Page 62 of The Viscount's Diamond Bride
No, don’t think like that. You don’t know that shewasthe 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 thisJane.”
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 lovesher. 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, andweare 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.
