She was nettled the most by the deliberate manner of his choosing always to place himself to her right, that she might see as little as possible of his rent face. He did so when he escorted her into the inn, and again when he took a seat at the table. Had he not gone to elaborate lengths to hide the thing from her, Rosina was convinced she would not have given it a thought. The initial shock over, she was growing as readily used to it as one did to any new countenance. Several times she was obliged to bite her tongue on a protest. It would be better, she decided, if they were not too often together. She could only hope her new abode would prove large enough to allow her to avoid him.
It was dusk by the time her husband told her that they were turning into the gates of his home. But there was still light enough for Rosina to see that her hope was not misplaced.
Raith Manor was a huge grey mansion, standing foursquare to the long, open approach. It had an air of total isolation. Shuttered windows, bare grainy walls, discoloured in places. A huge arched frontage stood out from the central section that was slightly inset to the square bays at either side. Black wooden double doors opened directly on to a stone-flagged porch almost level with the ground. To either side was a mass of lumped trees, like a hungry forest, bushy even in their sparse winter garments, stretching away into distant acres.
Bleakest of all, where green lawns should have been, lay a sodden sea of black that gave off an acrid stench. Gazing in growing dismay from the chaise window, Rosina perceived that the whole area was covered in ash.
“I must apologise for the state of the place,” said Raith, as the chaise came to a stop before the entrance doors. “I hope soon to remedy some, at least, of its ills, now that you have enabled me to obtain control of my fortune.”
Rosina could find nothing to say in answer to this. The chaise door was opened and the steps let down. An elderly male servant was waiting to hand her out.
“My lady,” he said, bowing.
The oddity of being thus addressed upon her arrival was swallowed up by the realisation that the servants had gathered on the porch. She climbed down from the chaise, staring in perturbation at the little knot of persons in uniform. What was she supposed to say to them all?
“I am Kirkham, the butler, my lady.”
“How do you do?” she murmured, glancing back almost instinctively to Lord Raith, as if seeking guidance. He had jumped down, and came forward to offer his arm.
“This will not take long,” he said quietly, and to the butler, “Good evening, Kirkham. Be so good as to make the introductions, if you please.”
Rosina felt like a fraud as she was drawn to the porch and presented to a gaunt, harassed-looking female in black, who turned out to be the housekeeper. There were two footmen, three maids and a cook, besides a few others of evidently too menial a station to be given more than a wave of the hand, together with the cryptic addendum that they were from “below stairs”. Rosina’s mind became fully taken up with the impossible idea that this gallant little band comprised the entire domestic staff. How could so few possibly manage to care for a house this size? She knew enough of housekeeping to be appalled at the amount of work they must each accomplish.
Within minutes, she had entered a draughty hall, and the domestics had dispersed, with the exception of Mrs Fawley, who was detailed to show her to her personal quarters, while Lord Raith went off with the butler.
Rosina did not know whether to be glad or sorry to have been deprived of his support. But as she followed the housekeeper through the hall into a central lobby, and began to mount the stairs there to the upper floors, she could only be thankful her husband was not there. She doubted whether she could have disguised the crushing despair that gripped her.
The place was so empty! It was clean enough, but austere. She caught glimpses through doors of draped huddles — of furniture? The walls were painted rather than papered, in muted tones. From the few framed pictures hanging from them stared disapproving ancients from classical myth.
In the bedchamber to which she was led, however, an effort had been made to create a homely atmosphere. There was a fire in the grate; a vase of greenery dotted with a tiny collection of flowers had been placed upon a wide bulky table set in the window embrasure which fronted the dead lawns; and a painting depicting a lady on horseback in a charming landscape had been placed upon one of the walls.
“The master chose this one to be put in here, my lady,” offered Mrs Fawley, coming to stand behind her as she examined the painting. “It’s his lordship’s mother on the horse.”
Rosina looked at the female with new interest. But the features were too indistinct in the gathering darkness for her to be able to make out any resemblance. She was intrigued by the thought of Lord Raith having made this choice, however, and resolved to look at it more closely in daylight.
She turned back into the room, and felt her spirits drop. No amount of prettifying could serve to alter its depressing solidity. The walls were drab, the bed hefty and old-fashioned, with a high ornate tester and thick turned posts, its blue velvet curtains heavy and dark, matching the drapes at the windows.
The housekeeper moved to an inner door by the outer wall. “Your ladyship’s dressing-room is through here.”
Dressing-room? She went through the door indicated and found a room only a little smaller in size to the bedchamber. Here was a dressing-table and stool, a long looking-glass, and a washstand. Two large presses stood at one side, along with a chest of drawers, a small armoire and a chest.
Rosina stared about her, fascinated. What would she do with such a place? Who could have sufficient clothes to fill all these receptacles? Not she, certainly. Her entire stock would fit into less than half the armoire and a single drawer.
“And through here,” the housekeeper said, crossing this room to a further door on the other side, “is the antechamber adjoining his lordship’s similar apartments.”
A sick feeling settled in Rosina’s stomach. Why had she not anticipated as much? With unwilling feet, she moved slowly to follow Mrs Fawley. The antechamber was a small no man’s land, placed directly over the front door of the mansion, where a large window let in light. It contained a fireplace, with two plain chairs either side and a little table against the wall.
Rosina stared at the door that opposed her own. It was mercifully closed, but she could readily picture the rooms beyond. Rooms that at night contained her husband.
She moved to the fireplace and stared down into the empty grate. For what purpose was this used? To make assignations, perhaps? The cynical thought was pushed away. Lord Raith needed no assignation. Four doors only separated him from taking up his marital rights at any time he chose. Of what use to think of it? She had agreed to this of her own free will, and there was nothing she could do about it.
“Will there be anything further, my lady?”
She turned quickly, and forced a smile. “No, I thank you, Mrs Fawley.”
The housekeeper curtsied, and withdrew through Rosina’s own apartments. She stared after the woman, feeling acutely assailable and unprotected. Not that she could imagine how Mrs Fawley might save her from nightly raids.
Rosina fought down her discomfort. She must not think like this. Only, how else was she to think of it? The whole dread notion had loomed hideously into view again, worse for the situation of these carefully convenient arrangements. Rosina felt more distanced than if she had been presented with the fait accompli of having to share her spouse’s bed from the outset. It had been the way Mama and Papa had lived. Cousin Louise had only taken a different bedchamber to her husband’s out of choice.
