Chapter 1
The timeline for a courting couple was very clear.
One began with an introduction, and the gentleman would markedly show attention to the lady, who accepted the attention with modest pleasure.
They would dance together, but no more than twice to avoid scandal.
Only one dance signalled moderate interest, the sort easily mistaken for politeness. Two signalled decided interest.
Carefully chaperoned visits followed suit with promenades marking them as a couple. At this point, Society would guess that there was an Understanding between the two.
A proposal was next followed by a short term betrothal which led to the union of matrimony bringing the story to the final chapter.
In reality, it was quite inevitable.
Leaning back on the sofa, Ursula allowed the letter to fall from her clasp.
Lord Ashford was a fairly ordinary sort of man.
He was not remarkably handsome, but nor was he plain.
His manners were ordinary, imbued with a little of that snide superiority she often saw in men who thought they would be important one day.
The promenading, she knew very well, was not about spending more time with her and getting to know her.
No, it was about making a point, and the point was that she belonged to him, not to anyone else.
Since the moment Lord Ashford had first began to make his interest known, her number of gentlemen callers had begun to taper off.
Oh, they all sent cards and flowers and gifts, but nobody wanted to make an enemy of a man who would one day be a duke by courting the woman he clearly intended to take as his bride so they kept their distance.
Because I all but belong to him now.
The thought sent a shiver down Ursula’s spine, but she decided not to delve too deeply into her feelings on that matter. At that moment, Evans entered yet one more time.
“Oh, please no more flowers,” Ursula groaned.
Evans gave a tight, disapproving smile. “On the contrary, my lady. Miss Worth has arrived.”
Ursula brightened a little, sitting up. “Georgie is here? Oh, excellent. Send her in.”
Miss Georgiana Worth came sailing into the drawing room, all golden curls and pink bows, smelling fresh as a summer’s day.
“There you are, cousin!” she fluted, holding out her hands to Ursula. “I almost didn’t see you amongst the bowers of flowers. I quite expected to see a queue of gentlemen callers outside the front door.”
Chuckling, Ursula rose to her feet, taking her cousin’s hands and kissing her on both cheeks.
“I’ve been spared, remarkably. Do take a seat, Georgie. Have some cake.”
“Cake? No, thank you,” Georgie laughed, sitting gracefully down on the sofa and placing a complacent hand at her narrow waist.
Georgie was pretty – prettier than Ursula herself, in Ursula’s opinion – but it seemed that her gold ringlets and large, doll-blue eyes had not captured Society’s attention enough.
She was not the Diamond. It was a silly title, one that Ursula would have gladly handed over to her cousin if she could, even though she was quite sure that Georgie resented her, if only a little.
Georgie’s clear eyes flitted around the room, taking in every bouquet of flowers, every gift, and every neat little billet-doux.
She smiled, tight-lipped.
“My word, Cousin. How popular you are.”
“It’s nothing but an inconvenience, I can assure you,” Ursula snorted.
Georgie met Mama’s eyes but said nothing. Ursula began to pour the tea.
***
“Here,” Margaret said, sliding a piece of paper towards her son across the breakfast table. “I made a list. Take careful note of it.”
Graham clenched his jaw, glancing briefly down at the paper. It contained a lengthy list of female names, with small annotations on the side containing his mother’s thoughts and opinions on each lady.
“As you can see,” Margaret added, “Lady Annabella Thornfield is at the very top of the list. She is quite perfection, in truth. Such a beauty. Such accomplishment.”
Graham cleared his throat, gingerly pushing his luncheon plate away. He didn’t bother to touch the paper. His mother had already made it abundantly clear which ladies she would like to see him wed this Season.
And I have to pick one of them, or else this torture will continue.
“Mother,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “As you can recall, I did indeed say I would consider finding a wife this Season. I haven’t seen anybody who takes my fancy, and…”
“Oh, for goodness sake, Graham!” Margaret snapped, glaring balefully at him.
“You aren’t a child anymore. You’re the Viscount Sinclair, and you have been for these past six years!
It’s beyond time for you to find a bride.
At this rate, you’ll die childless and the estate and title will pass onto somebody else. Now, how would you like that?”
“Well, I would be dead, Mother, so I’m sure I wouldn’t mind. Besides, I’m barely eight and twenty, I’m hardly on the cusp of death.”
His mother waved her fork at him. “Accidents happen.”
“A cheerful thought,” he agreed. “Mother, please, let’s just enjoy our luncheon. While I didn’t promise to find a bride, I did promise to attend the Season, and so I shall. The marriage mart is such an archaic way of finding a spouse in any case.”
Margaret scoffed. “I’m sure you’d rather find a bride between the pages of a novel.”
Clenching his jaw again, Graham applied his attention to his tea. The Dowager Viscountess Sinclair had a knack for finding a person’s weak spots, and she’d had a lifetime to study her son. It appeared that she had an uncanny talent for undoing someone’s confidence.
At that very moment, with impeccable timing, Graham’s valet stepped through the door.
“Your lordship,” he said, his voice smooth and even with barely a hint of his native Scottish accent, “Lord Hartwell is here to see you.”
Graham brightened. “Jonathan is here? That’s marvellous news.”
“He is in the library, Lord Sinclair.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Morrison.”
Glad for an excuse to leave, Graham got to his feet at once.
“Run away, then,” Margaret muttered sourly. “You always manage to avoid uncomfortable conversations. This one, my boy, will not be going away anytime soon.”
Trying not to listen, Graham strode out of the breakfast-room, allowing himself a sigh of relief once he was outside and out of the way.
Lord Jonathan Hartwell was a man that fortune had smiled upon.
He ought to have been dead a hundred times over by his current age of nine and twenty, having served in the military for many years and nearly dying by a sabre cut five years ago.
He still bore the scar, climbing up his neck and nicking the edge of his jaw.
His appearance didn’t properly tie in with his history.
He was round-faced, with round brown eyes, a wide smile, and a headful of curly blond locks.
He was not tall, and a little plumper than he had been once.
Still, Graham had known a few men to take a swing at him while in their cups, and they’d regretted it. Swiftly.
Jonathan was busy perusing a shelf of newer volumes when Graham entered the library. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at his friend.
“Hello, there. I thought I’d stop by and tell you about this fascinating new first edition I chanced upon. It’s a…” he paused. “Wait a moment. You look positively green. What’s the matter?”
With a sigh, Graham dropped heavily onto the nearest sofa.
“It’s Mother. She’s gotten it into her head that I shall be wedded this Season and won’t take no for an answer. She wants me to enter into matrimony with Lady Annabella. She’s practically got the wedding invitations written out already.”
Jonathan grimaced. “Ah. I see. Well, Lady Annabella is remarkably pretty. She’s accomplished, too.”
“I have no doubt that she’s a very worthy sort of woman, but I don’t wish to wed her.”
Jonathan settled himself onto the sofa beside his friend, and they sat there in silence for a moment or two.
“Speaking only for myself,” Jonathan began carefully, “I should very much like to be wedded, but I despair of finding the right woman. If you can find the right woman, Graham, you should seize the opportunity. If it isn’t Lady Annabella, then find out who it is.
You’re handsome, young, rich, and titled.
You could have just about any woman in Society. ”
Graham snorted. “I think not. I’m hardly anything to look at. I’m entirely too tall, rather thinner than I would like, and I have dark brown hair and grey eyes. My face is a boring one, to be candid.”
Jonathan chuckled. “You’re too hard on yourself.”
“Perhaps so, but I’m afraid…” he broke off, not quite sure that he wanted to voice his suspicions aloud. Jonathan glanced at him, raising his eyebrows.
“You can confide in me, old friend.”
He sighed. “I’m afraid that Mother will put me in a situation where I cannot avoid entering into matrimony with a woman of her choice.”
“And how would she do that? She’s can’t compel you to wed according to her wishes.”
Graham gave a grim smile. “Can’t she? Don’t you recall the scandal last Season, where Miss Emmott’s parents insisted that she’d been alone with Captain Humming, and that he’d damaged her reputation? He had to wed her at once. Any gentleman would.”
“But… But surely your mother would never do such a thing.”
There was a long silence between the two. Graham chewed the inside of his cheek, staring at his collection of books. Most of them had been collected by his forefathers, but in the years since he’d been Viscount, Graham had added a few hundred himself.
“To be truthful, I’m not entirely sure what my mother would do,” Graham said at last, his voice quiet. “She’s determined that I should wed and produce an heir as soon as possible, and I truly do not know what she’d be willing to do to make it happen. Frankly, I confess, I am somewhat apprehensive.”
The silence stretched out again, until at last Jonathan slapped his thighs and got to his feet.
“Well, I won’t allow you to sit here and mope,” he said firmly.
“Come, let’s go and take a look at my library – I have a few manuscripts I believe you will find of great interest. Better yet, let’s go to Hatchard’s and take a look at the books there.
At any rate, let’s put this maudlin nonsense aside.
You aren’t going to be compromised, and if you do choose to wed, you’ll have your choice of bride. ”
I wish I could believe that, Graham thought miserably.