Chapter Two
Rosina was still in a state of dumb stupor as she was led into the vestry to append her signature under that of her spouse. It lasted while she waited, standing to one side in the little room, through a low-voiced conversation between his lordship and the lawyer. The cleric offered her a chair, which she took with a murmured word of thanks, sinking down upon its wooden seat, and staring directly before her. When Raith came to her at length, she did not even look up at him.
“Are you ready to go?”
Rosina got up, allowing him to take her arm without protest or acknowledgement and walking where he urged, unknowing what met her gaze.
Raith felt acutely her withdrawal. He had been afraid of this. She could not bear to look at him. No doubt she was distressed by his trickery. She knew now why he had made an issue of their not meeting before this time. He was sure it must rankle with her for some time to come. It was a question whether she would ever forgive it.
Sighing a touch, he turned his attention to his groom as they reached the portals of the church. Parton had acted as his groomsman, for want of any other trustworthy person he might have introduced as a second witness. Ottery having been otherwise engaged, there was no one else. Raith remembered that, having signed the register, Parton had slipped away.
“Catterline has the chaise ready at the Dog over yonder, me lord. Would you wish to leave directly, or will her ladyship require refreshment before we set out?”
His bride gave a start, her stare wide-eyed as she looked at the groom. What had startled her? Then it came to him. Parton had said “her ladyship”. It must seem strange to her indeed. He gave an inward sigh as he answered. “Ottery has arranged for coffee and cakes, I believe.”
“We’d best not leave it too late, me lord.” Parton threw a worried glance at the greyness outside. “It don’t look to me as if the rain’ll hold off. Roads are bad enough as it is, and the nights drawing in an’ all.”
It was indeed drab, even for late October, Raith reflected. They had only ten miles to reach Marton where they were to spend one night, but there was only a pair harnessed to the chaise — he could afford no more with his present means, though that was a situation shortly to be remedied — and it was already close on two. Parton was right. They must not dally.
He turned to Rosina and offered his arm again. “Will you walk, ma’am?”
He was dismayed to find that, although she took his arm, she kept her gaze firmly turned away from any possibility of encountering his unsightly features. It was a relief when Ottery caught them up as they passed through the lychgate.
Raith glanced back at the austere outlines of the church. It was an ancient edifice dedicated to St Nicholas. Not large, with pretensions to the Gothic in its tall spired tower and arching interior. From Raith’s point of view, its chief attraction lay in its situation, towards the outskirts of Coventry in a little-frequented area that had almost the atmosphere of a village. On a Tuesday, with the world busy about its concerns, the place was all but deserted.
“You chose well, Ottery,” he said, and turned to cross the road towards the small public inn so conveniently placed.
“I thank you, my lord,” said the lawyer, and moved to keep pace beside Rosina. “I trust her ladyship will approve the light collation I have bespoken.”
Becoming aware that she was addressed, Rosina looked quickly up. The lawyer was smiling kindly at her, and a little of the deep abstraction in which she had been enwrapped began to leave her. The groom had so styled her too. The strangeness of it sent a shiver through her.
“You must be cold,” Ottery observed, and glanced over her head at his employer. “Her ladyship had a cloak. We left it in the church, I must suppose. I’ll fetch it.”
Before Rosina could say anything, he had turned back. Her cloak? She remembered now. She had been wearing it when she arrived with the lawyer. Mr Ottery had taken it from her and draped it over a pew. Such was her state of mind she had forgotten all about it.
“Lady Raith?”
She jumped. He was calling her by his own name! She had not turned before she saw that he was holding something before her. Her glove! He had taken it off for her when she could not. The memory of his gentle action returned.
She took the glove, glancing fleetingly up at him. He was on her wrong side and she could not see the scar. “Thank you.”
She had barely drawn it on when Lord Raith ushered her into the inn. In a moment, the landlady was curtsying before her and offering the services of the house. Rosina allowed herself to be led away, hearing behind her the voice of the man to whom she had entrusted control of her life bidding someone bring to a private chamber the refreshments that had been bespoken.
It was with a rapidly growing feeling of heaviness that Raith awaited her in a cosy parlour. The nonsense about her forgotten cloak had depressed him, serving to remind him not only of her missing glove, but of the acute shock into which she had been thrown by his appearance, or else she would have recalled its existence for herself. Had he made a mistake not to allow her to see him before? Should he perhaps have met her several times so that she had grown accustomed? Only he could not have endured it. To be obliged to spend time fidgeting in the company of a girl whom he hoped might find it in her to stomach his disfigurement. Small hope of that, as was all too obvious. But it was a pointless exercise to engage in such thoughts. It was of no use to cavil. He had taken what measures he had taken, and must live with the consequence.
He stiffened as the door opened. But it was only Ottery. He let his breath go. He need not dissemble for the moment. The man was more than his lawyer, he was a long-time friend.
“It all went off reasonably well, I thought, my lord.” The lawyer laid the dark cloak across the back of a straight chair set in a comer of the room.
Raith’s laugh was harsh. “Is that what you thought? I wish I might say the same, by thunder! Did you see the way she looked at me?”
The image of her shocked countenance came back to him, the coal-black eyes enormous in her white face.
“My dear sir, a touch of astonishment was to be expected.”
“A touch!”
“I believe the young lady was somewhat overwhelmed by the whole business, my lord. I cannot think it was merely a reaction to—”
