A fact of which Rosina was only too well aware. But if this was the alternative? Let her not be recommended to this unknown gentleman’s attention.
“I have only to hope, Gatty, that Mr Ottery found me so probing he will cross me off the list without a second’s delay.”
Rosina had so convinced herself her application must be unsuccessful, that an invitation to a second interview had thrown her into acute indecision. A vehicle was to be sent for her conveyance, which indicated to her old nurse’s mind, if not to Rosina’s, that her candidature had been approved.
A lurch in the road brought her out of her reverie. Startled to find herself in the coach, for the memories had been all too vivid, she glanced at the man beside her. She really had gone through with it. Despite all her misgivings, she had thrown herself upon the mercy of this unknown man whom she must now call “husband”.
The thought caused a tiny sound of distress to escape her lips, and Raith looked round. It was dim now in the chaise, but even in the half-light, he could see the elfin face was pinched and strained, the dark eyes luminous. Concerned, he said the first thing that came into his head.
“I thought you were asleep.”
He heard her indrawn breath, and noted that her voice shook a trifle. “No. I — I thought you were.”
There was silence for a space. Raith could not think what to say to ease her evident discomfort. Perhaps there was nothing to say. He fell back upon convention.
“We will be at Marton very soon.” He glanced out of the window again. “Dusk will be upon us in a trice. It must be well past four.” His gaze came back to the piquant features. His voice dropped. “Are you tired?”
The gentle note drew Rosina’s tears at last. “I believe l am still in shock.” She put her fingers to her eyes, pressing them there.
His voice came again, rougher, a species of pain within it. “I should not have sprung the thing upon you. I know how repellent are my features.”
Rosina was struck by the bitterness of his utterance. She had not been referring to his scar; the remembrance of it had not penetrated her roving thoughts. But it was in her mind now, all too vividly. How deeply he must feel it, to imagine it was the one thing he must conceal at all costs. Equally, to suppose it was the focal point of her distress. It loomed, evidently, all too large in his mind.
The desire to weep was receding, and she was conscious of sympathy. Her hand fell from her eyes, and with deliberation she turned her head to look at him. Lord Raith was facing the window. She could see the outline of his hat, the queue of his brown hair, and the edge only of his chin, dark and indistinct in the gathering gloom.
Rosina realised that this was the first time she had given a thought to his feelings. Was it as hard a thing for him to be saddled with an unknown female for his wife? He had chosen it. But so had she, necessity having forced the decision upon her. It had not made it any easier. Why should Lord Raith feel it less acutely? Her words came without intent.
“How did you come by it?”
She heard the echo of her own voice with dismay. She should not have asked so tactless a question. She thought he stiffened, but he did not look at her. His head straightened and his profile stood out strong against the light from the window. Rosina thought he was not going to answer. When he did, she found she had been holding her breath.
“I have been soldiering these many years.”
Then he had been wounded in action. She did not like to ask how he had received such a blow as this must have been. But why such bitterness?
“My father was a soldier,” she said on impulse.
He turned to look at her, and Rosina kept her eyes on his face. She could barely see the blemish now, in any event. Without allowing him an opportunity to respond, she quickly resumed what she wanted to say.
“Had he come home thus tarnished, neither Mama nor I would have thought less of him, nor loved him the less. We should not have cared how he looked, only that he had come back.”
Her voice cracked on the last words, and she turned from the intentness of his gaze. She had meant to offer comfort. Not to remind herself of that difficult loss. She strove for control.
“I did not know you had lost your father to war,” came from the man at her side. The tone was gentle, all trace of bitterness vanished. “I am sorry.”
“It was some years ago. Mama took it badly. She did not long survive him.”
“Which is why you find yourself in this unenviable situation. Life deals harsh blows.”
The bitter note was back, and Rosina turned again to look at him. She found herself moved by an unaccountable desire to ease him, if she might. Too eager to question it, she broke instantly into speech.
“Lord Raith, forgive me, but you do yourself too much injury. This is your battle scar. It is an honourable wound. You should wear it with pride.”
A harsh laugh escaped him. “Indeed?”
Even in the dim interior of the carriage, Rosina saw his eyes glitter strangely. Danger emanated from him, and she drew back into her corner of the chaise.
“And if the wound is dishonourable? Should I not then wear it with shame?” His tone was low but rancorous. “You know not of what you speak, therefore don’t speak of it at all.”
It was a moment or two before Raith regained control. When he did, he was equally distressed by his own outburst, and the effect of it on the blameless girl beside him. She had not spoken again. He dared to look at her, and his spirits dropped the more to find her not sunk into her comer, as he had half-expected, but sitting bolt upright on the edge of the seat, one hand grasping tightly the looped handle at the side of the chaise. Her head was firmly turned away, but the stiff outrage of her shoulders was sufficient reproach. He spoke with a ragged edge. “That was unforgivable. I beg your pardon.”
The silhouette of her features were turned towards him, but he could not see her expression. He was unprepared for what she said.
“For better or for worse, my lord.”
Then she sank back against the cushions, and did not look at him again.
