up thinking about it. “But she’s better off in France.”
Esau looked down at his glass, a derisive curl to his lip. He wanted to say more, would have, Jude thought, but Honoria’s maid appeared at the door, an expression of disapproval pinching her young face. “She’s looking for you.”
“Duty calls, eh?” Esau handed his glass to Jude. “No sense in that going to waste.”
What had drawn her to him, Jude wondered? Esau looked dangerous, rough, and clearly he could be. Honoria had chosen a long-sleeved gown for her evening outing, in defiance of style, to cover her wrists and the marks he’d left there. But there was charm about him, and Jude reluctantly admitted that Esau was not a terrible man. Still, how could she look at him the same way she once looked at Jude? After only two days?
It didn’t matter. She would be in France soon enough and Jude would have to put her from his mind. She wouldn’t look upon either of them with such sweetness again. Perhaps she would find a new man to beguile in France, one who shared her experiences in a way Jude never could.
If he truly loved her, that thought would be a comfort. But his love was selfish, and he did not want her to look at another man the way she looked at him.
It didn’t matter, he supposed as he quickly gulped down the contents of the other man’s glass. She wasn’t for him.
* * * * *
In her bedroom, Honoria rested against the back of the bathtub, trailing patterns of droplets down her arm. The warmth of the fire beside her and the coolness of the water around her were a delicious contrast, and distracted her from the thoughts that had plagued her during the ride home. In the cab she had been seated between Esau and Jude, all of them crammed onto the single bench. It had been a fitting metaphor, she’d thought miserably, as her affection was split so neatly between the two.
Though she could not afford either attachment, what concerned her most was that she could not justify them, either. Jude had rejected her, made it clear that he would never accept anything other than fond friendship between them. Yet still her heart hungered for him. Esau, she had known only two days. Was it intimacy of the body
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