It was a churning, useless circle that well-nigh exhausted him. It must have shown. They were not finished at Ratley, but his agent called a halt.
“My lord, you look fagged to death. Besides, it will be growing dark soon. There is no point in attempting to complete the task here today. We can return tomorrow, if you will.”
Raith had nodded wearily, glad enough to fall in with this scheme. They rode back to Ratley Grange together, where he parted from his agent and then cantered back to the Manor grounds. By the time he had left his horse at the stables, it made sense to change for dinner. He was early enough to call for a bath that he might wash the accumulated dirt from his person.
He dressed casually in deference to his wife’s meagre wardrobe, in a coat of snuff-coloured cloth, with matching breeches, and a bronze satin waistcoat. By the time he started down to the saloon, he found himself to be in a fever of impatience to see Rosina again. She was before him, waiting.
“Good evening, my lord,” she said, with a smile.
Raith was taken aback. He replied in kind, watching her warily. Was this submissive friendliness her notion of disporting herself as a dutiful wife? Her countenance was as enchanting as ever, but his suspicion increased when he saw that she had made an alteration in her dress.
She had put off the gown of blue stuff that she was wearing earlier in the day, and had instead donned a gown of chintz. It was of a pale pink which little suited her, and from the way it fitted looked as if it had been made for a larger lady and altered down. It was, moreover, as old-fashioned as the rest, Raith realised with a rise of annoyance. He knew little of female costume, but he could tell that much. Where in thunder was Ottery with his funds so that he might alter that? That she had worn it at all, however, was a gesture that betokened a change in her attitude towards him.
He watched her rise from the chair and come to his side — the left side. She had noticed, then. Why would she not, she was intelligent enough?
“Shall we go in, my lord?”
“As you wish.” He offered his arm, and led her through into the dining-room.
Kirkham was holding the door, his face wooden. Raith took this in vaguely, ushered Rosina before him and walked in after her. He stopped short, staring.
The table had been reduced by at least half. A single candelabrum was placed to one end, lighting where two places had been set. One was his usual position, at the head of the table. The second place, obviously for Rosina, was set directly to its right. She would be seated so that she must spend the meal looking at the mutilation on the right side of his face.
