But not the whole. That was far too risky. He was aware of his own urgency, delivered in a low tone so as not to reach through into the next room.
“Let her see me from a distance. Go. Ask if that will content her. If she is in agreement, we will arrange it at Brinklow. After — I rely on you to secure her consent.”
He posted himself once more behind the portrait, deeply anxious. It was evident that Rosina Charlton resented the recognition that Raith had been in the next room all along. She said little, but her manner was enough.
“Can one hear through that wall?” she asked, a flash of something like defiance in the black eyes.
Raith could only be thankful she did not know how closely she was both heard and observed. Ottery ignored the question, instead putting the proposition Raith had outlined. To his relief, she agreed. But not without further reference to his proximity.
“It would be simpler, would it not, if the gentleman would only walk through that door?”
Ottery had smiled, he remembered, but had not answered. The girl became agitated.
“Does he not wish at least to see me, Mr Ottery?”
“It is immaterial to my client what you look like, Miss Charlton.”
A response which now made him writhe at the memory. He had deceived her at every turn. Even more, because of his conviction that a mystery attended the female who had today become his wife. Had he selected any other of the candidates, he might have revealed himself, for he would have taken an oath his disfigurement would not have deterred them. Their intention had been plain: to better themselves and their position in life, at any cost. But Rosina? No, she was far too intelligent, too shrewd. She had taken this step to secure some other goal. But what?
She had given nothing away. Raith had not dared to risk her disgust. He had ensured that she could not see him full-face, for fear she would refuse the contract, which would have been unendurable. He was forced at last to realise the truth. Once Rosina Charlton had entered the lists, he had wanted no other wife.
The private parlour Lord Raith had hired at the Bell was comfortingly ill-lit. A glow fell from two wall-sconces either side of the room, but neither reached the table where the new-married pair were dining. By the light of the single candle placed in its centre, Rosina saw only the gleam of her spouse’s face rather than its features. The stresses of the day had so exhausted her, she welcomed the release from a too intimate tête-à-tête.
She had been relieved, on arrival at the inn, to discover that his lordship had arranged for her accommodation in a separate bedchamber to his own. The intimation that he did not intend to insist upon his rights this first night did much to ease the strain of being obliged to dine with him. She had been a trifle apprehensive, after the acerbic exchange in the chaise, but Lord Raith had thus far behaved impeccably.
At his suggestion, neither of them had changed. Rosina was grateful, wondering if he had done it out of deference to her undoubtedly meagre wardrobe. She had noted his own fresh cravat, and being at last sufficiently composed to be able to take in his appearance, had been relieved to find him not at all fashionable in his dress. His coat and breeches were of a blue so dark as to be almost black, the sobriety relieved only by a cream waistcoat of brocaded silk. Were it not for the facial defect, he must be counted not ill-favoured.
Once the covers were removed, and dishes both of fruit and sweetmeats placed upon the table, Raith had, to his bride’s consternation, told the landlord he did not wish to be disturbed again until he rang the bell.
Rosina’s breath caught in her throat as he looked across at her. But his first words were not at all alarming.
“Have you eaten sufficient?”
“I thank you, sir, yes.”
Rosina had in fact made a good meal, for she found herself to be hungry. She had begun with a little difficulty upon a steaming bowl of pease pottage. But at the first remove, her appetite had quickened, and she managed to consume a portion of pigeon pie, together with stewed mushrooms and pickled French beans. A white fricassee of chicken had followed, of which Rosina had taken but a mouthful, only to obviate the need for persuasion from across the table. But she had rejected a Bath pudding, opting instead to partake of a little fruit.
Lord Raith, she noticed, had been almost as sparing, instead refreshing himself liberally from a bottle of claret that was provided along with the food. Rosina had taken only water, but now her husband reached out to the wineglass that stood to one side of her place, and filled it half-full of the red liquid.
He laid it down in front of her. “It is appropriate, do you not think, to drink to our nuptials?”
Rosina did not think so at all, but she was chary of saying so. Lifting the glass, she sipped a little of the wine. She watched him follow suit, aware he watched her. When he spoke, it was with a tentative approach, or so it seemed to Rosina.
“It is early days, I know, but we may as well go over our expectations for the future.”
Rosina gazed at him blankly.Ourexpectations? Was she supposed to have any? He must be referring to his own. To show willing must be her first concern.
“I will be glad to know what you require of me.”
“Let me rather ask first what you expect.”
She was goaded into instant response. “Why, nothing, sir.”
For the first time, Lord Raith smiled. Oddly, the scar changed with the smile. He looked far less sinister. Unless it was due to the poor light?
“Come, that is quite unreasonable. You must have some thoughts of what you would wish your life to be. More now than ever, I would suppose.”
But Rosina was not fully attending. The word she had thought of echoed in her head. Sinister. Was it appropriate? Yes, it had been so, the first moment she saw him. But not now. Not when his tone was gentle, when he smiled.
