Page 45 of The Viscount's Diamond Bride
“Why do I sense disaster impending?” Jonathan responded, wincing.
Graham sighed. “She wishes to say with me. Only a few days, she assured me. Or a week. No more than a week, she insisted.”
“And you don’t believe her?”
Graham raked his hands through his hair. It was a hard thing to accuse one’s own mother of lying, but he couldn’t help but feel that she was, at the very least, stretching the truth.
“I believe she is trying to insert herself into my matrimony,” he said at last. “I wedded against her advice, and she can… she can hold a grudge. She blames Ursula entirely, which is of course ridiculous. I believe she wants to mould Ursula into a ‘proper’ daughter-in-law, and into her idea of a correct viscountess.”
Jonathan thoughtfully sipped his own drink. He was drinking tea, rather than brandy. In fact, Jonathan drank very little alcohol. Graham rather admired his restraint.
“I cannot help but feel that your Lady Sinclair would be quite resistant to moulding of any kind,” he remarked.
“Yes, but my mother is also stubborn. Very much so. I want a quiet life, Jonathan, and I don’t wish to constantly mediatedisputes between my wife and mother, the two women who are the dearest to me in the whole world.”
Jonathan pursed his lips. “A pursuit of a quiet life, as you put it, generally strips away one’s peace and quiet in the long run.”
“I know, I know.”
“Besides, I had no idea that your wife had suddenly become so dear to you.”
Graham flinched at that, glancing up at his friend. Jonathan was staring into the depths of his tea, seemingly engrossed.
He had thought of little else but their encounter last night, of course. Ursula’s face appeared on his mind whenever he let his thoughts drift. Generally, being preoccupied with one’s wife was a good thing, but theirs was not a usual situation.
“I believe my motives are not altogether pure regarding her,” Graham said at last, a trifle hesitantly.
Jonathan glanced at him, lifting his eyebrows. “Oh?”
“Considering the circumstances, I should not take liberties, wouldn’t you agree? It would be wrong of me. She did not want to wed me. I had the chance to choose, but she did not. I should leave her alone, shouldn’t I?”
Jonathan set aside his tea and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. They were drinking their respective beverages in Jonathan’s study, enjoying companionable silence. At least, theyhadbeen enjoying companionable silence untilGraham found himself talking. He was talking, of course, about Ursula. Little else seemed to fill his thoughts these days.
“When you say liberties, what exactly are you referring to?” Jonathan asked heavily.
Graham glanced away, biting his lower lip. He had no intention of revealing the details. He could still recall how warm Ursula’s skin had felt, how smooth the curve of her back beneath her thin chemise. He remembered how she’d pressed her fingers into his shoulder, leaning back against him until he felt as though she might collapse entirely if he let her go.
Without a doubt she had gotten pleasure from the encounter, whereas Graham had ended it before any hint of his own desire could be noticed. He’d lain awake for most of the night, tossing and turning and unable to fall asleep. Even when he had finally fallen asleep, he had dreamt of Ursula. She danced through his dreams, smiling at him over her shoulders, constantly just out of reach.
He said nothing, and at last Jonathan heaved a sigh and sat back in his seat.
“I see. You are not particularly hard to read, Graham.”
Graham bit his lip, finally glancing back at his friend. “You understand what I mean, however? She is in a situation not of her choosing. Why should I put in her in further discomfort?”
“Do you think she is uncomfortable?”
Graham blinked. “She does not love me.”
Jonathan shrugged, crossing one leg over the other. “Perhaps not. But might she, one day?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“Let me be clear,” Jonathan leaned forward once more, lifting his eyebrows. “Impure motivations in the past count for less than one’s actions in the present. Do you understand?”
Graham thought for a moment. At last, he spoke.
“My parents’ matrimony was not one of convenience,” he said at last, his voice quiet. “But after a while, the air between them was sour. I know the circumstances of their matrimony, and how the scandal dogged them for years. All that work, all that shame, and yet they hated each other after all. Even as a young boy, I knew how much they despised each other. My father never lifted a finger to help my mother in any way, or to make her life easier. In return, she humiliated him in public whenever she could. I recall long, tense dinners, while they threw insults at each other. I remember the way they looked at each other. Most of all, I remember friends and family members commenting, when they thought I could not hear, how fond they had seemed of each other directly after the matrimony.”
