Chapter Five
Rosina woke to strong daylight. She lay blinking in the huge bed, unable for a few moments to recall where she was or what she was doing there. When it came back to her, she started up on one elbow, glancing about the bedchamber in quick alarm.
The place was much less disturbing with the velvet drapery drawn back. Rosina remembered she had come in last night to find that the chambermaid, whom she had met coming out of the room armed with a warming-pan, had closed the curtains about the bed. It would have been like sleeping in a tomb. In a frenzy, Rosina had flung them all back, and, regardless of the cold, done the same at the windows, opening the chamber to the night.
She had been warm enough, snuggled in well-dried sheets, several blankets and a down coverlet. Her sleep had been fitful, however. She had woken several times and found herself listening out, straining her ears for some sound from the interconnecting rooms. Her husband had shown himself so changeable she was unable to rely upon his assurances. Particularly in the light of his attitude at the dinner table last night.
The thought drove her out of the bed. A fire had been lit in the grate, and in the dressing-room next door the ewer was already full. The water in it was tepid, and Rosina guessed she had woken late. Forgetting she had only to ring the bell to acquire freshly hot water, she made use of what was there, and began to ready herself for the day.
Not that she had any idea what she would do. Her spouse, she recalled, had told her that she was unlikely to see much of him. Judging by last night’s encounter at the dinner table, Rosina felt it to be unlikely she would have much chance to talk to him either.
Having washed off the stains of the journey and tidied herself, Rosina had left the room to find the butler waiting at the top of the stairs to show her the way. If she’d had any apprehension about dining once again tête-à-tête with Lord Raith, they had been put to flight the moment she entered the dining-room below. A table of inordinate length had been set with places at either end. She could not have conversed with his lordship if she had tried.
Her husband had already been at the table, but he rose civilly and bowed as she took her place. Rosina looked down the long gleaming wood surface, and then at his face. Was this how he intended they should live? They might as well be on separate islands.
She glanced about the room. Two chandeliers hung from the ceiling, but they were unlit, illumination being provided only by candelabra set upon the sideboards, and single candles in ornate sticks placed at intervals down the table. This was the main item of furniture in the long room, apart from a couple of sideboards where the food was waiting. All the other chairs were set against the walls. It was the most absurd arrangement. But if that was what her spouse wished for, she supposed it was not for her to cavil.
At least she had anticipated him aright. He was dressed, as she was, in his wedding gear, with a less formal waistcoat of plain blue silk that he had worn from that morning. His hair was combed and retied, looping casually.
The meal was well prepared, if a trifle heavy. A ragout of veal, served with artichoke hearts, mushrooms and forcemeat balls, and a gravy of meat broth. It was removed with a rabbit pastry, a dish of scallops and stewed cucumbers, followed by a blancmange and red- currant tarts.
Rosina ate a little from each dish, not wishing on her first day to cause offence to the cook. She knew well the amount of work that went into the preparation of dishes of this calibre, and had often been called upon to console the Cambois cook for the frequent waste of her efforts. Neither her guardian nor his wife had been healthful enough to display hearty appetites.
But the food before her took up less and less of her attention, as she became aware of her spouse’s fixed regard. He hardly took his eyes off her. He ate and drank steadily, barely glancing either at his plate or his glass, apparently bent upon watching every move she made. She felt exposed. As time wore on, her consciousness increased, giving rise to an irregularity both in her breathing and her heartbeat. She was drawn and repelled at one and the same time, and her fingers stole up more than once to touch her neck briefly, or rest lightly upon her bosom.
But Rosina’s consciousness at length gave way to indignation. What did Lord Raith mean by glowering at her from his end of the table? There was a kind of hunger in his gaze. A well of emotion she barely understood accompanied that sense of danger she had felt in him before.
She was glad at last to be able to leave him to his port, and had half a mind to go straight upstairs to bed. Only Kirkham ushered her into a large saloon at the front of the house, where a cheerful fire and a quantity of candelabra about that end of the room had given off a comforting feel.
“Tea will be served in half an hour, my lady,” he said, and left her there.
Rosina took a chair by the fire, and looked about her, unimpressed. The furnishing was sparse, the walls dull, and the dark wood overmantel of a piece with the austerity of the whole house. The place was denuded of frills, and there was no touch of elegance. All was heavy and old-fashioned. Rosina wondered what in the world she was going to find to do in a place like this with the endless empty days ahead of her.
It was less than a quarter of an hour later when her spouse joined her. She had dreaded his coming, unable to determine how she was to respond to the moody intensity he had displayed throughout dinner. But when he entered, there was no trace of it in his countenance.
He greeted her with a calm air of courtesy, asking whether she had enjoyed the meal. Rosina was tempted to inform him that his behaviour had ruined any possible enjoyment, but relief made her choose prudence as she cautiously followed his lead.
“It was very good, I thank you.”
He took up a position before the fire, choosing, Rosina noted with scant surprise, a stance that kept his right side turned away from her. Looking about the saloon, he said in a disparaging way, “I am sorry to say there are only one or two rooms suitable for use at this present. This is one of them. I will hope to remedy that in due course.”
Rosina tried to think of something inoffensive to say. “Most of the rooms seem to be very large.”
“Yes, and draughty. They can be made habitable. I have known this house when it was a sight more pleasant to live in.”
Surprised, Rosina gazed at him. “I thought you had only just inherited.”
For a moment, his features were drawn in tight and forbidding, and Rosina felt her heart sinking. Not again!
“I grew up in this house.”
It was his harsh voice. She was intrigued, but she made no reply, fearing one of his lightning changes of mood. But he made, Rosina thought, an effort to relax. When he spoke again, it was in a more natural tone.
“It will be some days before Ottery has freed my trust fund, and in the meanwhile there is little that can be done within the house. I am presently engaged, however, in a great deal of inspection about the estate. My agent calls every day.” He looked at her, an air of apology in his face. “I regret, ma’am, that I must leave you very much to your own devices for the moment. I dare say we shall meet, for the most part, only at meals.”
Rosina was secretly dismayed by the formality of his manner. Almost she preferred him to be snapping at her. There was too much coldness in it, at one with the alien nature of the living conditions demanded by the social standing of this house. She answered him, however, with equal formality.
“What would you wish me to do, sir?”
