Chapter Twenty
“The breaking of so great a thing should make a greater crack: the round world should have shook lions into civil streets, and citizens to their dens.” – Antony and Cleopatra, William Shakespeare
All the way home, Ursula sat forward in the carriage, willing the horses to go faster. As the coachman seemed to be driving painfully slow.
Just move, she thought under her breath, digging her teeth into her lower lip. Why can you not hurry? Please, hurry!
If she had been a more impatient sort of woman, she might have hammered on the roof of the carriage, urging the driver on faster and faster.
It would have done no good, however. The streets of London were busy, heavy with traffic, and the carriage crawled along at a slow pace.
At last, at last, however, the carriage pulled up in front of Sinclair House, and Ursula stumbled out before the footman even had a chance to get to the door.
Richards greeted her at the top of the steps, looking mildly confused.
“Is something the matter, your ladyship?”
“Matter? I, uh, no,” Ursula stammered. “Is the Dowager at home?”
“I believe so, but she is in her rooms.”
“Excellent. And Lord Sinclair, is he home?”
“Not yet, your ladyship.”
She deflated a little. All that anxiety over the trip, and Graham wasn’t even here. She had made up her mind, though. They would sit down and talk about it plainly and simply. It would be enough.
Richards gently cleared his throat. “You do, however, have a guest, your ladyship.”
Ursula blinked, frowning. “A guest? At this hour? Who is it?”
“Your cousin, Miss Georgiana Worth, your ladyship. She is waiting for you in the parlour.”
Georgie, never being able to sit still, was pacing up and down the parlour when Ursula entered. She came hurrying towards her, eyes wide.
“I thought you were never coming back, Cousin,” Georgie breathed. “For mercy’s sake, what is the matter? You’re as white as a sheet, and your hair is dishevelled. There are tendrils around your forehead. Here, let me…”
She trailed off, and Ursula was obliged to stand still while her cousin tucked hair back into its swept-up style.
“Tea, please, Richards,” Ursula requested, and the butler bowed neatly and stepped out of the room.
“I am so glad to see you,” Georgie sighed, taking Ursula’s hand. The two of them sank onto the sofa, Georgie still clutching at Ursula. “You were such a triumph at the ball the other night, I started to believe that all was well with you and Lord Sinclair.”
Ursula flinched, eyeing her cousin narrowly.
“I don’t understand. Are you implying that all is not well with my husband and I?”
Georgie groaned. “You don’t know. I knew he would not have told you. I have something to tell you, Ursula.”
Ursula drew back, guarded. “I am not sure that I want to hear it.”
“Please, just… just give me a moment, can’t you?”
Ursula folded her hands on her lap, pressed her lips together tightly, and exhaled.
“Very well. Tell me what you came here to say, Cousin. But know that I don’t wish to hear anything against my husband.”
Georgie bit her lip, staring into space for a long moment.
Whatever it is, she’s having second thoughts about telling me, Ursula thought. A sensation of unease had begun to coil in her chest, and she had a strange, vivid image of a snake squeezing itself about her heart, tighter and tighter until the put-upon muscle gave out entirely.
“There was a woman with whom Lord Sinclair was very much in love with, shortly after his father first died,” Georgie said at last. “Her name was Jane Whitmore, and she was a merchant’s daughter.
It was all rather hushed up, but he was wildly in love with her.
Wanted to wed her, even though she would of course never be received by any proper families, viscountess or not.
It was said that the business reached such scandalous proportions that he was so determined to wed her that the dowager had to intervene. But he did love her that was for sure.”
Ursula cleared her throat, tilting up her chin. “Being in love with somebody else is not a crime. I imagine it was half a decade ago, in any case.”
Georgie’s eyes widened. “Oh, not so! I have heard that it was only two years ago.”
Ursula flinched at that. Two years could be a dreadfully long time, but also a very slow one, if one was recovering from the loss of the love of one’s life.
No, don’t think like that. You don’t know that she was the love of his wife. Perhaps she was just a pretty merchant’s daughter, handily close while he reeled over his new freedom.
She wasn’t sure that this put Graham in a particularly good light either, but that wasn’t the problem at hand.
“I don’t understand why you’re telling me this,” Ursula managed at last.
Georgie momentarily shut her eyes.
“Oh, Ursula, I should have told you at once. But I hoped… oh, I’m silly. The thing is, at the ball, I overheard Lord Sinclair and Lord Hartwell talking. They mentioned this Jane.”
Ursula swallowed. “Graham can speak about whoever he pleases to with his friends.”
What did he say? She wanted to shout. Tell me, please.
She didn’t shout. She only waited. Perhaps she knew already that Georgie was going to tell her what she’d discovered in any case.
Georgie leaped to her feet, groaning aloud, and covered her face with her hands.
“He spoke of his love for her, Ursula. For Jane. He said that if it had not been for his mother’s interference, he would have been wedded her by now.
He loves her. I am telling you this because I can’t bear to watch you falling in love with a man who does not, who cannot love you back.
The truth is, he… he only entered into matrimony with you to avoid espousing Lady Annabella. ”
Ursula stiffened. “What?”
Georgie sighed. “Everybody knew that Lady Annabella wanted him, and that the dowager wanted him to wed her. He wasn’t going to wed her of his own accord, so there were rumours that a trap was going to be set. You know, the sort of trap which obliges honourable men to wed ladies to save them.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with that kind of match,” Ursula snapped. “Ours was the same matrimony.”
“I don’t mean to be unkind. Don’t be angry with me, please,” Georgie pleaded. “I only wanted to help. I’ve thought long and hard about the right way to say this, and the question of this Jane Whitmore…”
“Enough,” Ursula interrupted suddenly, her voice tight.
She rose slowly to her feet, watching the expression on Georgie’s face change.
“Let me be clear, Cousin. I know that Graham’s motives for entering into matrimony with me were not love.
But then again, neither was he a fortune-hunter.
If he truly loved Jane Whitmore, then I pity him for being separated from her.
Two years, however, is a long time, and we are wedded now.
I am confident…” her voice cracked on the last word, and she was obliged to take stock of herself and compose herself.
“I am confident that Graham and I can be happy. I like my position as Lady Sinclair. I believe we have as much chance as anyone to be happy, and truthfully… truthfully, despite my own misgivings, I do not believe his heart is engaged elsewhere. In which case, why should I not win it?”
Ursula’s own words echoed in her head, and she fought the urge to smile at herself.
Yes, she thought wryly. Why should I not win his heart? I believe I am already well on the way to doing so.
Georgie stared at her for a long moment, her expression unreadable.
“Oh, good gracious,” she mumbled at last. “I had hoped it would not come to this. I was so sure that… oh, goodness.”
“What are you talking about, Georgie?”
Georgie hesitantly crossed the room, advancing towards her cousin as if she were inching towards a lion. Reaching into her reticule, Georgie withdrew a battered envelope and handed it over silently.
Ursula took it, glancing down at the direction written on the envelope. Her heart went cold.
“This is addressed to Lord Sinclair,” she said bluntly. “How did you come to have it?”
“It was given to me,” Georgie responded cryptically. “Never mind that. Read the contents. See who sent the letter to Lord Sinclair.”
Ursula knew, in her heart, that she should have thrust the letter back at her cousin and demanded that she put it back where she found it. She knew that she should refuse to read it, should refuse to violate her husband’s privacy.
Instead, Ursula’s hands seemed to move of their own accord. She opened the envelope and began to read, heart thumping. The writing was poor, the penmanship unimpressive, and the letter itself was full of spots and blots, with passages scratched out and scribbled in the margins.
She read in silence. At last, she got to the bottom of the letter and the tear-stained postscript, and the name scrawled at the bottom.
“It is from Jane Whitmore,” Ursula said, half to herself and half to her cousin.
“Yes,” Georgie answered simply. “Notice the date.”
Ursula let the letter fall limply from her nerveless fingers. It fluttered to the ground, landing squarely on the carpet. She made no move to pick it up. Instead, she sat down heavily beside her cousin, staring into space.
“How could I have been such a fool?” she whispered.
Georgie put an arm around her cousin, holding her tight.
“I am sorry, Ursula. I knew how much it would hurt you, but I could not hold it back any longer.”
“He doesn’t love me. He never did.”
Georgie tutted sympathetically. “Men are like that, you know. They are flighty creatures.
“Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more. Men were deceivers ever, one foot in sea, and one on shore, to one thing constant never.” Ursula mumbled under her breath.
“Shakespeare tried to warn us, did he not? Sing no more ditties, sing no more of dumps so dull and heavy. The fraud of men was ever so since summer first was leafy.”
Georgie, who did not much like poetry, pulled a face. “Yes, quite. I am surprised your mamma did not warn you. Aunt Cynthia is generally so sharp.”