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“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 “Now, I don’t want to appear forward or ill-mannered or what have you, but Middleton’s model is outdated.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.
He patted under every surface in the second-floor guest room for the third time. He could’ve sworn he’d hidden a stash behind the mirror. Dash it. This is what his parents wrought. Two years he’d held himself together, but the moment he returned home a single craving ensorcelled his senses—too many people, too many rules, too many memories.
At least his perch permitted him a front row seat to a rather stimulating conversation and confirmation he wasn’t the only miserable guest. Bravo. He should toast the unfortunate couple.
Poor, poor Hugo. He and Ursula Nunes would never work. The Middleton name, though old as his own, lacked cachet and finances. The family’s holdings were decimated when the American banks crashed and the Middletons lacked the political pull for Hugo’s father’s ambitions. His own father, the fourth John Thaddeus Truitt, gossiped about the whole affair the other night. Perhaps he should’ve listened harder.
Or not. The Middletons and their problems were dull—Delaware dull.
