An Inconvenient Arrangement

Chapter 46: Sylvie

Sylvie could not help but suck in a surprised breath at the sight of the man in front of her. Tall, slender, dressed impeccably with his blond hair styled to highlight his exquisite cheekbones, Winter Hastings, the Marquess of Graham looked like something out of a fairytale. Beside him stood his wife, who would have been lovely had her face not been marred by a horrendous mass of scars on one side of her face. That was not to say that her face was horrendous, rather Sylvie referred to the amount of pain that must have accompanied an injury of that magnitude. Raphael's scars still hurt him sometimes. The Marchioness was smiling at them warmly, waiting for introductions to be made. Sylvie could not help but be charmed by the freckles that dusted her face, giving her a very charming appearance in spite of the disfigurement.

The Marquess of Graham was a very old friend of Rafe's, one of his unscrupulous friends from his rowdy days at Cambridge. He had been just as much of a shameless libertine as Raphael was until the death of an old friend had sent him on a path of introspection and self-improvement, which had eventually put him in the path of his very unorthodox wife.

"My Lord, My Lady," she dipped into an elegant courtesy when Raphael introduced them, pleased when Jane did the same without her having to prompt it. Sylvie was still unsure what exactly they were doing at the Graham family's estate some few hours outside of London. Every time she had asked Raphael to tell her what he had planned for her, he had maintained that it was a surprise and she must not think that she was able to boss him around now that she was in her thirtieth year for he was still three years her senior and the heir to a Marquessate to boot. And so Sylvie was completely in the dark as to what their excursion was going to be.

The Marquess crouched down to give Jane a gallant kiss on her hand. Sylvie could have melted into a puddle right there.

"What are you gawking at?" Raphael hissed at her as the couple's attention was diverted by whatever Jane was writing in her little notebook. "The man is married, for Christ's sake! Rather happily, might I add. And may I remind you that it is you who demanded fidelity while we were in our arrangement?"

Oh, Sylvie knew all about that. From the scandal sheets she confiscated from her students, naturally. A woman of her age and dignity simply did not stoop to purchasing or reading gossip rags, thank you very much!

But the tale of how a simple country girl married one of the most eligible men in England certainly had the ring of an old maid's tail to it. The Marchioness was the daughter of a Scottish prizefighter, in fact, she knew a thing or two about throwing a punch herself! They had met because she was an employee of His Lordship's mother at the charity she ran. They had fallen thoroughly and completely in love, so much so that The Marquess had thumbed his nose at public opinion and eloped with her. Rafe took great credit in being the one to give The Marquess the final push to pursue his heart though Sylvie was not entirely sure how true that story was. Her lover, for all his talents, had a rather inflated sense of self-importance. Hence why she liked to humble him every now and then. Which was why she replied;

"Raphael your friend has got to be the most handsome man to have ever existed, please forgive me for being somewhat dazed."

Rafe just gave her a sulky look that made her feel amused, but also a little guilty so she leaned in to soothe him. "I said most handsome, not the most desirable."

Rafe gave her a pleased look from the corner of his eye, "I suppose that is acceptable. You know you'll pay for this tonight, yes?"

"I look forward to it," she winked at him, turning back to their hosts only to find that The Marquess was looking at them somewhat curiously. Sylvie fell into step beside the Marchioness, who walked somewhat slowly due to her rather rounded belly. They made idle chit-chat until they reached a drawing room. The Marchioness was regaling her with stories of her three-year-old son and all the mischief he could cause, while Sylvie completely sympathized with her, recalling how Jane had used to enjoy running off in busy streets and generally refused to eat anything that didn't taste like pudding. The women chuckled good-naturedly amongst themselves, the marchioness caressing her stomach lovingly.