For a long moment, he waited. No sound came from behind him. Not a sob, not a breath, not a word. At length, unable any longer to endure her lack of response, Raith turned to look at her.
Rosina had not moved. She was lying very still, and she was watching him. He went with heavy tread to within a few feet of the bed. The coal-black eyes met his. Never had Raith seen so bleak an expression in them. A pulse started up in his veins, and a horrible sensation of dread enveloped him.
“Rosina?”
She did not answer. Only continued to look at him in the same dead fashion. Panic overcame him.
“Deny it! Are you not going to deny it?”
For a moment longer, Rosina continued to stare at him. Then she drew the faintest of breaths, and turned her eyes upon the tester above. Her voice was devoid of expression.
“I may be abed for a day or two. I shall be obliged if you will not enter this room again.”
Raith drove his phaeton and pair with a slack rein, so that the vehicle made but dilatory progress along the eight-mile trip to Banbury. He was not keen to arrive at journey’s end.
Ottery had arrived back on Saturday, and sent to him immediately. But Rosina had been still abed, or had kept to her room, at least, and Raith had cherished hope. Ottery had written again on Tuesday, yet it was Thursday before he reluctantly forced himself to make the journey. Whatever the outcome of his lawyer’s enquiries with Herbert Cambois, it would make little difference. He had offended beyond forgiveness. What mattered it whether his wife’s story received corroboration?
Had his informant been any other than a medical man, he would never have given credence to the supposition.
The doctor had been apologetic, diffident to a marked degree. “My lord, I am most uncomfortable with her ladyship’s condition.”
“How so?”
“Oh, there is nothing to concern you, sir. She will be well again readily enough.”
Apprehension had made him impatient. “Then what the deuce do you mean?”
The doctor coughed, and brought out that damning theory of a miscarriage. He evidently read Raith’s reaction in his face, for his own became suffused with colour. “It is often so, with the first attempt, my lord. I believe you have been only a short time married.” He coughed again. “You need not fear, my lord, that I gave her ladyship any intimation of my findings. However, I sense that perhaps she guessed it for herself. She was uncommonly distressed by my attempt to convey a trifle of comfort.”
“What are you talking about?” The impact of the hideous news made Raith stupid.
“I am afraid her ladyship wept bitterly, my lord, when I ventured to suggest that her troubles would end with a pregnancy brought to term.”
Raith stared at the man, unable to comprehend anything more than the bare fact. But Rosina had been in tears. She was in pain. She was overwrought. That must be all. Was he supposed to think that it lent colour to this notion? It could not be true.
“Are you certain of this?”
Dr Barcliffe shrugged eloquently. “As certain as one can be, without an examination of the matter expelled.” He seemed to feel this answer was unwelcome, for he added with a haste that only served to heighten the likelihood of his earlier assertions, “But I may be entirely mistaken, my lord. Some females do experience quite shocking disorder upon these occasions.”
He had said enough. Raith had been once again upon the rack. Almost he had been ready to demand of his servants the evidence that might already have been removed from her garments, for all he knew. Or lost in the woodlands. It had been torture to be flung back into the acute distress of mind of which he had only that morning been relieved.
The timing of it had been ill, and that was the end of it. Coming so pat, immediately after the contradictions of Forteviot’s version of events against Rosina’s, he had fallen all too easily into the fatal trap of jealousy.
Truth to tell, Raith no longer knew whether he cared if his doubts had any foundation. This last week had been the most melancholy of his life. Rosina withheld herself completely. He had perforce obeyed her behest to remain aloof from her bedchamber, but the days since had been yet worse.
He could not blame her. The fault, he knew, was his own, had been so from start to finish. He made no attempt to effect a reconciliation, for her withdrawal was chilling. He had driven her beyond any hope of pardon.
There was still the matter of Forteviot and this fellow Cambois to be settled. He had heard nothing from the former. It surprised him to think the man had been sufficiently intimidated by his threats. It might be that he was biding his time. Or perhaps he had another scheme afoot. Raith cared little. Nothing seemed to matter beside the appalling loss of Rosina’s esteem and regard.
When she finally emerged from her room, her wan looks and haggard eyes, blue-shadowed with strain, gave fresh impetus to the overriding sensations of guilt and remorse. If, on the instant that he saw her when she entered the saloon before the dinner hour, he could have wiped out the whole of his conduct throughout the short period of their marriage, he would have done it without hesitation.
More poignantly, she was clad in the grey gown she had worn for their wedding. He did not think she had worn it to taunt him. But the message of its resumption, when she had latterly been dressed only in the new-purchased gowns, was clear enough. She wanted no part of her life as Lady Raith. She was once again Rosina Charlton, and beyond his reach.
Through dinner, she spoke only as necessary, and ate little. Only once Raith ventured to suggest that even if her appetite was lacking, she ought to try at least to swallow something for the sake of her health. She turned the black eyes upon him, frowning in that way of narrowing her eyes, as if she had the headache.
“I am not hungry. My health is my own concern.”
Raith said not a word more. The consciousness of Ottery’s letter in his pocket irked him. Yet he had delayed his response, beset by a vague hope Rosina might soften. Ottery had purposely invited him to come to Banbury, so that Raith might hear the tidings he had to tell outside his own home. The implication of this was clear enough. On Wednesday night, Raith felt impelled to inform his wife of his purpose. He hardly knew why, unless it was with a half-formed wish of thrashing the matter out.
