Page 6 of The Viscount's Diamond Bride
Hatchard’s, as always, was very full. It was one of the most popular bookshops in London. The ceiling was low, and the bookshelves formed a sort of dense maze. One really could get lost in the shop. A scrawny young man bumped against Graham’s shoulder, causing him to drop the books he was carrying.
“Have a care, sir!” Graham snapped, but the young man merely scowled and moved on. Sighing, Graham crouched down to collect his books.
On cue, somebody came around a corner and tripped neatly over Graham.
“Oof,” came an annoyed female voice.
“I beg your pardon,” Graham said at once, straightening up. “My books… never mind. Here, let me help you up.”
The young woman tumbled on the floor in front of him seemed vaguely familiar. She wore a rich purple gown, her hair done up in an intricate design of curls and ringlets. She was remarkably pretty, but of course Society was full ofremarkably prettyyoung women.
“I didn’t exactly expect to round a corner and find a gentleman on the floor,” the woman huffed. She did not accept his offered hand, instead hauling herself to her feet and dusting herself down.
“Again, I apologise,” Graham responded smoothly. No doubt she was a prissy little Society miss, unpleasant and insufferable outside of a ballroom. Then he glanced down and paused. A familiar title caught his eye.
“Frankenstein,” he murmured. “That book has only been published only recently.”
Reddening, the woman swept it up, tucking it protectively away under her arm.
The book had been published before the Season began in earnest, at the beginning of January. Already, it was causing a stir. Some bookshops and circulating libraries refused to carry it.
“You may keep your opinions to yourself, sir,” the woman snapped, eyes blazing.
He held up his hands in apology. “I didn’t mean to air them, Miss…?”
“Lady,” the woman corrected, lifting her chin. “I am Lady Ursula Fairmont.”
Ahh. Now I understand.
Lady Ursula was the Season’s Diamond, courted by all sorts of worthy gentlemen.
She’s certainly beautiful enough.
Graham crouched down, collecting the rest of Lady Ursula’s books. He noticed several volumes of Shelley’s works, as well as a slim volume of Keats.
“You enjoy poetry, Lady Ursula?”
“I do,” she responded, her voice a little clipped. She kept her copy ofFrankensteintucked safely under her arm. He glanced up at her, handing back the books without yet rising to his feet.
Lady Ursula watched him cautiously, nibbling her lower lip.
In that instant, she reminded him so intensely of Jane that he nearly wobbled backwards.
No. She is not Jane. I must not allow myself to fall into that trap again. Jane is gone, and I will never allow myself to be hurt in such a way again. Jane said that I wasunsuitable, and she meant it. I will learn this time.
He rose to his feet, smiling genially.
Lady Ursula seemed to relax a little with her books back in her control.
“I suppose I am rather fond of controversial authors,” she said, a little apologetically. “I have finally gotten my hands on a copy ofGlenarvon, you see.”
“Ahh, written by the infamous Lady Caroline Lamb. I have read it myself; it’s a marvellous work.”
Lady Ursula brightened a little. “Have you? Well, do not spoil the ending for me. I think it a terrible pity that the author should be excluded from Society over a book, of all things. A book of fiction, too.”
He chuckled. “Yes, but the characters were notentirelyfictitious, and many people took offence. It hardly matters, I suppose. I imagine that the book will endure, and those who hate it will not. Much likeFrankenstein, I suppose.”
“I don’t know,” she murmured. “A friend of mine – my cousin – said that the book will be forgotten in the space of a year.Frankenstein,that is.”
