The Misbegotten by Katherine Webb Page B

Weekes. Almost, but not quite, since she couldn’t have known his grievance. He has his mother’s temper, the father said. Do such tempers not burn out as quickly as they flare? But with his eyes snapping and his face tensed up in fury, she’d hardly recognised him; the thought of it made her bite her tongue when her instinct was to raise the subject and talk it through calmly, as husband and wife. Richard seemed to sense her thoughts, and was wary, watchful; tensed as if ready to berate her again. This as much as anything kept her silent. But then when he’d come home on Tuesday with an invitation for them both, and a delighted expression on his face, all memory of the trouble between them seemed forgotten. Rachel had felt knots of worry in her stomach relax. You have your whole life to come to understand his grief. You need not rush him.
    After their midday meal on Thursday, they made ready.
    ‘Do hurry, Rachel. We are to be there at four o’clock, and we dare not be late.’ Richard was agitated as he tugged his cravat into a more voluminous shape, and brushed crisply at traces of sawdust on his coat sleeves.
    ‘My dear, it’s not yet ten past three, and a matter of twenty minutes’ walk from here to there . . .’
    ‘Do you intend to gallop there? You can’t arrive glowing and gasping for breath, with your hair all loose like some blowsabella, Rachel!’
    ‘I have no intention of galloping, I assure you,’ she said coolly. Sensing her tone, Richard stopped correcting his outfit and came over to her. He put his hands on her arms, and squeezed gently. His expression was sweet, almost boyish. An excited flush suffused his face.
    ‘Of course you don’t. I am only trying to impress upon you the . . . importance of this acquaintance. Mrs Alleyn is a very great lady, much esteemed in the highest circles of Bath society. She has been something of a patroness to me; a loyal client of exquisite taste, since the very early days of my business . . .’
    ‘Yes, all this you have already said, and I am delighted to be invited to meet her.’
    ‘I’m delighted too. I had not heard from her in some time . . . not from her personally, though the household continues to buy its port and wine only through me. It’s you, Rachel.’ He gave her a little shake, breaking into a smile. ‘You have occasioned this invitation. And now we are invited as guests into as fine a house as you will ever have seen . . . Well,’ he corrected himself, perhaps remembering her upbringing and her employment at Hartford Hall. ‘As fine a house in Bath, anyway. I do hope she approves.’
    ‘Of me?’
    ‘Indeed,’ said Richard, returning to the mirror and recommencing with his tie.
    ‘As do I,’ Rachel murmured, suddenly more nervous than she had been. And if she does not, what then? asked the echo in her head, mischievously. Rachel hushed it.
    However excited her husband seemed, she, who knew a little more of higher society and its workings, had no doubt that their invitation was some form of continued patronage. They were like as not invited as vassals, rather than as esteemed guests, but she decided then to make as good an impression as she could. He hopes to impress this Mrs Alleyn with me, so let me play my part as best I can. She put on her fawn cotton dress again, though it was too lightweight for the weather, and draped a tasselled shawl – soft grey, patterned with sprigged roses – around her shoulders. She took her mother’s pearl earrings from her trinket box and screwed them securely to her ears.
    ‘Do you think she might not approve, then?’ Rachel couldn’t help asking, as they left the house at last. To her chagrin, Richard seemed to consider the question for a moment. Seeing her expression, he smiled.
    ‘Please don’t worry, my dear. It’s only that . . . the lady has had great difficulties to suffer, in spite of her grand station in life. She can be somewhat . . . hesitant, to warm to people. But I am sure she