CHAPTER EIGHT
Raith was aware of the perturbation in Ottery’s face as the lawyer watched him march about the man’s office, the drab great-coat swishing about his ankles.
He would not be deflected. He had explained the urgency of his need, reporting Rosina’s reaction to the whole matter of being publicly seen.
Not omitting, though without going into detail, how that had provoked such a divisive quarrel he was now driven to this means of enquiry.
He had signally failed to bring his wife out of the intolerable alienation.
She’d said the rules had changed, but it was by her hand.
She was no longer the vulnerable waif he had married.
From the instant he had mentioned that accursed contretemps in her bedchamber, he had lost her to some other creature whom he did not recognise — one who regarded him with hatred.
Even his soft approaches could not penetrate her stiff reserve.
“I care not how you do it, but find out what you can. You can start, I suppose, with this nurse of hers.”
His lawyer frowned. “I have no direction, my lord. Lady Raith and I corresponded only through the receiving office at Brinklow. What is more, I don’t even know the woman’s name.”
“And I had that letter in my hand, curse it! I cannot remember it, for I was too much out of my head to pay any heed.”
“Out of your head, my lord?”
“You need not look at me like that, Ottery. I know I have ruined everything, and there is no immediate resolution to be hoped for. Which is why I am asking for your help. Think, man! What can you do?”
Ottery considered. “Do you know anything about this nurse, sir?”
“Only that she is blind and lives in a cottage somewhere.”
“Then it must be within easy reach of Brinklow. I had best begin at the receiving office, and check the villages round about.” He paused, evidently pondering. “Is there no other lead, my lord? Have you found out nothing at all?”
“There was a guardian in the case. My wife claims that he died, but I think she is lying.” He hesitated.
He had hoped to avoid broaching this, but if Ottery was to appreciate the significance of his need, he must speak.
“Either he — or some other man for all I know — has had at least designs on her virtue, if not…” He faded out, tugging his breath on the rise of emotion.
The lawyer got up from his chair, exhibiting a good deal of consternation. “My lord, you are not suggesting —?”
“Ottery, I do not know! Something occurred of that nature. You are the only person I could trust with such a confidence.”
“Who was the guardian?” said his lawyer, suddenly brisk.
“I believe the husband of one of her mother’s cousins.”
“Then it behoves me, I think, to try to find him, assuming he is not dead.” There was a brief silence.
Then Ottery came around the desk, and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Are you certain, my lord, that you cannot find a way through the impasse you have described? I am of the opinion the results would be happier if you pursued the question with your wife.”
“No doubt. But that road is, I fear, closed to me.”
“It will not help your understanding with her if she discovers you have set me to this task.”
“I will deal with that when it comes, if I have to.” What other choice had he? Battle was fairly joined with Rosina, and nothing would serve him but this.
The emporium outside which her husband had set Rosina down was not by any means of the first stare. It was hardly, he had pointed out, to be expected in a town like Banbury. Rosina had made no comment until she’d heard that Nadine had been recommended by Mr Ottery.
“Mrs Ottery, he tells me, has taken her custom here, for the woman has the Parisian touch.”
The instant pity caused Rosina to forget to be stiff. “Is she one of those poor creatures who has escaped from the Terror?”
“I dare say.” His tone was warmer than it had been. “She has not been here much above two years, I gather, and I must suppose that not all French seamstresses can be accommodated in London.”
However that might be, on entering the portals of Nadine, Rosina felt herself to have been transported to paradise.
Never had she seen such a collection of delightful gowns arrayed one by one upon the counter as samples for her inspection.
She had little experience. She had only been previously to any shop of the kind as a messenger for Louise.
Not since Mama’s time had she gone to a modiste to buy anything for herself, and then she had been so young that only the most demure of gowns had been permitted.
Her reception, when she announced herself to be Lady Raith, was gratifying.
Taking her cue from her spouse’s words, and not wishing to appear gauche, she said that she had been recommended by Mrs Ottery.
Madame had at once been sent for by the assistant, and Rosina had the honour to be served by Nadine herself.
The woman was indeed French, but she spoke good English, and there was no difficulty in understanding Rosina’s needs.
No hint of disapproval was given of the obviously ancient fashion of the gown she presently had on, the made-over pink chintz which had belonged to Louise.
Rosina was astonished to see, as Nadine held up the sample gowns, that they were almost all made with an astonishingly high waist. She had seen nothing like it, even in the last issues of Louise’s copies of the Ladies’ Magazine, which were admittedly somewhat out of date.
“Ah, but it is the very latest mode, milady,” Nadine assured her, when she questioned this. “It has come from Paris. All the mesdames at London are wearing it.”
No matter the recent upheaval in their land, it seemed the French were yet the dictators of fashion.
The gowns were made up in plain, sprigged or spotted muslin, many plain white.
The modiste assured her that, as a married woman, she was not obliged to wear white, and might with propriety even wear silk.
Rosina was at first overwhelmed, but the lure of new clothes, and those uncommonly à la mode, proved too great.
Forgetting her quarrel with Raith for a space, she tried on several of the ready made-up gowns and pirouetted about before a long mirror, in a state of delightful enchantment, accompanied by Nadine’s commentary.
“A little too full at the bosom, milady, but my sewing ladies can make it up to your measurements. It will be ravissante… Do not concern yourself that the hem falls too low, milady. When we make it for you, it will be parfait.”
The new waistline felt odd at first, set a little below the bosom, the skirt falling loosely to the ground. It had less fullness than she was used to, but a deal more movement in the soft material of the petticoat.
“The fashion, milady, it is perfect for you,” exclaimed Nadine, and Rosina was indeed gratified to see how well it suited her slim form.
She looked taller, and altogether more graceful, she thought.
When Nadine produced a ribbon bandeau, threading it through her hair, the result was much more attractive than her close caps.
The modiste showed how her hair could be worn otherwise in a high knot, which gave her the elegance of a long neck.
She was eager to wear at least one gown tonight. “May I not take this one today? It fits me well. The others can be especially made up for me.”
“But yes, milady, as you wish.”
It was plain that Nadine’s usual customers were too nice to purchase a ready-made gown but Rosina cared nothing for that, heady with the thrill of wearing new and fashionable clothes. Then Nadine brought her down to earth with a chance remark.
Having changed back into the clothes she had come in, Rosina settled upon three other of the sample gowns to be copied to her measurements, along with accessories suggested by Nadine — a green net cloak for the white muslin and a sarcenet scarf to accompany the sprigged walking dress — and was still debating on a fourth possibility between a Turkish robe with lace trimming, and an open robe with a pleated bodice.
“If milady will be advised, the Turkish it is nice, but the pleat it is more becoming to milady’s figure. And so,” Nadine added with an arch look, “shall be more interesting for milord, I think.”
Milord? Raith! Oh, no. How could she have fallen into such extravagance when she had resolved to spend as little as possible?
She was not the young newly-wed Nadine imagined, courted for her charms. She was the wife of Raith’s convenience, purchased by advertisement.
She did not ask the price of the gowns. It might not be London, but she was well aware of the exorbitant cost of female attire.
If there was an undercurrent of another purpose in her decision, Rosina refused to recognise it. “I am sorry, madame,” she said, with real regret, for it was hard to give them up, “but I fear I must decline all but the white muslin we agreed I may take with me today.”
Nadine looked utterly confounded, but that could not be helped.
She said nothing, and Rosina realised one advantage of her status.
Traders would take care not to offend her.
The modiste had one of her assistants pack up the gown in a bandbox, and carry it outside to where the chaise had been left to await Rosina’s pleasure.
She shook hands with Nadine, left the shop, and found Raith waiting for her outside its door. He was looking extremely irate, and the grey eyes glinted as he addressed her in a sarcastic undertone.
“Where, may I ask, are the other bandboxes?”
Unprepared, Rosina bit her lip. “There is only the one.”
“One?” he repeated, his tone ominous. “One bandbox? How many gowns does it contain?”
Rosina began to feel sick, wishing her spirits had not been so uplifted that she was now unequipped to fight back. But it had to be said. “One.”
Raith’s eyes narrowed. His voice was acid. “Your notions are so nice, I take it, that you could find only one gown to your taste.”