“I know it ain’t what your poor mother would have wished for you, my dove, but things ain’t turned out nowise the way she hoped. And it might be the saving of you.”
Rosina had been sceptical. But the slim chance Gatty could be right persuaded her to do as she suggested. She wondered now whether they had made a horrible mistake that day. She glanced across at her lord, and discovered that he had, to all appearances, fallen asleep. How could she know if she had been wrong? If she had, it was in that first moment of putting pen to paper. Because once she had set events in train, she found it hard indeed to halt them, for the opportunity had rapidly become too advantageous to pass up.
To her surprise, she had received, in response to her letter, a request to come for an appointment, her credentials, such as they were, apparently meeting the requirements. She could not, she thought, have withdrawn at that stage, for curiosity had got the better of her. Within a matter of days, she found herself travelling the relatively short journey on the stage, for which, to her surprise and gratitude, a ticket was sent, to Banbury, where a clerk met her, and conducted her to the offices of Mr Ottery, situated in the business quarter of the town.
The exterior of the building was pleasant enough. But after climbing two sets of narrow stairs within, she entered an outer office of chilling formality. Two further clerks sat writing at desks, which were piled with beribboned parchments and folded documents. Open bookcases of dark wood, fairly stuffed with voluminous and hefty volumes, groaned against every wall, rendering the atmosphere so dull and gloomy that Rosina felt immediately intimidated.
She was shown directly through into a slightly less austere apartment, where two large windows at least let in light, and a couple of paintings adorned the walls between similarly overburdened bookcases. One was of the hunt, the other a particularly dark portrait with a pair of eerie eyes.
Mr Ottery, with whom she had been corresponding, proved to be a pleasantly avuncular man of middle years, besuited in plain black, with a grey tie-wig atop a friendly face. He had a kindly smile, and a manner that put Rosina as much at ease as the awkwardness of the situation would allow. He did what he might to allay her quivering anxiety.
“There is no cause for alarm, ma’am. My client, the gentleman in the case, is merely desirous of gaining access to his fortune.”
Was that all? She had ventured a question. “Must he marry to do so?”
“The inheritance has been so arranged, ma’am, yes.”
“But, why?” It slipped out, but she retracted the question at once. “I beg your pardon. It is none of my affair. Only, it seems so odd.”
“Such clauses are not uncommon, ma’am.” Mr Ottery gave a slight smile, his voice dry. “Marriage is thought to have a sobering effect.”
Rosina was betrayed into a laugh. “I hope you would not wish me to understand that the gentleman in question is wild?”
“Quite otherwise.”
This was so cryptic Rosina felt herself tense up again. What sort of man was he, then, that he must needs advertise for a wife? She eyed the lawyer. He was not very forthcoming. He waited rather to see what she might have to say. She bit her lip, and took a determined breath. If he would not tell her, then she must ask.
“Forgive me, sir, but I do not quite understand. If his only motive is to gain his inheritance, why should the gentlemen use this means of finding a wife? There must be eligible females enough to suit his purpose.”
“There are reasons why my client would not wish to make his choice among the females of his acquaintance.”
So she had supposed. But what were they? Were all her questions to be treated to evasion? A hollow opened up inside her, as the enormity of the whole proceeding came home to her. Had she taken leave of her senses, to be considering this course of action? She should not have listened to Gatty. For all she knew, the man in question was a monster. She blurted the question.
“What is wrong with him?”
The lawyer looked blank. “I beg your pardon?”
Rosina glanced away, feeling suddenly acutely uncomfortable. Exposed, as if she were being closely scrutinised. She brought a hand unconsciously to rub the back of her neck under the chignon that held her black curls in place below the confining cap. Her gaze darted about the room, and she slid her hand down, clasping it with the other and entwining her fingers. Mr Ottery’s face came back into view, and she stared at him, hardly aware of what she said, or that her voice was shaking.
“It s-seems logical to s-suppose, sir, that if your client does not wish to marry from his acquaintance, that they must find him in some way… unacceptable.”
She thought the lawyer’s eyes narrowed a trifle, and her discomfort increased. Illogically, she felt guilty, as if she had said something hurtful. More than ever the conviction crept over her that someone, other than the lawyer, was watching her, seeing into her very thoughts. Mr Ottery was speaking again, and she tried desperately to focus her mind again.
“My client wishes for nothing more than a marriage certificate. He is not willing to offer other than that. It is to be an arrangement purely for convenience. That, he believes, is unacceptable to the ladies of his own circle.”
The underlying antagonism below the flat tones penetrated Rosina’s anxiety. It had, strangely, the effect of calming her a little. There was more than loyalty here. She had felt from the first that Mr Ottery was to be trusted. If he was the gentleman’s champion, then neither his person nor his character could be quite devilish.
She gave a tiny smile. “He is fortunate in your friendship, I think.”
The lawyer looked taken aback. He said nothing for a moment, looking her over in frowning silence. “Miss Charlton, you are a shrewd observer. Is there anything else you have seen that I have not been at pains to tell you?”
A little of Rosina’s tension eased, and she gave a self-conscious laugh. “I might guess at some things.”
“Pray enlighten me.”
She bit her lip again, but the temptation to unburden her mind of its puzzles was too strong. “I think your client is a man of means. Or this fortune will make him so. Not rich, perhaps, but comfortable enough.”
The lawyer smiled. “Well reasoned, ma’am. Anything else?”
