Chapter Fourteen
“We read fine things but never feel them to the full until we have gone the same steps as the author.” – John Keats
The dinner party, it seemed, was not going well.
Ursula had attended countless dinner parties over her life, of course, but this one… well, this one was something of a disaster.
The soup course had only just been served, and already Ursula knew that it was going to be a long and miserable night.
Lord and Lady Thornfield kept shooting her angry little looks, which they seemed to believe that she did not notice. Lady Annabella was almost smug, smiling and preening as if she believed the party was entirely thrown for her benefit.
“I must say, Lady Ursula,” Lady Annabella said suddenly, “it is a pity you wedded so early in the Season. You’ll miss all the fun. Oh… forgive me, of course, I quite forgot! Your Season was over already, I suppose.”
“Annabella, hush!” Lady Thornfield chided, although it was fairly clear that her heart was not in it.
“Lady Sinclair,” Graham said suddenly. He had not spoken much, allowing his mother and the ever-chatty Thornfields to lead the conversation. His mother glanced up at him, lifting her eyebrows.
“Yes, my love?”
Graham fixed his mother with a cool stare. “I was correcting Lady Annabella. My wife is not Lady Ursula anymore. She is Lady Sinclair, the lady of this house.”
There was a taut pause at this. Ursula glanced from face to face, tactfully remaining silent.
Apparently, nobody enjoyed the reminder than in her own home, Ursula outranked every single one of these women, even her own mother-in-law.
Lady Annabella shot her a particularly unpleasant glare, managing to hide it at the last moment before Graham noticed.
“I suppose you have all read the news about Lord Ashford’s engagement?” Lady Annabella spoke up, her voice bright. “He’s said to be courting Miss Simons. Can you imagine? She’s rich, to be sure, but not pretty in the least. All those freckles.”
Lord Thornfield slurped his wine. “We do not know the facts, my dear,” he said ponderously. “Unfortunate circumstances sometimes force unlucky gentlemen into hasty decisions. Decisions which, given proper reflection, they will hastily repent from.”
A heavy silence fell over the table. Ursula laid down her spoon.
There could be no mistaking who this particular jibe was aimed at.
Everybody knew that Graham had been earmarked for Lady Annabella, and they were expected to make a match of it.
Perhaps they might have done, before Ursula came along, ruining herself and Graham and launching them both into a hastily arranged matrimony.
“I was thinking,” Margaret said abruptly, cutting through the uncomfortable silence, “but perhaps you, dear Lady Annabella, might share a little of your expertise with Ursula? After all, you were always raised to be the wife of a great man, and the role of viscountess is well within your remit. Learning to fit into one’s new role is never easy, and I am positive Ursula would benefit from a few tips, perhaps even a few training sessions. Don’t you agree so, Ursula?”
Ursula stared at her mother-in-law, her jaw hanging slack.
Am I dreaming? She thought dazedly. Have I truly been relegated to the position of uninvited, inadequate guest in my own drawing room?
No, she was unfortunately not dreaming. Her mother-in-law really had just suggested that Lady Annabella that scheming, empty-headed little minx should tutor Ursula to fit ‘correctly’ into her own role?
And what should I do about this? Ursula thought, with a flare of rage. Should I say something?
She put this idea away. For a start, she had no idea what to say that wouldn’t involve throwing her soup bowl at either her mother-in-law or Lady Annabella.
In the end, she didn’t have to say anything at all.
Graham put down his spoon with a loud clatter, making everybody flinch and glance his way.
“I am not sure I can agree with that implication, Mother,” he said tightly, voice sharp.
“Let me make something clear once and for all, before we leave this subject behind for the rest of the evening. My wife does not require tips or training sessions in order to learn how to manage her own house and grow into her new position in Society. She requires no instruction from anyone, since she possesses a natural grace and intelligence that really cannot be taught, not by Lady Annabella or anybody else.”
Silence fell heavily over the table. Lord and Lady Thornfield were staring, white-faced, down at their soup bowls, Lady Annabella had gone a most unbecoming shade of red, staring furiously at nothing in particular.
Margaret, however, was staring at her son, fingers tight around the stem of her wine glass, her jaw set.
She didn’t move a muscle, not even when Graham stared directly at her.
“I hope I have made myself sufficiently clear,” he said softly.
The silence lasted a moment before, before the Thornfields scrambled to respond.
Margaret said nothing and only stared at her son in quiet rage.
***
Lady Annabella had developed a headache sometime near the end of the main course. It was a miraculously sudden development, and one that apparently required her to be brought home immediately and attended to by her parents.
Hardly able to disguise their smiles of relief, the Thornfields left at once, almost hurrying out of the door.
Margaret had hastily made her exit at the same time. She did not even bother to offer an excuse, sailing out of the house with an air of rigid, furiously offended dignity.
Good riddance, Ursula thought, waving goodbye on the doorstep.
“I hope you recover soon, my dear!” she called, waving at Lady Annabella. The woman was on the brink of climbing into her carriage and paused to shoot a brief scowl at Ursula.
The door slammed behind them, and they lurched off into the night. Ursula gave a long sigh of relief, closing her eyes.
“Well, thank goodness they are gone,” she murmured.
“I agree,” Graham said, glancing at her. “I must apologise for my mother’s rudeness.”
She shook her head. “It’s hardly your fault. Well, since dinner is ruined, I believe I will retire to bed.”
“As you wish.”
He continued looking at her, a faint line between his brows, and something intent in his eyes. When Ursula met his gaze, she felt an answering tug in her chest, surprisingly sudden and powerful.
Swallowing hard, she turned away. “Goodnight, then.”
Ursula walked away down the hall, her heart thumping. She found herself glancing behind more often.
Follow me, screamed a voice inside her. For goodness sake, why do you not follow me?
She had glimpsed desire in his eyes. Ursula was sure of it.
So, it is not my physical appearance that he dislikes. He is drawn to me, but then why does he keep me at a distance? Have I done something wrong?
No answer presented itself. She reached her bedroom and stepped miserably inside.
A fire had been lit in the hearth, filling the room with a pleasant, buttery glow. A single candelabra threw light over the space, the flames flickering and dancing.
There was no sign of Ruthie, and Ursula knew she ought to ring the bell to summon her maid.
I shan’t bother with that, she thought. Ruthie works hard enough. I can undress myself, surely.
Or so she thought. Once her hair was unpinned and hanging around her shoulders, she concentrated on trying to get out of her dress. Her gown was laced at the back, and no matter which way she twisted and turned, she could not reach the neatly tied ribbon.
A knock came at the door, and Ursula’s heart jumped.
It must be Ruthie, come to see if I need anything. She would have heard, of course, that our guests left early and that I had gone up to bed.
Hurrying to the door, Ursula began speaking before she even opened it.
“I’m glad you came up. I thought I could manage myself, but I…”
She trailed off as she opened the door. It was, of course, Graham standing on the threshold.
He had stripped out of his jacket at some point, wearing an embroidered silk waistcoat underneath, over a billowing white shirt. His hair was dishevelled, as if he’d run his fingers through it, and there was an air of determination about him.
“I hope I haven’t disturbed you,” he said carefully. “But I hoped to talk to you about my mother, and the plans I have to speak to her of what happened today. I simply cannot allow the matter to rest.”
Before Ursula could think twice, she had spoken.
“Could you unlace my dress for me?”
Graham stared down at her. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Ursula swallowed, hard, forcing herself to meet his gaze.
Well, I can hardly take back the words, so I shan’t humiliate myself by trying. I suppose now I only have to wait to see if he makes some sort of excuse.
Graham only nodded, once. Ursula sucked in a breath, backing away from the door.
He stepped inside and gestured briefly for her to turn around.
She did so, lifting her hair off her neck and pulling it over her shoulder.
Her heart thudded against her chest, and her breath kept scratching in her throat.
“I thought Ruthie might be here,” Graham murmured, tugging at the laces at the back of her dress. She felt him unravel the tight little knot at the top, and immediately the gown loosened a fraction around the shoulders.
“I should have called for her,” Ursula admitted, “but I hate to bother her. I thought I could undress myself.”
Graham’s feather-light fingertips danced down the laces, loosening and tugging, more and more until her dress sagged from her shoulders. Ursula was obliged to press her hand against her chest, keeping her dress in place.
The gown sagged at the back, sliding off her shoulders altogether as Graham unlaced the final strings. She sensed rather than saw him step back.
“Why did you come here?” Ursula found herself saying, her voice trembling. “You made it quite clear on our wedding night that you wanted nothing to do with me.”
She heard his voice hitch in his throat. “That is not true, Ursula.”
“Then what would you like me to believe?”
There was a silence. She had still not turned around. Ursula kept her gaze on the flickering fire, watching the flames leap high up the chimney.
Then Graham took a step closer, close enough to place his hands on her shoulders. Inhaling sharply, Ursula released the collar of her dress.
The gown slid down from her shoulders, requiring only a little tug to fall past the curve of her hips. It puddled on the ground at her feet, and cold air rushed in, making her bare skin prickle.
It felt beyond strange, being in such a state of undress in front of a man. Her nightdress, at least, had gone all the way to her ankles, whereas the chemise was much shorter and tighter, revealing her arms and her legs up to her calves.
Should I turn and look at him? I do not quite understand what he wants from me, or what I want from him.
Graham gingerly placed his hands on Ursula’s waist, leaning forward to press a kiss to the tip of her shoulder.
“I am sorry that you feel so ill at ease here,” Graham whispered. “You do not deserve such uncertainty.”
She exhaled softly. “I am not uncertain about everything.”
His hand slid around her ribcage, spanning the front of her stomach. His palm was warm, so warm that it seemed to burn through the thin material of her chemise, carving the imprint of his hand on her skin.
Graham’s breath tickled the side of her neck, raising pleasant goose bumps. His hand skimmed down to cup her hipbone, and his fist closed on the material of her chemise, lifting it a few inches higher.
Closing her eyes, Ursula let herself sag against Graham, lifting a hand up to touch his cheek. She felt stubble there, and when she left her fingertips dance over the side of his neck, she could feel the pounding of his pulse beneath his skin.
He lifted her chemise higher, high enough to flatten his palm against her bare thigh. Ursula breathed out. The sensations were similar to their wedding night, the feeling of being burned up inside, the ache, the wanting.
This time, when Graham’s questing fingers brushed against the join of her legs, he did not pull away.
Ursula gasped aloud when he touched her, tentatively at first and then with more confidence.
He traced a line again and again, fingers pressing and circling against her most intimate areas in a way which even the more scandalous books Ursula had read had never discussed.
Something not unlike pressure was building up inside her, the sensations climbing on top of each other, reaching a peak. Quite abruptly, the bubble of sensation burst, and Ursula found herself crying out, one hand reaching behind her to dig her fingers into Graham’s shoulder.
He kept one arm tightly around her waist as she shuddered through the aftershocks, his lips pressed against her neck, breath warm.
Ursula still seemed to be returning from the clouds when he released her at last, stepping back. She twisted around to look at him, eyes wide. He was flushed, hair dishevelled, and stared back at her with equal confusion.
“I… I shall retire to my own room now,” Graham said at last, his voice shaking. He made a brief, wobbly bow, then turned on his heel and all but fled. Ursula was left alone, disoriented and still shaking from pleasure.
She sat down on the chaise longue rather hard.
“Well,” she said aloud. “Well.”