She waited, but he volunteered no more, looking away from her again. Heavens, but it was uphill work with him. She would have to use the ploy she had already thought of. “You have known Mr Ottery for some while, I gather? He seems a very good sort of a man.”
Raith knew not how to reply. What sort of a question was that? Did she wish to know, or was she merely trying to engage him in conversation? He glanced round at her, and found the dark eyes trained upon him. Was there a trifle of wistfulness in their depths? Whatever it might be, its effect was to cause him to answer automatically, though little conscious of what he said, for her countenance took up all his attention.
“He is an excellent fellow. I hold him in very high esteem. Indeed, I know not what I should have done without him on occasion.”
The memory his words evoked jerked him into consciousness. He looked quickly away. No, he must not. Anything but that. He did not want to provoke himself into again losing control in her presence. She was trying. The least he could do was to follow suit.
“How have you been living?” he asked at random. Then thought it might be taken wrong. “Ottery said you were with — your nurse, was it?”
“She had been my nurse. Only when Mama died, and I was obliged to...” She faded out, realising where her words were tending. That would not do. She would be bound to evoke questions about just that part of her life she wanted to keep secret.
“Obliged to?”
Must he hold her to it? Necessity brought inspiration. “Obliged to leave Gatty — my nurse. She was going blind, you see.”
There could be no harm in revealing that much. No need to state how Herbert Cambois had refused to have the elderly dame in his household, believing poor Gatty to be useless at her work. Which she was, poor lamb, but through no fault of her own. Rosina had begged in vain, appealing to her cousin. She had not known at that time how little influence had Louise.
“Fortunately, Mama had provided her with some little means. Not a pension, but small savings she had acquired over many years of service. She was Mama’s nurse before me, and she came with her as maid upon her marriage. I believe it was Papa who insisted upon it, for he knew Mama would be often alone.”
“She did not follow the drum, then?”
“She could not, for she had a weak chest, and Papa would not permit her to endure the rigours of campaigning.” Lost in her own tale, Rosina almost forgot to whom she spoke. “Mama knew her own frailty, and with the dangers attendant upon my father’s profession, she saw to it that my guardianship was assured.”
“Who was your guardian?”
Rosina started, looking round abruptly. She might have known she would make a slip. Her breath caught, and she wished fervently she had not so foolishly begun on this course. Why could she not have left him to his close-tongued reserve? But she was giving herself away every second that she refrained from answering.
“My — my mother’s cousin. At least — not her, but her husband.” She did not dare look at him, for fear her disgust and hatred would show in her face. “When I went to him, Gatty bought a little cottage. I took refuge—” She stopped with a gasp, and hastily corrected herself. “I mean, I went to her there... after his death.”
She fell silent, and Raith eyed her profile with a good deal of misgiving. Had he not suspected all along the apparent commonplace of her story? What in thunder had occurred? The guardian must be the key. That he was dead, Raith highly doubted. Refuge, she had said. One did not take refuge from a dead man. The suspicion filtered into his mind that he had taken to wife a runaway.
Rosina could have cursed herself for inadvertently letting out so much. That was what came of making conversation. She resolved not to do so in future. But it appeared she had aroused the curiosity of her husband.
“Why did you not go to your father’s family?”
A shadow crossed her face. “The Charltons did not approve the marriage, for they considered Mama to be beneath them.”
“Surely they would not visit his mistake upon you?”
“My mother’s cousin did not think so either. I did write, at her instigation, when I was eighteen. I received no reply.”
“It would seem you have been unfortunate in your relatives. Was your guardian at least good to you?”
Rosina’s pulses jangled. Heavens, how could she answer him? To say anything at all would be to invite further question, yet more probing. How could she extract herself? One thing she decided: if Lord Raith chose to be inaccessible in future, she would not attempt to lure him out.
She avoided the question. “His wife was a friend to me.” Then she yawned ostentatiously. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but I am still a trifle tired. You will not mind if I sleep?”
“Not at all.”
As little as he believed in his own pretence did Raith believe in this. She had betrayed too much, and now she was withdrawing. If he had hoped to catch her out, he had been cleverly deflected. She was determined to be secretive. He foresaw a string of stilted interchanges between them.
When they stopped at Itchington Bishops a short while later — Raith as little fooled by Rosina’s artless awakening as he had been by her pretence of sleep — he was disheartened to discover that he had been right. The consciousness of distance gnawed at him all through the simple luncheon at the Hart and Hounds. His wife made play with a selection of patties and fruit, which conveniently prevented her from engaging in anything but the most desultory remarks.
The weather was inclement enough to provide food for some of them, the state of the roads and the distance still to be covered offered the rest. Raith found himself irritated beyond words, although he initiated no subject himself.
On the whole, he was glad his lady chose to pretend sleep for much of the remainder of the journey. Had they attempted to talk, he knew he must have been provoked into ill-temper. He could see nothing for it but to keep well out of her way.
Rosina had reached much the same conclusion. It had not been easy to remain aloof. Were it not for her dread of revealing anything more, she might have burst out a number of times. It seemed to her that, under the calm exterior, Lord Raith smouldered. She could feel it emanating from him, like a black fog. It was almost as if the bitterness exposed in him last night was now directed at her.
