Chapter Three
Raith cursed inwardly. He had made a mull of it. He would have to school himself to better control, if he was not to alienate her altogether. What had she done, after all? Tried to mitigate the virulence of his own response to the welt across his face. He had drawn it on himself, leading her to suppose he had received the wound in battle. Better that than the humiliating truth. Only the deception rankled. Why quibble, Anton Raith? It was as much a lie as leading her to believe that he had no interest in seeing her, when he had done so from the first. His choice had been almost instantaneous.
Since he must adopt this method, even Ottery had believed he had chosen well. Despite the fact that his lawyer, his truest friend, had disapproved of the entire proceeding.
“God only knows, my lord, what sort of dreadful female you may attract by such an advertisement.”
“Which is why I am relying on you, my friend, to weed out the graspers and whores. She must be genteel, I grant you that.”
“Genteel! I dare say we may count ourselves fortunate not to be besieged by an army of maiden aunts and governesses.”
His guess had not been far off, Raith reflected. The majority of some fifty replies had been from ladies old enough to have mothered him, a number of whom were already engaged in employment. Others were poor dependents, eager for release. Of all the applicants, there had been only six or seven whom Ottery had deemed worthy of interview. They had all been sad women, Raith thought, and more than one might have done for his purposes — if Rosina Charlton had not applied.
Even her letter had been different from the others. Without exception, all the rest had dwelled upon what they conceived to be their own attractions. Catalogues of beauty had battered at his eyes as he had sifted through the sheaf of applications handed to him by Ottery.
“Item: two lips, indifferent red,” Raith had quoted, laughing, as he came upon yet another effusion.
Ottery had smiled, but had then picked up one letter set aside from the rest. “This one, my lord, has nothing to say of her own appearance.”
Raith had run his eyes down the sheet. It was obviously penned with care, the characters looping gracefully. There was no embellishment, no embroidery to a simply stated list of facts. She was an orphan, obliged to earn her living, and had been seeking for some few weeks a position suitable to a female of gentility. She gave her age as two and twenty, and added the names of her parents to her own. The only indication to her character came in the final sentences. She had no wish, she said, to intrude upon society, and would be content to be earning her board by the bargain.
She had offered no references, unlike most of the others, who listed in the main names of title or repute. In a word, she had given nothing away, a reticence that had its own attraction. Which was why Ottery had been surprised that he wished to see her.
“My dear sir, there is no recommendation whatsoever, beyond her age.”
“That is precisely my reason. She is a mystery, and therefore the more tempting.”
Ottery had been sceptical, but he had admitted, after that first interview, that he was drawn to Miss Charlton. Raith had been lured by his first sight of her, despite the intervening gauze screen of the central portion of Ottery’s convenient portrait. It was cleverly designed, for one saw as if through a veil, yet from the other side the deception was undetectable. Ottery believed it had been used for darker purposes in former times during the years of the Civil War, for the house had come down in his family through generations. Raith had been glad of its provision of his anonymous presence. Else he would not have chanced upon Rosina Charlton.
He had instructed Ottery to check her credentials after that first occasion. The lawyer had located records of the Charlton family, of which one member’s name tallied with that of Rosina’s father. There were living members, and he supposed there must be reasons why Miss Charlton did not sue to them for help. He was the last man to question that. But her mother’s family proved for the moment untraceable.
Rosina had been evasive on the subject at her second interview, saying that her mother had been an only child of genteel, but insignificant, parentage.
“And when she died?” Ottery asked.
There was hesitation. That vulnerable look came into the black eyes. Raith saw, with a lurch at his chest, the quiver of her lips.
“I was fifteen. I had... guardians.” Again she looked away, moistened her lips. Then she brought her gaze directly to bear on his lawyer. “They died.”
Raith was convinced she had fabricated that last. But he refused to let himself be troubled by it, for he had already instructed Ottery to make the offer.
“Let us see how she reacts. We can always reject her.”
Not that he’d had any intention of so doing. It would have taken much to push him to it. He thought the better of her for not jumping at the opportunity.
She had fidgeted in some degree of nervousness, he recalled, looking about rather wildly. Almost as if she sensed his presence. Ottery was patient, more so than Raith would have been, had he been sitting at the desk.
“Take your time, Miss Charlton.”
The black eyes darted to his face. She seemed to gather herself. “I cannot agree to it — until I have at least had a sight of him.”
Ottery hesitated. Raith shrunk away from the portrait, moving into the little room behind his lawyer’s office. He heard Ottery excuse himself, and was not surprised to see him come through the intervening door.
“What do you wish, my lord?”
Raith strove within himself. His ingrained instinct of hermitage battled with a dawning respect. In her place, would he not have held out for the same? How could he blame her, when he had himself made certain he did not wed where he had not examined the wares? Yet if it would make her retract! He faced the lawyer squarely.
“I cannot afford to let her go, Ottery. I must agree.”
