Chapter Six
“Poets and philosophers are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.” – Percy Blythe Shelley
Ursula scribbled another line of poetry, sitting back to inspect her work. Muttering to herself, she scratched out the words.
“How is your poem coming along?” Charlotte asked, coming to stand behind her.
“So far, I have a page full of scratched-out words and crossed out verses,” Ursula muttered. “I thought writing a poem would soothe my jumbled feelings, but it seems to be tangling them up even further.”
The sun was setting, and she had passed the entire day within the confines of her room. Until now, of course. She was surprised that Charlotte had been allowed to pay a visit to her, and even more surprised that she had been allowed to enter.
I thought Papa told me I would see no one and go nowhere.
She put aside the thought. It was not helpful.
“I’m surprised Georgiana hasn’t come to visit you,” Charlotte added, laying a hand on Ursula’s shoulder. “She’s so devoted to you.”
Ursula clenched her teeth. “Not devoted enough to tell the truth, apparently.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
Ursula sighed, and the whole story came out. She told how Georgie had wanted to go for a walk and gone back for her dance card, seemingly forgetting these crucial details later on.
She had expected outrage and anger from Charlotte, but her friend only sighed and shook her head.
“Georgiana can be a little weak-minded, you know. I daresay she was terrified of being implicated. Perhaps she has even forgotten. Don’t hold it against her, Ursula.”
Some of Ursula’s anger faded away at this point. She leaned back in her chair, sighing, and glanced up at her friend.
“You are entirely too sensible for your own good, you know.”
Charlotte only smiled wryly. “One does one’s best. Nevertheless, scandal has a way of turning sour, does it not?"
Ursula felt the familiar dread come crashing down on her shoulders once again.
“Not this,” she murmured. “This will never be forgotten. I’ll never be free of this scandal. Mama told me I was ruined, and Papa can’t even bear to look at me in the eye. I can’t believe that your parents allowed you to visit me.”
Charlotte grimaced. “Ah. About that. Mama and Papa may be under the impression I am visiting somebody else.”
Ursula threw up her hands. “Do you understand? Even you cannot visit me without the threat of being ruined. This is hardly just! Indeed, it is not just at all.”
“You aren’t a child,” Charlotte responded. “Don’t act like one. Stay calm and think of a way out of this. Perhaps you may receive a matrimonial proposal after all.”
“From who? It would take a miracle to save me now.”
A polite cough came from the doorway, making them both flinch. Spinning around, they saw that Evans stood there, looking faintly abashed.
“Forgive my interruption,” he murmured, “But his lordship, your father, requests your presence in the study, Lady Ursula. And Miss Winter, you are requested to collect your things and leave.”
Ursula flinched, her face reddening on Charlotte’s behalf.
“That isn’t fair, Evans. We can’t pack Charlotte off as if she were selling buttons on the doorstep. She is my oldest friend.”
Evans bowed apologetically. “Do forgive me, Lady Ursula, but Lord Farendale requested it.”
“Do not fret, Ursula,” Charlotte murmured, reaching down to pull her into a quick, tight hug. “I’m not offended. I’ll come back, if I can. In the meantime, do as I say and try and think, my dear.”
Ursula managed a small, weak smile. She kissed her friend goodbye and stood watching as she left, a lump coming to her throat.
“Lady Ursula?” Evans asked softly. “We must go. We shouldn’t keep your mother and father waiting. And our guest, of course.”
She stiffened. “Guest?”
Ursula paused outside the closed study door, composing herself. Evans stood by her side, tactfully pretending not to notice. There were no voices coming from inside, and she could almost imagine that the room was empty.
Breathing out carefully and slowly, Ursula pushed open the door.
Inside, Papa sat at his usual desk, tight-lipped, his hands folded together. Mama sat rigidly on a chair by the wall. A third man stood over by the window, his back turned to the room.
Something flickered in the pit of Ursula’s stomach. The breadth of his shoulders seemed familiar, somehow.
“Ah, here you are,” Papa said crisply. “See how quickly she came, Lord Sinclair? She’s a most biddable girl. And the Diamond of the Season, although…” he trailed off wisely.
Lord Sinclair turned around, his cool grey eyes seeming to pin her to the wall from all the way across the room.
“Lady Ursula,” he said, making a neat bow. “Thank you for joining us. Your mother has come up with a proposition which she believes will suit all parties.”
There was a taut silence between them.
“I don’t understand,” Ursula managed at last. “What proposition?”
“Lord Sinclair has made you an offer,” Mama spoke up, her voice a little thin.
“He is embroiled in the same scandal which threatens to eat you alive. While he will likely come through it – gentlemen generally do – he is under a great deal of pressure to find a wife and produce an heir. I have suggested that he wed you. Matrimonies of convenience are so much tidier and cleaner, after all.”
The room suddenly wobbled around her, and Ursula felt unsteady on her feet. She reached out, steadying herself on the back of a chair. Nobody came forward to help her.
She met Lord Sinclair’s gaze squarely. His face was blank and impassive, giving away nothing.
How could I do this to him? This man has shown me nothing but kindness, and here Mama has made him guilty enough to offer matrimony to me. He could have a wife he truly loved. A worthy woman, not… not a woman he barely knows.
“This does not seem fair to Lord Sinclair,” she managed.
Mama shot her a warning glare which Ursula chose to ignore. She took a step forward, fixing her gaze on him.
“Lord Sinclair, do you truly have nobody else you would like to wed?”
“No one at all,” he answered clearly, never blinking or looking away.
“You do not deserve to be tarnished the way have you have been. For my part, I require a wife but do not enjoy searching for one. I do not like Society, and I live in fear that my mother will somehow conjure up a plot to force me into matrimony. So, I will choose to exercise my own free will while I can. I believe we’ll get along well enough together. ”
There was a silence after this speech. Ursula chewed her lower lip, glancing between her parents’ livid faces and Lord Sinclair’s cool eyes.
Abruptly, Mama got up and crossed the room, seizing Ursula’s arm in a pincer-like grip.
“What are you waiting for, you ungrateful girl?” she hissed.
“You’ll never find a decent man to take you now, and Lord Sinclair is a viscount.
We are not waiting for your permission. If you do not wed Lord Sinclair, your life is over.
I dread to think what your Papa will do.
If you are lucky, he’ll pack you away to the country to live out your days in shame, poverty, and infamy.
If you are not, he’ll… well, best not to think about that. For mercy’s sake, girl, say something!”
Ursula stared down at her mother, eyes wide.
She’s right, she thought dizzily. There’s nothing for me to do. No other answer for me to give.
“Very well,” she answered aloud, pleased to hear that her voice did not tremble too much. “I agree to the match.”
Something like relief crossed Papa’s face, and Mama gave a long, slow exhale, sinking back into her seat.
Papa stood, beckoning both Ursula and Lord Sinclair closer to him.
“Give me your hands,” he ordered bluntly.
Lord Sinclair offered an elegant, well-shaped hand which was a little rougher than a gentleman’s ought to be.
When Ursula hesitated, Papa snatched up her hand, squeezing it a fraction too tightly.
Without further ado, he placed her hand on top of Lord Sinclair’s, pressing them together.
“A special license will be procured,” Papa muttered. “You two will be wedded in three days. Until then, you are betrothed. Do you both agree?”
“I agree,” Lord Sinclair responded.
Ursula said nothing, but it seemed that her response was not required after all. She bit her lip, keeping her head aimed towards, her gaze fixed on their hands. Lord Sinclair’s skin was warm and rough under her touch, and she felt that strange fizzling sensation once again.
Where does it come from? And why is it this man who makes me feel so strange?
Then Papa released their hands, and Ursula pulled hers back as if it had been burned.
The feeling, however, did not retreat.
***
Morrison greeted him at the door with a grimace. “The Dowager is here, Lord Sinclair.”
Graham bit back a sigh. “Of course, she is.”
He had left the Fairmont home as quickly as politeness allowed.
He had not been offered tea after their strange, awkward modest betrothal ceremony, and he would not have accepted it anyway.
He found himself keen to get home, back to his books and his poetry and his own comfortable chair by the fire.
I never had a chance to ask Lady Ursula if she had begun to read Frankenstein, he thought bleakly, tugging off his gloves and handing them to his valet. I suppose it doesn’t matter. We’re entering into matrimony together, so I will have plenty of time to ask her.
It didn’t feel real. The time between agreeing to Lady Farencourt’s proposition to actually coming face to face with Lady Ursula had been less than hour, and now here he was at home again.
I’m betrothed. In three days, I shall be wedded.
The scandal sheets will have a wonderful time with that.
“Where is my mother?” he asked, and Morrison gestured to the closed drawing room door.
“The Dowager is in an excellent mood,” Morrison added pointedly, and melted away before Graham could ask further questions.
Taking a moment to regain his composure, Graham pushed open the door to the drawing room.