Must he belittle her? Did he think her an empty-headed ninny? ‘I am sure I can make it comfortable with a few practical changes,’ she said stiffly.
‘Yes, that will keep you busy. And do not mind, Reeves. He does not spend much time in the company of delicate ladies. You may engage a lady’s maid if you so desire, but tonight, you must shift for yourself.’
Grace tried to appease Rawden, for he seemed remote and ill at ease. ‘Thank you, Rawden. I am sure I will manage to get settled,’ she said. Goodness, how formal they were. This was no way to start a marriage, even one of convenience.
Rawden went to the window, and without looking at her, he said, ‘You looked very well today.’
‘As did you,’ she replied.
He turned to her, his black eyes burning into her soul. ‘In all honesty, I think I made this marriage in a fog of grief. I did not expect much of it, yet I was proud to be standing at the altar with you. I think you will make a most worthy wife and Grace, I hope....’
A sharp rap at the door had them both jumping.
‘Come in,’ bellowed Rawden.
Reeves entered bearing a tray laden with a steaming broth and a glass of wine.
‘Reeves will build up the fire and leave you in peace. I bid you goodnight,’ said Rawden, and then he was gone, leaving Grace curiously bereft. Could he not have stayed awhile to keep her company, and what was he about to say – kind words or cruel? She caught Reeves looking at her and thought she saw a hint of pity on his face.
‘Don’t mind him,’ said the man. ‘He has a tricky temper, the master, but he has been brought up hard, so you must forgive him the rough edges.’ Reeves turned to go.
‘What do you mean, brought up hard?’ said Grace.
He shrugged. ‘Kick a pup all its life, torture it, and it will grow up either grovelling, or vicious.'
‘I do not take your meaning, Reeves.’
‘All I’m saying is, vicious has served master better, or he would not still be breathing. Best you try to see the good in him if it is your wish to make a marriage and not a fortune.’
‘How dare you! That is impertinent.’
‘I speak as I find. Forgive me if I have offended you.’
‘Have you already judged me on a moment’s acquaintance and found me wanting in some way, Reeves?’ said Grace.
‘No, but I know full well that you made enquiries about William, asking around the ton about his situation, his fortune.’
The man’s disdain was wounding. ‘I did. I will own to it, but you misjudge my motives most terribly. I merely wished to know if he was of good character. I am no fortune hunter.’
Reeves shrugged. ‘If you like. I do not know you enough to judge you ill or otherwise, but this I know for certain. Rawden does not know how to be a husband. You will have to teach him if you are sincere and seek some measure of happiness in this union.’
Reeves turned to go, and Grace cried after him, ‘And what if I do not know how to be a wife?’
‘I am sure the master will instruct you.’ His face softened for a moment. ‘I wish you luck with that, for I would hate to see another soft heart crushed under the weight of contempt.’
With these puzzling words, Reeves left, and Grace was alone. There would be no relief for her confusion as her new husband seemed keen to escape her company. His house was far shabbier than she had expected – more a prison than a home.
Grace flung open her trunk and found a shawl to wrap about her shoulders. The view from her window was bleak – shreds of clouds sweeping across a wan sunset. The river oozed by, black, fathomless and icy. It seemed the man she had married was no different. Grace threw herself onto the bed and stared at the ceiling, longing for sleep to bring sweet oblivion.
***
Grace woke in the night, still in her wedding dress and coat. She must have drifted off, and now she was terribly cold as if ice had formed inside her. A crash echoed through the house. It came from down below, followed by a horrible keening sound, like the wail of a ghost. She sat up with a start and a little cry. A door banged downstairs, and rain spat so hard at the windows it was as if pebbles had been thrown against it.
Was someone hurt? Grace eased out of bed, heart thumping, and wrapped her shawl about her. She hesitated but then decided she had to know the origin of the strange sound, and standing still was no good as her feet were aching with cold.
Taking a candle, she made her way downstairs towards a flickering light coming from beneath a doorway. She pushed it open gingerly to find Rawden sunk in an armchair before the fire, with one leg sprawled over the side, nursing a bottle. He still wore his boots and breeches, but he had removed his red jacket from the wedding and loosened his shirt. Looking utterly dishevelled and miserable, he cast her a bitter look.
‘You may enter.’ he growled. ‘You don’t need my leave anyway, now that you are my wife.’
