Chapter Two
“It is the common failing of an ambitious mind to over-rate itself – to imagine that it has been, by the caprices of fortune, defrauded of the high honours due to its supposed superiority.” – Glenarvon, Lady Caroline Lamb
Charlotte’s arrival was like a weight off Ursula’s mind. At last, Mama had gone off to attend to her correspondence, since the calling hours were over and her time was now her own.
“We must go to Hatchard’s,” Charlotte said fervently. “They have several volumes of…” she paused, shooting a significant look at Ursula, “… of a book you and I particularly enjoy.”
Glenarvon, Ursula thought, with a rush of excitement. It would be pleasant to have a copy of her own book rather than borrowing it from other, slower readers.
“Hatchard’s?” Georgie piped up, having trailed after Ursula from the drawing room to the library. “The bookshop?”
“Yes, and you ought to come with us, Georgiana.” Charlotte said, very neatly extending the invitation.
Charlotte always knows the right thing to say, Ursula thought with a wry smile.
Charlotte was twenty-two years old, nudging the dreaded Spinsterish age.
Her parents were keen for her to wed, but Charlotte seemed entirely unhurried and unconcerned by their urgency.
She was considered rather plain, an unflattering label which Ursula resented fervently on behalf of her friend.
Privately, Ursula thought that if Charlotte tried to curl her straight brown hair and wore dresses that were more colourful and fashionable, people might notice her beautiful, clear blue eyes and her fine-boned features.
Not that Charlotte cared for such things.
She was entirely too practical. At that moment, she was wearing a simply cut grey gown with a plain straw bonnet.
Alongside Ursula’s ruched violet-coloured muslin and Georgie’s flouncy green silk, she seemed entirely ordinary.
This upset Ursula, who knew fine well that her friend was not ordinary.
“I should like to come to Hatchard’s,” Georgie said, and Charlotte smiled.
“It’s settled, then. Shall we go now?”
“Whose carriage shall we take?” Georgie asked, looking a little wary.
“It isn’t too far away,” Ursula responded, slinging a shawl over her shoulder and tugging on a pair of gloves. “We’ll walk.”
Georgie scowled. “Walk? I don’t think so. Not in this silk. If you really aren’t going to be sensible, I think I shall just go home.”
Charlotte discreetly said nothing, leaving Ursula to deal with the situation.
“Well, if you wish,” Ursula said at last. “But it really isn’t far.”
Georgie wouldn’t be swayed. Clearly in a bad temper, she pulled on her gloves and shoved her bonnet onto her curls at a comical angle and stamped out to where her own carriage waited. The two remaining women watched her leave.
“Good riddance,” Charlotte muttered.
“Charlotte!”
“Oh, do forgive me, Ursula, but I am not particularly fond of your cousin. And I feel quite sure that the feeling is mutual. She’s so very jealous all the time. She was fairly raging when you were dubbed the Season’s Diamond and not her.”
Ursula tutted, buttoning up her gloves. “Those silly, made-up titles mean nothing. It’s already bad enough, being forced to fight against one’s own friends for a man’s attentions. I will never resort to that.”
“I quite believe it,” Charlotte responded, looping her arm through her friend’s. “Now, shall we go?”
***
Hatchard’s, as always, was very full. It was one of the most popular bookshops in London. The ceiling was low, and the bookshelves formed a sort of dense maze. One really could get lost in the shop. A scrawny young man bumped against Graham’s shoulder, causing him to drop the books he was carrying.
“Have a care, sir!” Graham snapped, but the young man merely scowled and moved on. Sighing, Graham crouched down to collect his books.
On cue, somebody came around a corner and tripped neatly over Graham.
“Oof,” came an annoyed female voice.
“I beg your pardon,” Graham said at once, straightening up. “My books… never mind. Here, let me help you up.”
The young woman tumbled on the floor in front of him seemed vaguely familiar. She wore a rich purple gown, her hair done up in an intricate design of curls and ringlets. She was remarkably pretty, but of course Society was full of remarkably pretty young women.
“I didn’t exactly expect to round a corner and find a gentleman on the floor,” the woman huffed. She did not accept his offered hand, instead hauling herself to her feet and dusting herself down.
“Again, I apologise,” Graham responded smoothly. No doubt she was a prissy little Society miss, unpleasant and insufferable outside of a ballroom. Then he glanced down and paused. A familiar title caught his eye.
“Frankenstein,” he murmured. “That book has only been published only recently.”
Reddening, the woman swept it up, tucking it protectively away under her arm.
The book had been published before the Season began in earnest, at the beginning of January. Already, it was causing a stir. Some bookshops and circulating libraries refused to carry it.
“You may keep your opinions to yourself, sir,” the woman snapped, eyes blazing.
He held up his hands in apology. “I didn’t mean to air them, Miss…?”
“Lady,” the woman corrected, lifting her chin. “I am Lady Ursula Fairmont.”
Ahh. Now I understand.
Lady Ursula was the Season’s Diamond, courted by all sorts of worthy gentlemen.
She’s certainly beautiful enough.
Graham crouched down, collecting the rest of Lady Ursula’s books. He noticed several volumes of Shelley’s works, as well as a slim volume of Keats.
“You enjoy poetry, Lady Ursula?”
“I do,” she responded, her voice a little clipped. She kept her copy of Frankenstein tucked safely under her arm. He glanced up at her, handing back the books without yet rising to his feet.
Lady Ursula watched him cautiously, nibbling her lower lip.
In that instant, she reminded him so intensely of Jane that he nearly wobbled backwards.
No. She is not Jane. I must not allow myself to fall into that trap again. Jane is gone, and I will never allow myself to be hurt in such a way again. Jane said that I was unsuitable, and she meant it. I will learn this time.
He rose to his feet, smiling genially.
Lady Ursula seemed to relax a little with her books back in her control.
“I suppose I am rather fond of controversial authors,” she said, a little apologetically. “I have finally gotten my hands on a copy of Glenarvon, you see.”
“Ahh, written by the infamous Lady Caroline Lamb. I have read it myself; it’s a marvellous work.”
Lady Ursula brightened a little. “Have you? Well, do not spoil the ending for me. I think it a terrible pity that the author should be excluded from Society over a book, of all things. A book of fiction, too.”
He chuckled. “Yes, but the characters were not entirely fictitious, and many people took offence. It hardly matters, I suppose. I imagine that the book will endure, and those who hate it will not. Much like Frankenstein, I suppose.”
“I don’t know,” she murmured. “A friend of mine – my cousin – said that the book will be forgotten in the space of a year. Frankenstein, that is.”
“Time will tell,” he answered briskly. “Is there anything else I may do for you?”
He intended to end the conversation, of course.
There was something in the way Lady Ursula looked at him and in the way she avoided eye contact which made his skin prickle.
That was not a good start. He wished to avoid entanglements, and that meant avoiding conversations with attractive, intelligent young women.
“No,” Lady Ursula responded at once, immediately stiffening up. The warmth in her eyes faded altogether, until Graham was not entirely sure that it had been there in the first place.
With that, they moved past each other, heads head high and continued their book-browsing. Graham found himself glancing back over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of her one more time, but to his dismay she had left.
And a good thing, too, he thought sourly. What are you thinking, fancying the Diamond of the Season? The woman that every man wants? You’re a fool, Graham, and a big one at that.
It was only when he walked away that Graham realised that he had not introduced himself to Lady Ursula, and nor had she asked.
***
Charlotte allowed her fingers to trail along the spines of the books without looking at them.
Ursula was deep in conversation with Viscount Sinclair, a very eligible man that was, according to rumour, on the lookout for a wife this Season. Or rather, his mother was searching for one on his behalf.
Charlotte did not approve of such weak men, but it was unfortunately common in Society. She rarely gave thought to her own future husband, as such a man had never presented himself, but she would never wed a man who relied on his parents to organize his life. It was simply childish.
I should be less harsh, she thought grimly. Ursula’s mamma is all but arranging her matrimony.
However, if Ursula were to establish a connection with a gentleman on her own grounds… well, that would be good, would it not? Lord Sinclair was a man who read, at the very least. That was better than nothing.
Her questing fingers slid across a pair of warm, masculine knuckles, and she spun around, whisking her hand away.
Standing beside her was a young man, equally shocked, with wide brown eyes and a tousled mop of dark hair.
“Do forgive me,” he stuttered. “I did not see you there.”
Charlotte curled her fingers into a fist. For some reason, they were still tingling from the touch which made no sense to her.
“Pray, think nothing of it as it was purely accidental.”
He gave a wry smile. “I believe we were reaching for the same book.”
“Well, I shall insist on you taking it.”
“I will not hear of it,” the man answered firmly, taking the book – a volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets, Charlotte noticed – and handing it to her. “I am Lord Hartwell.”
“I am Miss Winter. My friend is Lady Ursula over there, talking to that gentleman.”
Lord Hartwell’s eyes sharpened. “How interesting. That gentleman is Lord Sinclair. He is my friend.”
Charlotte tilted her head to one side. “What a fascinating coincidence.”
He smiled back at her, something tentative and hopeful in his eyes. Charlotte’s heart pounded just a little faster and harder inside her chest.
“Yes. Fascinating indeed!”