Chapter Seven
“If poetry comes not as naturally as leaves to the tree it had better not come at all.” – John Keats
“I had my attorneys write up this contract,” Graham said bluntly, pushing the document across the desk.
Lord Farendale eyed it with the same disgust that Graham felt and picked it up with the tips of his fingers.
Already, the newspapers had learned about the betrothal. Graham was a little baffled that they could discover such a thing so quickly. Already, it was the talk of London.
“I imagine your mother, the redoubtable Dowager Sinclair, is unhappy with this match?” Lord Farendale said, just as bluntly as Graham.
Graham thought of the pile of angry letters waiting for him in his study, all of them from his mother. They had accused him of undutiful behaviour, of plain cruelty, of bland stupidity.
“You could say so,” he said at last. “But my mother does not command my destiny. I do.”
Lord Farendale gave a grunt. “Generally, I would offer some wise counsel about obeying one’s parents, but in this case your obedience suits us well. This contract is acceptable.”
He signed with a flourish and pushed the document back across the table.
It was a carefully drawn up contract ensuring both Graham and Lady Ursula would have access to their own finances, something which would protect them from further scandal for the time being at least.
The whole situation felt like a dream.
“Two days, then,” Graham managed at last. “Two days till the nuptial vows.”
Lord Farendale smiled, tight-lipped. “My wife is preparing the wedding. It will be a rather simple affair. I doubt we’ll have many guests.”
Graham held the man’s stare. “It isn’t about guests, is it?”
“No,” Lord Farendale answered after a moment. “I suppose it is not.”
“I shall take my leave of you.”
“Have tea in the parlour, first.”
Graham paused, half-risen from his seat. “Thank you, but I’d rather…”
“You must socialise with us a little,” Lord Farendale barked. “It’s clear that this is a matrimony of convenience, but you’ve barely been in the house for ten minutes. I’d appreciate it if you would not humiliate myself and my daughter, please.”
Graham stared at him, shocked. “I never intended…”
“Intentions mean nothing,” he interrupted. “We have learned that by now, I believe. There’ll be tea in the parlour. You don’t have to speak to anybody, simply sit there for a while and drink alone. You’ll come out of the house later, and watchers will assume that you spent time with your fiancé.”
“Why… Why the subterfuge?” Graham stammered. “Why not simply…”
“We are being observed,” Lord Farendale interrupted once more. “And you will have plenty of time to spend with my daughter once you are wedded.”
There was really nothing to say to that. Graham rose to his feet, made a neat, silent bow, and retreated.
Out in the hall, he heaved a long sigh of relief.
That study makes me feel as though I can’t breathe, he thought miserably. Keen to get away, he turned on his heel and strode away down the hallway.
Fairmont House was a large, sprawling building, with long and thin corridors that twisted here and there like a maze. It did not take Graham long to realize that he was, in fact, lost.
He paused, looking about him as sweat started to break out and run down his forehead. Sweat prickled on his forehead.
Excellent! I declare! So am I to understand I shall be quite unable to find my way about in my unwilling fiancés house? How positively delightful?
Clenching his jaw, he set off at a brisk jog, determined to find a way out of the wretched place somehow, even if it meant that he ignored the tea waiting for him in the parlour.
Picking up the pace, Graham tried in vain to conjure up a map of the house in his head, wondering whether he should take this turn or that one, or if the exit would lead him through another room, or…
Hurrying around the corner, Graham walked straight into a woman carrying an armful of books, sending them both flying.
“Oof,” she managed, and Graham recognized the voice immediately.
“Lady Ursula,” he murmured.
Just my luck.
She shook her head, visibly dazed. Half a dozen books spanned out on the ground between them. One of them was Frankenstein.
Graham leaned forward and began collecting the books.
“My deepest apologies, Lady Ursula,” he said. “We really must stop meeting like this.”
She gave a huff of surprised laughter. “I concur.”
For an instant, there was an uncomfortable silence.
“I do apologise about the way this has worked out,” Graham managed at last. “I imagine I would not have been your first choice of husband.”
She shot him a sharp look that he could not quite read. “Well, I could have chosen a worse man, I suppose. You are no worse than Lord Ashford.”
He snorted. “I am not going to be a duke one day.”
“But you do encourage reading. And you enjoy poetry, which the good future-duke does not.”
“And that goes a long way with you, does it?”
Graham immediately regretted the words, afraid that he had gone too far.
To his surprise, however, Lady Ursula broke into a smile.
“You would be surprised,” she answered, flashing her teeth.
“Have you begun Frankenstein yet?”
“No, not yet. I have only just got my hands on the second and third volumes of Glenarvon.”
The last of the books were dutifully gathered up. Tucking them under his arm, Graham reached out to offer a hand to Lady Ursula. She hesitated only for an instant before taking it.
A flutter ran up his arm at her touch, her hand soft and warm in his.
She rose gracefully, drawing her full lower lip between her teeth.
For some reason, the gesture made Graham’s chest constrict.
He spotted, for the first time, a delicate flush running down her throat towards her collar, and he swallowed thickly.
“I hope I will make you happy,” Lady Ursula said suddenly. “I know that you are acting the gentleman towards me. It is kind of you to… to save me in this way.”
Graham felt as though he were sinking.
“I am not saving you,” he said at last, holding her gaze.
“Lady Ursula, you and I are both involved in the same scandal. I require a wife, and you require a husband. Neither of us are looking for love. We share common interests, and I believe that you find the process of searching for a match just as tiresome as I do. In that case, I believe that we are saving each other. I see no reason why we should not be as content as any wedded couples.”
“Content,” Lady Ursula echoed, missing a beat. “Yes, contentment is often forgotten about, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” Graham added eagerly. “And it means that we can avoid the awkwardness of courtship."
Had he gone too far? Was he implying that he wished to avoid spending effort on her?
She did not seem offended. “I suppose you are right. By the way, you ought to stop calling me Lady Ursula. You can simply call me Ursula, I believe.”
He nodded, a little relieved. “Thank you. My name is Graham.”
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Graham.”
Before Graham could say something else, Lady Ursula smiled up at him.
Her entire face transformed when she smiled.
She was a beautiful woman, remarkably so, and her face had haunted his dreams since the moment he first saw her.
When she smiled, however, her eyes crinkled up and her face lit up. She glowed, almost, from within.
His heart pounded. His chest tightened. Something fluttered in his gut that felt worryingly, powerfully like desire.
Her hand was still in his. She was barely an arm’s length away.
I could kiss her, he thought dizzily.
Then somebody cleared their throat behind him.
Both Graham and Lady Ursula flinched, nearly jumping out of their skins, and spun around to find Lady Farendale staring coldly at them.
“Mama,” Lady Ursula gasped.
“Lady Farendale,” Graham stuttered.
“This is not the parlour, Lord Sinclair,” the older woman said coolly, her voice clipped.
He flushed. “I got lost, I’m afraid.”
“I see. Well, follow me, and I shall lead you there. As for you, Ursula, back to your room.”
Ursula nodded obediently. Graham wordlessly handed over her books, and she clutched them to her chest. She scurried away, and he found himself following her with his eyes.
A matrimony of convenience, he thought, heart pounding. What shall I do if it becomes more than that? What then?