AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter One
June 1841, Centerville, Delaware
Throw one chair when you’re eleven and you’re a pariah for life.
Ursula ran her finger along the edge of the gilt-wood console table in the Truitts’ vestibule, alone. The music and conversation of the rollicking party in the adjoining rooms wafted through the empty space.
Her presence at the soirée was secured out of obligation—humiliating, but at least being the sole child of a banking baron provided some benefits. Loans were hard to come by in this economy, especially in Delaware, so if the husbands had any say in the guest list, the Nunes name was etched on an invitation.
Bollocks. Her father always complained that parties were frivolous and boring, but if she wanted to see Hugo, this was the place to be. It was time for him to propose. True, the season had hardly begun, but if he did as promised, the night’s outing wouldn’t be a complete waste.
Her chin steady, she ascended the hosts’ grand double staircase. Almost as impressive as the one in her father’s house, though a bit old-fashioned.
She shoved a crème puff into her mouth to ease her rumbling stomach. Perhaps she should take one more gander at the refreshment table and swipe a few more treats. Last time they’d served the most delicious baked apples, and pound cake with sugared berries, and fruit dipped in chocolate. She closed her eyes at the memory.
Chocolate. Ambrosia had nothing on chocolate. With strawberries. Divine. Later—Hugo first, sweets later.
Marriage was the only prudent course of action. He was her best friend, and she was his, and if they didn’t marry each other, they’d have to marry strangers. Or, worse, no one would marry her and when her father died she’d be all alone. Besides, they had a pact.
She hitched her skirts and crept into the upstairs hall.
Hugo Middleton’s familiar form slumped so low he covered more chair rail than wall. His shoulder rested against a portrait of some long-dead Truitt ancestor. The frame was already crooked. She’d have to fix that before they left.
She tapped his shoulder. No need to beat around the bush. It was time. If he did it now people would congratulate her, act friendly towards her, smile at her, pretend she belonged so for once, she didn’t have to tiptoe over glass. “Are you going to talk to my father tonight or tomorrow?”
“Ursula.” Hugo stuttered her name, his pale eyes wide.
She blinked. Was that displeasure on his face? Unlike everyone else, Hugo was never unhappy to see her. Unease scalded her stomach. “You need to ask him. It’s time.”
“Now, Ursula, you know I adore you, have always adored you, and if there was any possible way...” The stuttering increased as he grasped her hand.
Clammy. She wrinkled her nose but stifled her distaste. She’d buy him some talc.
He began again. “My family’s business has had some setbacks. The Middleton fortune and name aren’t what they once were. My parents are in a bit of financial trouble.”
The man had to be joking. Money? This was about money? Money was easy. She could dance in relief. Money was what the Nuneses did best. The whispered criticisms involved them having too much, not too little.
“Hugo, my family is the wealthiest in Delaware. Our Dutch and British holdings can charge whatever interest we desire, and my father will do anything I want so we could help your parents, purchase Middleton Carriers. My father’s always looking to expand, and...”
She bit her lip. Should she say it? Would it be rude? Her father said marriage required trust and honesty. And Hugo loved his own parents so he’d want the truth. Ursula fiddled with the emerald-eyed lion’s head on her bracelet, one of her mother’s favorites. “Now I don’t want to appear forward or ill-mannered or what have you, but Middleton’s model is outdated. Have you looked at rail transport? The steam engine is the way of the future.”
Hugo mopped his brow. The man could certainly sweat. Not his most becoming quality, but no one was perfect—she was far from it, no matter how hard she worked. Besides, Hugo was close to ideal, at least for her. He never mocked her, was kind to her animals, never told her how frizzled her hair was or that her gowns weren’t the right color or cut. Besides her father, Hugo was the only person who let her breathe.
“We can’t. I know we had plans for our mutual protection, but my parents forbid it. I’m sorry. It’s not just the business, it’s my father. He wants—needs, really—a judgeship, a Federal one—a circuit court one. We’re going to Philadelphia. My parents need me to marry someone who...” Hugo mumbled the end of his sentence into his sleeve.
Her heart galloped away, dragging all hopes of surviving adulthood with it.
What did she do wrong this time? Was it the chair again? Or the
chafing dish? She’d tried so hard. She’d behaved. She’d followed most of the rules too. And who could remember what words were impolite or how to fold one’s napkin anyway? What more could people want? Her throat was tight as if she’d swallowed an entire biscuit—one made of lead.
“Someone who what?” Was that a catch in her voice? Blazes, Nuneses didn’t cry. Even when they lost. Crying was weakness and people in her circle filleted the weak for breakfast.
“Ursula, I’m sorry. I really am. I adore you. You’re still the only woman I’d ever want to marry.” He fumbled with his cuff. “But your father is, well, not Christian.”
Bollocks, double bollocks, and blast.
Why did that have to be such an issue? It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. Why was her money good enough, but not her? She clenched her fists, her nails biting into her skin.
She could convince him. No one could argue like she could. That’s what her father said, and her father was always right, except when he said no to her, which was almost never.
She straightened her shoulders.
“You’d never notice. We never spend time with other Jews. I mean, we live in Delaware.” She shook as she spoke, unable to halt her mouth or body. Curls spilled loose from their holdings and flopped in her face. “We see family, I suppose, but rarely. My father takes me to parties and the opera, not synagogue or church. We’re too amusing for that. And we pray before most people wake. You could sleep through it.”
She knit her fingers. It made sense. She and Hugo made sense. Wasn’t that enough?
“Ursula, I can’t, I just really can’t.” Hugo’s eyes darted in her direction one last time as he fled down the stairs, his coattails flapping, before the sob-like gasp escaped her lips.
* * *
Jay Truitt leaned against the doorframe and downed the remainder of a glass of champagne, his third, not enough to sleep, but enough to loosen the garrote around his gut. The air was thick as tar in his parents’ house.
The vest was a mistake. He tugged at the garment. At least he wasn’t old and stiff and in need of a corset like half his friends.
Why did his mother invite him home anyway? He was a failure. The woman’s two-month experiment was pointless. He might as well leave instead of waiting around for his father to take charge. Jay gulped. No way he’d survive the man’s “cure” again.
