Chapter Eleven
“The great object of life is sensation - to feel that we exist, even though in pain.” – Lord Byron
The servants had all assembled to witness her arrival.
Ursula swallowed hard, stepping out from the carriage, and attempted to compose her countenance.
Did she present the appearance of a proper lady?
After the day's long journey, she felt quite rumpled and fatigued, the silk blossoms in her coiffure beginning to wilt, and her hem torn in at least one place where she had trodden upon it.
At some point, night had fallen, stars beginning to appear one by one in the violet sky above their heads.
There was nothing else that she could do, however, but to dismount and stand nervously in front of the carriage and stand before two long lines of people in front of her, stretching back the house in increasing order of importance.
Graham offered her his arm. “Come, Lady Sinclair,” he said, offering an encouraging smile. "Come, let us be presented to everyone."
He led her up the stone steps towards the house, past scullery maids, stable boys, kitchen maids, housemaids, gardeners, and of course footmen.
The very last woman in the ranks of housemaids was Ruthie, who Graham introduced at once.
Ruthie was a pleasant, round-faced woman with a shy smile and red hair poking out from under her cap.
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Ruthie,” Ursula said, offering a hesitant smile. “I am quite certain we shall get along splendidly.”
Was that the correct thing to say to one’s lady’s maid? It hardly mattered, because Ruthie offered a wide, delighted smile.
“Oh, I hope so to, your ladyship!”
Graham led her on to the doorway, where two men and one woman, dressed all in black, stood apart from the others.
“This is Mrs. Richards, the housekeeper, and Mr. Richards, the butler. They are husband and wife which I suspect you have already understood. This is Morrison, my valet.”
All three of them made neat bows.
“Your room has been prepared, your ladyship,” Mrs. Richards said gently.
She was in her prime nearing her fifty years of age, a soft-looking woman with white hair and a gentle face.
Her husband rather resembled her, albeit a taller and more masculine version.
“I can have refreshments laid out in the drawing room at once, if you wish. Or perhaps a tour?”
Ursula missed a beat before she realised that Graham was not going to answer for her. Suddenly, the idea of patrolling this large house as night fell outside made her feel exhausted. Her shoes pinched, her dress was too tight, and she was tired of smiling and socialising.
“No, thank you, Mrs. Richards,” she answered. “I believe I shall retire straight to bed.”
It was only once the words were out that Ursula realised what she had said.
Bed.
That fateful, thrilling word brought all kinds of ideas with it, and the sure fire knowledge that as soon as she entered her bedroom, her wedding night would begin.
Well, there was no taking it back now. Ursula swallowed thickly, her hand tightening on Graham’s arm.
“Very well, your ladyship,” Mrs. Richards said pleasantly.
Graham was the one who moved to step into the house first, almost pulling Ursula along with him. She stumbled, knocking against him. His arm was firm and strong, and he reached out at once to steady her.
“Careful,” he said, laughing. “We can’t have you breaking your head when you first step over the threshold. It would be terribly bad luck.”
“My apologies,” she responded sheepishly. “I’m just used to following Mama around and waiting for her to lead the way. I must endeavour to alter my way viewpoint, I believe.”
“Indeed you must. A viscountess leads the way; she is not led.”
She glanced hastily up at him, wondering if he was mocking her. There was indeed a smile on his face, but a kindly one. When he glanced down and met her eye, he gave a wink.
They had entered the foyer, a cavernous space that was all marble and stone walls, which gave way to a carpeted hallway and a thickly carpeted set of stairs. Graham led the way upwards, still with Ursula’s hand on his arm.
This is it, she thought dizzily. My wedding night.
They reached a landing which branched into two.
“The gentleman’s wing is to the right,” Graham explained. “My room is the Blue Room, which is traditionally the viscount’s room. The Viscountess’ room is in the left wing, the ladies’ wing, the Green room. I shall show you.”
The hallway was surprisingly narrow, obliging Ursula to release Graham’s arm. He led the way, pausing quite abruptly before a large door with a rounded top. It was, unsurprisingly, painted green.
“This is your room,” Graham said, turning to face her. The light in the hallway was not good, and she struggled to read his expression. “I hope you’ll find everything to your satisfaction.”
“Yes,” Ursula breathed. “I imagine that I shall.”
He swallowed, his throat working. “Very well. In you go, then. Ruthie will be along shortly to help you undress.”
He gave her a bow … a bow! And he then slid past her, striding back along the hallway the way they had come.
Ursula stared after him, eyes wide.
Oh, for heaven’s sake!
She wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the plunging feeling of disappointment. Shouldn’t she be feeling relieved? She was being spared the wedding night for now. A proper lady would be relieved.
Ursula was not relieved. Not even a little.
She watched him retreat, then turned to her room. There was nothing for it but to go inside.
The room was nicely decorated, and larger than she had expected.
There was a huge four-poster bed, of course, but there was also a little sitting area with padded armchairs and a velvet chaise longue, all angled in front of a roaring fire.
Fresh flowers had been placed in thin vases, filling the room with a delicate floral scent.
A closet door had been left pointedly open, revealing some of her dresses hanging inside, and a fresh white night gown had been laid over the bed. The room was warm, cosy, and inviting.
It’s mine, Ursula thought, faintly amazed. How could this have happened?
She took a few steps into the room, peering about. She only had a moment or two to collect herself before footsteps approached. For one wild minute, Ursula thought that Graham had returned.
It wasn’t Graham. Ruthie stepped apologetically into the room, belatedly offering a curtsey.
“I have come to help you settle you in, your ladyship. Would you like tea? Chocolate, perhaps?”
“Chocolate is for mornings,” Ursula laughed, feeling a little self-conscious. “I’m fine, thank you. I just came from a wedding-breakfast that oddly lasted all day.”
Ruthie gave her a smile. “Aye, your ladyship, but I heard that on a bride’s wedding day, she’s lucky to get even a mouthful of her own wedding-cake.”
Ursula laughed at that.
Ruthie was quick and efficient, neatly undressing Ursula out of her wedding gown and helping her into the much more comfortable night gown. Despite the fire, the room seemed cold after her layers of clothing had been removed, and Ursula shivered, barefoot in her thin night gown.
“I’ll turn down the sheets for you, your ladyship,” Ruthie offered, “and fetch you a warming-pan. How does that sound?”
“It sounds marvellous, Ruthie. Perhaps you could…”
Ursula trailed off when a delicate tap came at the door. At once, her skin prickled, goose bumps breaking out all over. Ruthie scuttled to the door, opening it a crack. At once, she gave a faint gasp and opened the door entirely.
It was Graham.
He had changed out of his wedding finery into a plain shirt, tucked into the waistband of the black breeches he was already wearing.
He clutched what appeared to be a bottle of wine in his hand.
Ursula wondered, briefly, if he was in his cups, but there really hadn’t been time for that.
The bottle, while uncorked, did not appear to have been drunk from.
“I hoped for an audience with my wife, Ruthie,” he remarked gently.
Ruthie, who had gone an interesting shade of red, bobbed a silent curtsey. Snatching up Ursula’s discarded linens, she dashed out of the door, closing it behind her with a bang.
That left Graham and Ursula alone. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked out the minutes before Graham spoke.
“I shall leave at once, if you prefer,” he said, his gaze boring into her. “If you are tired, or simply do not wish…”
“No,” Ursula said, a little too quickly. “No, I… I should like you to stay. If you wish, of course.”
He held her gaze for a long moment, and Ursula compelled herself not to look away. At last, he gave a slow, wry smile.
“Very well. Here, I brought a very fine Bordeaux from the cellars. I would have brought up glasses, but I noticed that poor Richards was in the process of polishing them all, and I simply couldn’t bring myself to smudge even two of them with fingerprints.
I know, I know, I am dreadfully sentimental. ”
Ursula offered a smile. “Sentimental men are very pleasant creatures.”
He grinned. “I am delighted to hear your sentiments.”
“But how exactly shall we drink the wine?”
Holding her gaze, he put the rim of the bottle to his lips and tipped it up, taking a long swig. When he pulled the bottle away, there was a muffled pop as his lips separated from the rim.
“Like so,” he responded coolly. “Here.”
Ursula accepted the proffered bottle with curiosity and a little trepidation. She had not, of course, ever drunk wine directly from a bottle before. No lady ever would, and no gentleman would do so in company. She placed her lips to the bottle’s rim and drank.
A rich, earthy wine poured over her tongue. Despite her best efforts, trickles of wine escaped the corners of her mouth, and she blotted them with her sleeve without thinking.
“Oh, good gracious,” she mumbled, staring at the red stain on her sleeve. “Ruthie is going to hate me.”
“Ruthie doesn’t hate anyone,” Graham responded with a grin. He took a step closer, then seemed to think better of it and moved towards the fire. “Come, let’s sit down.”
He seated himself at the bottom of the chaise longue and gestured for Ursula to take the place near the top. She did so, taking another gulp of wine to steady her nerves. The heat had returned to her belly, coursing around her body.
“I would like you to be happy, Ursula,” Graham said at last, staring into the fire. “Neither of us have entered this matrimony with the correct motives, but that’s hardly a rare sin, is it?”
“It is not,” Ursula acknowledged. There wasn’t much room on the chaise, and her shoulder brushed his. She felt as though the warmth of his skin was burning into hers.
Abruptly, Graham turned to face her, and she mirrored him. His grey eyes were almost black in the firelight, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.
Slowly, tentatively, as if he feared that she might pull away, Graham reached up to cup her cheek, and Ursula’s breath caught again in her throat.
He leaned forward ever so slowly as though she were easily startled, and then he claimed a kiss.
The kiss was strange, a new sensation, but a thoroughly pleasant one.
His lips were warm, as she’d imagined, and tasted of wine – she suspected he had taken a few gulps from the bottle, then, before approaching her room.
He tilted his head so that their lips fitted together better, and his fingertips of his other hand grazed the side of her ribs.
The touch lingered in the strangest way, even though it was the lightest, most gentle touch one could have imagined.
Without knowing what she was doing, Ursula lifted her arms and wrapped them around his shoulders.
The kiss deepened, and she was a little shocked to feel the tip of Graham’s tongue darting across her lower lip.
She opened her mouth, acting on her instinct and tasted is tongue as it slide briefly inside.
Suddenly Ursula felt his palm on her thigh, warm and firm. The heat shot through her, tingling in her gut and plunging even lower, into the join of her legs.
He broke the kiss, and Ursula found herself gasping for breath. Had she been holding her breath the whole time? He shifted, pressing his lips to the sensitive skin at the side of her neck, and she shivered, tightening her grip on his shoulders.
There was a gentle tug at the skirt of her nightgown, and that was all the warning Ursula felt before Graham’s warm fingertips skimmed the curve of her knee.
Ursula felt as though she were entering some sort of feverish daze.
The fear had disappeared entirely, and she found, to her amazement, that she wanted nothing more than Graham to continue touching her in this way.
He pressed forward, just a little, tilting her back until she rested against the curve of the chaise.
His hand shifted higher and higher, with Ursula’s heart seeming to beat faster in time with it, until his knuckles brushed the join of her legs, and she flinched, gasping aloud.
Lady Smythe , it appeared, had hit upon a truth. The feeling which rushed through Ursula was not something she had ever felt before. It was difficult to describe, the beginning of something thrilling, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that if he could just continue touching her, kissing her…
“Graham,” she gasped, groping the words to ask for something which she did not fully understand. “I…”
And just like that, he tore himself away from her, tugging his hand out from under her night gown. He backed away, flushed and red-faced, hair dishevelled.
“Forgive me, Ursula,” Graham gasped, smoothing his shirt down with a shaking hand. “This is not right. I… I cannot do this.”