‘So I suppose you are her – Rawden’s wife?’ she snapped.
‘Yes, and who are you?’ cried Grace.
‘You don’t know me, and God save me, I’ve no wish to know you. I just had to see for myself to believe it.’ Her words were spat out like little drops of poison.
‘Believe what?’
‘Rawden, getting married. Magnificent, wild, hedonistic Rawden Voss, tying himself to some milksop of a wife.’ She stepped inside before Grace could stop her.
Now, she was trapped. ‘What are you doing?’ she cried.
The woman ignored the question. ‘How could he wound me so, and all over a bland little nobody like you. And I can see you are just that – nought but a breeder to carry on the noble Voss lineage. But you’ll soon find that Rawden’s not so noble,’ she sneered.
Her insults put Grace on the back foot. She wanted the awful woman to stop talking in riddles. ‘I say again, who are you, and what do you want?’
‘My name is Romola Bianchi. I am a singer in the chorus at the opera at Covent Garden.’
‘So why are you here speaking about my husband?’
‘Your husband! Oh, possessive already, are we? You will soon learn that such emotion is pointless where Rawden is concerned. He cannot be held, especially not by one such as you,’ she said, looking down her nose at Grace.
‘You will tell me what your business is before I have you thrown off these premises,’ said Grace.
‘Come now, Countess Voss, you are opening your own door like a servant, so I doubt you can manage that by yourself. Is that guard dog Reeves not about the place?’ she said, looking over Grace’s shoulder and around the kitchen.
‘Never you mind, where he is.’
‘Oh, but I do mind, for that snivelling old wretch is not fond of me, and I had best avoid him. Now, I will say my piece and be gone. You should know that I am an old friend of Rawden’s.’
‘And?’
The awful woman snickered. ‘I told you my profession, and surely, even a dunderhead like you can guess what else I have shared with your husband beyond friendship?’ Her face fell. ‘Or at least, I did, until last night, when he dared to throw me over.’
‘I see,’ said Grace. The broken glass, the wailing sound - it all made sense, save for one thing. The woman’s revelation caused her heart to squeeze in her chest.
Romola Bianchi stepped closer, and Grace held her ground. The woman’s fierce blue eyes roamed over her with utter contempt. ‘Hear this. Rawden bores easily, and now he has a shiny new toy to play with, he does not want his broken ones. But his obsession will turn to indifference soon enough, and then you will feel as I do today. My God, it is the day after your wedding, and where is he? Not by your side warming your bed, so I would venture his regard wanes already.’
‘So are you saying you were lovers?’ whispered Grace, for she could hardly bear the thought of Rawden with this creature.
‘The penny drops,’ replied Romola, smug now she could see that her words had cut. ‘And we will be lovers again, soon enough, for I doubt you can hold him once he has had you a few times. I do long for him back in my bed. He will come crawling for forgiveness, as always, and I will let him in. Do you want to know why?’
‘Not especially,’ said Grace.
‘Because Rawden is a cruel wretch but so gifted abed. I do declare I hold a searing hatred of him at present, yet even I must admit that he is the best of lovers – bold, tireless, passionate, and willing to test the borders of what is decent if the fancy takes him. Many’s a time, he has shocked even me. What can an innocent like you offer a lion of a man like him beyond schoolgirl love that he will never return?’
Grace fisted her hands into her skirts. Never had she been the subject of so much vitriol in so short a time, but she had never enjoyed the shelter of her peers, or even of family. That deficiency and her uncle’s slights had forced her to form a tough shell, so Grace summoned her courage and faced down Romola Bianchi.
‘If you have come here to wound me, you have wasted your time. I have no intention of loving Rawden, and I pity you if you do. And as to his character, I already know how black it is, so your spiteful words are no great revelation. I married for rational reasons, not blind affection because I am no fool.’
Romola’s face fell, and all the anger went out of her. ‘You take him from me, and yet, you do not even love him?’ she cried.
Grace grabbed the woman by the arm, flung her outside, planted her feet, and put both hands on the door jamb. ‘It is no business of yours what I feel,’ said Grace, slamming the door. She hurriedly drew the bolt across and pressed her back against it.
A boot hit the door with enough force to fling her forward. ‘I hope for your sake you do not love him, for Rawden will be back in my bed in no time, or he will crawl into another’s. He cannot help himself. I am one of many, you know. Ignorant girl. It is the day after your wedding, and yet where is Rawden? Not with you. Quite the doting husband, is he not?’ Another kick pounded the door, and Grace held her breath, ears straining. Silence, for an age, and then footsteps crunched down the gravel path, fading away until she could hear them no more.
Grace rushed from the door and sank beside the dog, holding it close to her breast. Tears welled and spilled onto its back. ‘I hope the nettles got your ankles on the way out,’ she shouted at the door in childish rage. Was there ever such a fool as her? It was all just a beautiful illusion - Rawden wanting her, his being faithful to her. A searing jealousy grabbed her in its jaws. How could she even want Rawden, much less be prepared to fight over him like a common strumpet? She had spent the morning anticipating his return with butterflies in her stomach, a mix of excitement and apprehension. Now, there was just humiliation.
Had she been taken for a fool, lured into his arms with false promises and lying words? No. She had given away her honour willingly enough. But the stark truth was that she could not depend on her husband. And from the beginning, he had told her exactly who he was. Rawden Voss had offered a marriage of convenience, a cold arrangement, which she had ended up with, and it was unbearable. Perhaps she deserved it for marrying William’s brother – the ultimate betrayal of his memory. She was a faithless, feckless nincompoop.
