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Lydia sobbed harder. Ursula squinted at her. A bit dramatic. It was as if Lydia and her family were the ones harmed, instead of whatever it was. Obnoxious. But, she adored Rachel, who for some unknown reason adored Lydia... Better attempt to be kind.
Ursula moved to the girl and placed an arm around her shoulder, giving her a slight pat. “It’ll be all right.” Lydia’s tears dripped down the bodice of her dress. “Whatever happened we’ll be fine. There are other holdings, in London and in Amsterdam. The portion of the business your father assists is hardly a quarter. Many families suffered far greater losses than that during the downturn.” She rubbed Lydia’s back.
Lydia pulled away and stared at Ursula. “You don’t understand.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It wasn’t the business files the thieves took, it was the personal files. They were working for someone who wanted to hurt you, specifically.”
Ursula frowned. Personal files? What sort of personal files? She glanced at her father. His deep, tanned skin had turned gray. Eyes wide, he sank to his knees.
Jay finally came to life, ran and assisted him onto one of the chairs. What was happening? Was he ill? He couldn’t be ill, not her father. Her heart began to pound.
“Water,” Jay called to the butler.
“And a cold cloth,” she added when she found her voice. She ran to his side. “Father. Father, are you all right? What’s the matter? Whatever it is, we’ll survive. As I said, there’s plenty of money and there isn’t much that money can’t solve—”
“Urs.” Jay cut her off.
She stared at him. What did he know? Hot, it was so very hot.
The butler returned. Jay shoved the glass of water in her father’s hands and assisted him in bringing it to his lips. She pressed the cloth to his forehead, her hands clumsy.
Uncle Bernard made a noise of disgust and snatched the paper from Lydia’s hand.
“I’m so sorry,” she repeated. The girl stared at the floor while her uncle grumbled.
He waved a finger at her father. “I warned you, Judah, I warned you this would happen. She was making too many enemies, without even knowing the whole story. Reed, Middleton, even Morris—take your pick, it doesn’t matter which one—all had the means and it had to have been so easy. Enough people knew, have always known, that it was bound to be exposed. I’ve told you for years, but you didn’t listen. You never listen, not now, not nineteen years ago.”
Ursula froze. Reed, Middleton, Morris? Her uncle couldn’t have told her father about what she said at the poker game, could he? No, Jay’s throat hadn’t been slit.
Wait—nineteen years ago? A shiver shot through her body. She’d have only been two.
She gasped. The secret, the feud, her parents, her mother and father—that was what this was about.
“What are you not telling me?” she demanded more than asked.
Something was wrong, very wrong. She snatched the paper from her uncle. He could hate her if he wanted or disapprove or—
“Ursula,” her father cried.
She scanned the words. The society gossip section. She found her own, full name this time, but Jay’s was only mentioned once. Her voice shook as she read.
“‘Miss Ursula Nunes, fiancée to John Thaddeus Truitt V, half of this season’s most attractive couple, is not what she seems. She may personally hold controlling interest in Nunes Companies, an odd feat for a woman, but she is not a Nunes.’”
She read the line over and over again. It didn’t make sense. The business belonged to her father, not her. And not a Nunes? Her name was Ursula Nunes. That’s who she was. She was her parents’ only child. She was Ursula Nunes from Wilmington, Delaware.
“The late Roseanna Nunes was once Roseanna Simon of London, a common criminal...”
Her vocal cords no longer vibrated. The words rang in her ears, but she made no sound. The article went on to state how she’d been born before her parents’ marriage, her father unknown. It was even suggested her mother had died of—there was no good euphemism for that disease.
It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. She stared at her father again. Her knees buckled. Jay ran to her and caught her before she reached the floor, easing her down.
Her father coughed and choked on the water. Uncle Bernard sat next to him, forcing slow sips. That should be her job. She should be able to take care of him, but she couldn’t rise again.
“Who is my father?” She couldn’t stop repeating the question. From the expression on her father’s face, if she’d have slapped him it would’ve been less painful, but she couldn’t stop.
Uncle Bernard sighed. “Lydia, please go find Rachel. I’m sure the two of you have studying to do. Mind Isaac as well for a little while.”
Ursula didn’t turn around as Lydia’s feet echoed on the stair. The room spun while her uncle directed his butler to take her father into the study with smelling salts.
Everything burned. The man had to hoist her father like he was an invalid.
