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Bolloc
ks. She had to clutch her hands not to touch her lips. The memory made her dizzy. Well, there was a first time for everything. She forced eye contact to answer.
“No. He’s only touched me in courteous ways, as a fiancé would, and while we’re dancing, of course.”
Her throat burned. She stroked it.
Could he see? She’d lied, lied to her father. Her lungs strained against her ribs. It wasn’t a complete lie. He’d only kissed after she asked, really demanded, so why should he get in trouble? Also, why should there be trouble? It was a kiss—a single kiss, and they were engaged...
“Good.” Her father’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Now, we, of all people, should understand that rumors are rumors and take everything cum grano salis—”
Ursula giggled at the stilted rendition of the Latin, taught by less skilled tutors than hers.
He smiled only with his lips. “Perhaps your children will be taught the language as well as Greek and French in the finest schools. None will be closed to them.”
Ursula blinked. Yes, in the future her children would have all the privileges they’d both been denied. How though? Not with the Middleton name. She resisted a grimace. Her father gave her a wry smile.
“That’s the benefit of marrying one of them.” He voiced her thoughts though the judgment in his words cut. Regret rang in his tone as well.
What choice did she have in the matter, really? Did he not understand that? Being raised alongside but never among both Jews and gentiles left her undefined. Hugo’s name would’ve given her a place. She’d give anything for a place—well, almost anything.
“Regardless.” Her father released a breath. “There are rumors that young Mr. Truitt fathered illegitimate children, by multiple women, and that J.T. pays to hide them. People believe their finances aren’t what they seem and Jay was the reason they sold the medicinal line.”
No, no, no, no.
Those were impossible rumors. Especially as she’d bet her own inheritance on the fact the last part was true, but for a very different reason.
Ursula twisted her knuckles, running through every comment Jay’d ever made about his liaisons. Everything involved precautions and mutuality and discretion—the opposite of the gossip. She squeezed harder. Yes, she wasn’t skilled at reading people, but it’d be illogical for Jay to offer lies appropriate of and in response to nothing. Wouldn’t it?
“I’ve seen nothing to suggest that there is any veracity to those rumors.” She tightened her stance and stared her father in the eye. “You’ve been with Mr. Truitt these past few weeks. You’ve spoken with him, lived with him, observed him. Have you seen any evidence to support them? Yes, he’s had many—” What was the word? She chewed on her lip. Right. “Paramours, but he’s not a callous or careless man. He has flaws—”
Her father snorted. “Really?”
Well, yes, but he didn’t have to say it like that. Her jaw popped. It shouldn’t matter, but the infuriating way everyone was friendly to Jay’s face, benefitting from him and his company, then turning on him when he was gone—she squeezed the fabric of her skirt.
“Many flaws. He’s indulgent. He’s often not responsible. He’s comfortable not being responsible, actually. He’s most comfortable with only the lowest of expectations. Those flaws are harmless flaws. Well, not harmless, not to him, but to everyone else. You see that, just as I do.”
How could she convince him? At least until they did a proper investigation. The sugar in her throat transformed into vinegar. He had to believe her, he just had to. Even if they’d never see Jay again in a few weeks’ time, the unfairness scalded.
Her father matched her posture. His dark eyes bore into hers for a long moment before his shoulders relaxed.
“I hope you’re right.” He ran his fingers through his graying hair. “I’ll admit he doesn’t seem like a man who’d ignore his children, legitimate or not, and he’s certainly amusing and entertaining. He’s also cleverer than he lets on. But how well do we really know him?”
“Still, we, of all people, know what it’s like to have spurious rumors spread about us, to have people believe awful things—” she started.
Her vision blurred as her father’s jaw softened further. He closed his eyes.
“And how even our successes, however hard fought, are maligned and spit upon.”
The lump swelled higher. The comments would never cease. Neither of them would even be in the room without Jay Truitt’s connections no matter how many times her father met with the same men on a regular basis.
“Jealousy or pettiness coupled with gossip can damage anyone, from Jay Truitt, to us. Plenty of people see our success and denigrate it, call it underhanded or immoral, but if we were poor, we’d be called a ‘drain on society.’” She dug her nails into her palms as the whispers and snide remarks that followed her throughout her childhood rang in her ear—the resentment of how her family “bought” their place in society. Of how the Nuneses forced themselves down people’s throats.
Her father waved a dismissive hand. “Fortunately, this is America, so there are limits on our exclusion, especially with enough capital. At least we’re well suited and shall be for some time, though your investment suggestions deserve some consideration.”
Her chest swelled. She forced herself not to clap. Good. He still listened to her and didn’t believe she’d gone entirely silly with the thoughts of marriage to Hugo.
“About those suggestions. I have some new ones.”
