Chapter Four
It had rained again in the night, and the roads were soggy. The journey was necessarily slow. It seemed slower to Rosina, for the heavy fact of her husband’s relapse into taciturnity. She was not much refreshed, for she had slept little, her mind full of unquiet prospects of the future and beset also by a tiny fear that Lord Raith would change his mind, after all, and visit her bedchamber.
She had heard, she thought, his footsteps on the stairs, for they had passed her door. Rosina knew his chamber was adjacent, and a latch had clicked somewhere behind her head. She did not know what time that had been, except that it must have been very late. That her lord was asleep now in the coach seemed to bear out the conjecture.
At breakfast, he had been civil, but reserved. Rosina, in whom the night’s cogitations had engendered no small degree of curiosity about her spouse, was conscious of disappointment. Small hope of getting to know him if he was bent upon retiring into his shell in this disagreeable fashion. The prospect of long years of increased loneliness stretched ahead.
Not that she had ever known anything else. These few short weeks with Gatty had been all the heaven she had known since her mama’s demise, and even these had been clouded by the ever-present fear of discovery. She must suppose her hateful guardian could not imagine she had taken refuge relatively near at hand. Or else he was never sober enough to work the matter out.
If only Cousin Louise had not died. She had been a faded and sickly creature —no wonder, married to a drunken sot whose gambling must have fairly ruined her life — but her presence had afforded protection. Her advice had been sound, if singularly undutiful.
“Keep out of his way, my dear. Say nothing to draw attention to yourself. Take your cue from my example, Rosy. I see him as little as possible, and if I am obliged to be near him, I never give him cause to notice my presence. It answers very well.”
Since Louise Cambois spent most of her days in her bed, Rosina was not much surprised she was able to evade her husband’s attention. She had herself chosen to avoid him by taking on the duties of housekeeper, which her mother’s cousin was happy to relinquish. Her efforts had met with success for close on seven years. She had been one and twenty when Louise had faded away completely one day. Astonishingly, Herbert Cambois had been distraught at the death of his wife. Rosina had been moved to attempt to console him. A fatal mistake. For it had brought to his notice that he had in his charge a young girl of — in his own words, Rosina remembered, wincing — “no mean worth in the marketplace.”
She had not understood at first what he meant. For a short time, she had supposed that he was referring to finding her a husband. An unexpected and not unwelcome prospect. Anything was better than to continue in his house. By the time she realised her error, her guardian had already enmeshed her in his foully cruel design.
Shuddering, Rosina came out of her thoughts as the chaise halted. She started up, and looked from the window. An inn sign swayed in the wind.
“Ladbroke,” said Lord Raith’s voice beside her.
Rosina turned quickly. He was lying back against the squabs, but his eyes were open.
“Are we stopping here?”
“Briefly. We turn off the Banbury Road beyond this village. I imagine Parton is checking whether the horses are in need of rest. You may get down if you wish.”
“I thank you, my lord, but I am comfortable enough.” He said nothing more, and Rosina sank back into her seat, consciousness returning, for she was aware his eyes were upon her. It was hard indeed to behave normally in any respect in his presence, now that she knew he was awake. Recalling her late remembrance of what she had left behind, she wondered if indeed she was any better off with Anton, Lord Raith.
A tap came at Raith’s window. He turned his head and saw Parton signalling. He let down the glass.
“They’ll do for a few miles yet, me lord. Catterline and me reckon to go on to Itchington Bishops and bait them there before we tackle the Heath.”
“Very well, Parton. Do as you see fit.”
“Likely her ladyship will be in need of a bite by then, an’ all, me lord.”
Raith agreed to this and shut the window. In a moment, the chaise was on the move. He turned his head to look at his bride again. What thoughts had they been that so disturbed her? She had been lost in abstraction, staring at the bobbing backs of the horses through the window in front, though he could swear she did not see them, seemingly unaware of the fidgety movements of her gloved hands, flicking incessantly at her fingers’ ends.
They were quiescent now, tightly clasped in her lap, her head downcast. But that was because she knew he was observing her. The thought caused a wave of unrest, already becoming familiar. Such an unsettling effect as she had upon him. He eyed the neat profile, with its wisps of black escaping from the close cap. Did she always wear that thing? Raith saw, with satisfaction, that she had left her hair loose beneath it, so that one long waving tress hung down the centre of her back. So black against the grey of her gown where her cloak had slipped away behind. He was tempted to reach out and touch it, stroke it, curling it about his fingers.
A shaft of heat shot through him, and he shifted abruptly, turning away. Enough! He must crush all such thoughts. It was too soon to be pressing her to that duty. She had expected him to be demanding it of her last night. He trusted he was enough of a gentleman to curb himself until she’d had a little time to adjust. He closed his eyes, intending once more to feign slumber. He had proved his hasty temper too unpredictable in conversation with her to risk indulging his fervent wish to engage her attention.
But Rosina had other ideas. She had not bargained for it, but she found herself yearning for companionship. To be travelling with a man to whom she was now tied for the rest of her life, and to behave as if they were each alone in the chaise, seemed to her absurd. If Lord Raith would not make an effort to establish cordial relations, then she must. It would not be easy, for he was so very unapproachable, not to say touchy. But the prospect of years of genteel isolation were too lonely to be contemplated.
She cast about in her mind for a safe topic she might introduce. Rejecting as dangerous the notion of asking him whether he had seen much action, or indeed anything about his soldiering life, Rosina settled for a question about Mr Ottery as being the least potentially harmful. She cleared her throat.
“My lord?”
He opened his eyes. “My lady?”
“Oh, that sounds so odd!” Rosina said on impulse, on a breathless laugh. She turned and found his eyes upon her, in mute question. “Of all wild possibilities, I never dreamt of hearing myself thus styled.”
Raith’s features relaxed a little. “That I can appreciate. It is still new to me also.”
“You have only recently inherited?”
“It was wholly unexpected.”
