The Truth Behind Their Practical Marriage

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘Did we pass or fail?’ she asked, fighting the urge to throw herself back into his arms.

  He smiled, tucking her hand into his arm. ‘Though the mathematician in me tells me it’s not possible, I’d say both.’

  Chapter Six

  They left Florence immediately after a hastily arranged marriage ceremony performed under special licence. The many weeks at sea provided Estelle with ample time to reflect on their impulsive decision, for there was little else to do, save to watch the crew attend to their duties and watch the sun rise and set on the distant horizon.

  At first she was assuaged by doubts. What had she done? Why had she acted so hastily? The decision to tie herself for life to a man she’d known only a few weeks had made perfect sense when they were bathed in the rosy glow of the Florentine sunshine, but as the weather turned grey and cold, her memories of Florence began to seem like a mirage. The wind filled the sails, sending the ship scudding far too quickly across the sea, and she felt a sense of rising panic. Ireland, the country of her birth, looming ever nearer, felt like a strange and foreign land.

  Thinking of her sisters and Aunt Kate had a calming effect. They had all made a similar leap of faith, and they had all found their own form of contentment in their marriages. It was too late for regrets. Slowly but steadily, Estelle’s doubts gave way to anticipation. She was glad she’d managed to keep them hidden from Aidan who, as their voyage drew to a close, had seemed increasingly distracted.

  ‘Of course not,’ he said, when she braced herself to ask him if he was regretting their impulsive decision, taking her hand, pressing it reassuringly. ‘The fact I’ve been away a year is just sinking in. I’m just fretting about all the things I’ll need to attend to as a matter of urgency.’

  Including introducing her as his wife, Estelle thought. She would be the second bride he had brought home to Cashel Duairc. It was inevitable that she’d be compared and contrasted to the first, outwardly perfect Mrs Malahide. Was Aidan worried that she would come up short? It would be naïve of her to imagine that those who had known and cared for his first wife would embrace his second wholeheartedly. Would they see her as a usurper? Was that what he was anxious about?

  Negative thoughts! She made a conscious effort to banish them. She and Aidan understood each other. Yes, there were lots of things they didn’t know about each other, but when it came to the important things, the ones that really mattered, they were of one mind. She was making a leap of faith, but she was not alone. They were in this together.

  Mid-July 1832—County Kildare, Ireland

  They were in this together. Estelle reminded herself of this fact as they completed the final leg of their journey in a coach and four, but as the horses sped towards Aidan’s ancestral home, she was horribly aware of how alone she really was. She had written to her sisters and Aunt Kate informing them of her change in circumstances, giving them her new address, but asking them to honour her decision as she had theirs, not to consider visiting until she and Aidan had settled into their new life as man and wife.

  She was a wife in name only, but in the eyes of the law she was Aidan’s property. She would be living in a country she’d left ten years ago, without any friends or relations of her own that she knew of. She’d be the chatelaine of a castle whose previous incumbent had been Aidan’s first choice, the woman he’d still be married to, had she not died so tragically young. Estelle didn’t know how she had died. She still didn’t even know the poor woman’s name. She had tried, on board the ship, to return to the subject of his first marriage, but Aidan had made it clear that their one conversation was the beginning and the end of the subject. Perhaps he was right, after all. Today was the first day of the rest of their lives in Cashel Duairc. She should be looking forward to that, not glancing back nervously over her shoulder.

  Estelle wiped the condensation from the carriage window. It was raining. The height of Irish summertime, she thought wryly, peering out at the light smir that made a haze of the last dregs of evening light. How long before they arrived at the castle? She dragged her gaze away from the view from the carriage window and the question died on her lips as she caught sight of her new husband, sitting stock still, his hands clasped tightly together on his lap, gazing blankly into space, his expression unfathomable.

  ‘Aidan?’

  He started, blinked. ‘Sorry, I must have dozed off.’

  It was an odd little lie, for his eyes had been wide open. ‘I was wondering how much further we had to go?’

  ‘Not far. We’re just about to cross the bridge.’

  He spoke without looking out of the window, but the words were no sooner out of his mouth when the carriage slowed into a sharp turn. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I was born and raised here. This place is in my blood and my bones.’ He forced a smile, edging closer on the seat, putting his arm around her shoulders. ‘If you look out now, you’ll get your first glimpse of your new home.’

  Butterflies fluttering in her tummy, Estelle pulled down the glass and gazed out, exclaiming with astonished delight at what she saw. Cashel Duairc, perched on the edge of a bluff on the other side of the river, dominated the skyline. It was a castle out of a child’s storybook, picturesque and grandiose, forbidding, haughty, and alluring. Built of grey granite, there were square turrets and cone-shaped towers. Battlements lined every rooftop while Tudor-style chimneys vied with the towers for attention. There were an astonishing number of leaded windows.

  ‘It’s not nearly as old as it’s intended to look,’ Aidan said, resting his chin on her shoulder, ‘around a hundred years, most of it, though there are parts that date back centuries.’

  ‘How many rooms are there?’

  ‘I’ve never counted them. A hundred? I use very few. Some of them have been closed up for decades.’

  ‘And is there really a dungeon?’

  ‘There are certainly cellars, cut deep into the escarpment.’

  ‘Dark Castle,’ Estelle said, as the horses slowed again to turn off the bridge, through a set of gateposts and on to a steeply rising carriageway. ‘I imagined something gloomier.’

  ‘The name referred to the original, much smaller castle, which was used as the foundations for the core of this one.’

  ‘Oh, and there’s the lake you mentioned!’ Estelle exclaimed, ‘and there’s an island too, with its own tower. How lovely.’

  Aidan returned to his own side of the seat. ‘It might look romantic but the tower is in an unsafe state of repair, which is why I’ve declared the island out of bounds. I don’t want anyone injured by falling masonry.’

  ‘That’s a shame. Perhaps you could make that your first engineering project, to restore it. It looks like a perfect spot for a picnic. I can picture us rowing out there in a little boat...’

  ‘It’s a folly, not a pleasure garden,’ he snapped. ‘A monument to someone’s vanity, it should be left as such as a salutary lesson to us all. In any event, there is no little boat and therefore no way to access the island.’

  ‘I wasn’t being entirely serious,’ Estelle said, hurt by his autocratic tone. ‘In any case, I’d forgotten this is Ireland, the Emerald Isle where the rain never stops falling. We’re not likely to get a lot of picnic weather.’

  Aidan said nothing in response to this olive branch, instead turning his back on her to stare morosely out at the view. He was nervous about returning home, Estelle reminded herself. Worried about whether she would pass muster? It was a bit late in the day to be asking herself that question!

  ‘Did you notice the knotted serpent on the gateposts?’ Though he kept his eyes on the window, he reached for her hand. ‘There’s another above the main door, and a good few sprinkled around the cornicing of the more formal rooms.’

  ‘A family crest?’ Estelle asked, grateful that whatever had triggered his abrupt mood change had dissipated.

  He snorted. ‘I
t is indeed, though it actually belongs to an English noble family, and my great-grandfather borrowed it without permission. My father fought a long-running battle with the last Duke, who instructed him to remove them all. My father did not take kindly to being told what to do, and won the day by dint of outlasting the man. His son, it seems, has other battles to fight, and so the misappropriated serpents remain in situ. Ah, here we are at last.’

  * * *

  The carriage came to a halt. For one absurd moment Aidan wanted to instruct the coach driver to turn around and head straight back to Dublin Bay. The euphoria which had carried him through his wedding and the first days of their voyage had long since worn off. In the last few weeks at sea, he’d had plenty of time to question his decision, plenty of time to agonise over whether he should have revealed more of the truth to Estelle. He came to the uncomfortable conclusion that he had not done so because he didn’t want to feed her curiosity. He didn’t want to have to answer awkward questions. He didn’t want her to uncover the whole truth because then she would almost certainly regret having married him.

  Given that, ought he have married her in the first place? He was besieged by doubts. Estelle thought she knew him. He thought he’d changed. He’d been so sure that he could make a fresh start, that bringing her here, his new bride, so utterly different from his first, would change everything at a stroke. But he was starting to wonder if anything had changed at all. Here was the castle just as he’d left it, and inside it, the ghosts and the painful memories waited for him. And here he was, not made anew at all, the weight of guilt and despair already looming like a black cloak, ready to envelop him as soon as he stepped out of the coach.

  He gave himself a shake. It was understandable that he was having doubts, but the trick was to recapture the confidence he had developed in Florence, that he could start afresh. With Estelle, he could have all he’d ever wanted and all he thought he’d never have. All he had to do to safeguard it was to ensure the past remained buried. If he did that, then his future and the future of the family he so desperately wanted was secure.

  But looking at her, clearly bracing herself for the coming ordeal and trying not to let him see, other doubts assailed him. She was intelligent, and she was intuitive, two of the many things which had drawn him to her. Attributes that would pretty much guarantee she would discover he’d not told her anything approaching the truth about his first marriage. He knew she’d been less than satisfied by his vague account, for she had tried to reopen the subject on the voyage. Little wonder, given he had not even explained the exact nature of what had been euphemistically dubbed the accident. He’d shut down her questions. Had that been a mistake? Wouldn’t it have been better to hear the truth from him, rather than piece it together from the speculation about the demise of the first Mrs Malahide which the arrival of the new Mrs Malahide would undoubtedly resurrect?

  The truth? His heart began to pound. The carriage floor loomed up to meet him. No one knew the truth save him and her, and the dead cannot speak. If Estelle ever knew the truth, she’d flee. He cursed vehemently under his breath. He was married. This was the first day of the rest of his life. He’d take it a step at a time. No point speculating, he’d simply have to deal with situations as they arose. The carriage door was flung open. The first step, quite literally, was to get out. ‘Ready?’ he asked Estelle.

  She pinned on an extremely unconvincing smile. ‘Ready as I’m ever likely to be. Are you?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, pleased to hear that it sounded convincing, starting as he meant to go on. He would walk proudly up those steps with Estelle by his side. His wife. His second wife. She couldn’t be more different from the first. And he—yes, he was going to make damned sure he was different too. He already was, thanks to Estelle. He’d been different, with her, in Florence. The trick was to hang on to that man, to remain that incarnation of himself, and forget about the one he had been previously. He had ruined one woman’s life, he wasn’t going to ruin another.

  Helping her down from the carriage, he pressed her hand in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. She was making a determined and touching effort to subdue her own very natural nerves, smiling bravely up at him, though everything here was alien to her. He smiled back rigidly, tucking her hand into his arm and pulling her closer than he’d allowed himself to do since they were married. ‘Be yourself,’ he whispered into her ear, ‘that’s all I ever ask of you. Be your bright, lovely self, and you can’t fail.’

  Her cheeks flushed. ‘Aidan! Thank you.’

  ‘Welcome to Cashel Duairc.’ He planted a kiss on her lips. She exhaled sharply, and his senses jumped to life, and for a long moment they were entranced, as they had been from the first, gazing into each other’s eyes, remembering Florence, and it restored his confidence, just as he’d hoped it would. Then he released her, and she gave an embarrassed little huff of a laugh, and they turned towards the steps.

  ‘Aidan! It’s good to see you—and looking so well too.’

  ‘Finn, may I introduce you to my wife. Estelle, this is Finn Connolly, my estate manager and my oldest friend.’

  ‘Mrs Malahide, it is an honour and a pleasure to meet you.’ Finn bent over Estelle’s hand with an exaggerated flourish.

  ‘Mr Connolly, how do you do.’

  ‘You’re Irish! Mind you, I should have known the minute I set eyes on you. You’re far too lovely to come from anywhere other than the Emerald Isle.’

  ‘And you’re far too charming to be anything other than a Kildare man.’

  ‘Finn here says a lot more than his prayers, to coin a phrase,’ Aidan said, his smile fading as, over his friend’s shoulder, he saw his housekeeper making a belated appearance.

  ‘Mrs Aherne.’ His heart sank. ‘May I introduce you to my wife. Estelle, this is our esteemed housekeeper, who I’m sure will be a great help to you as you settle in.’

  ‘How do you do, madam?’ The woman dropped a shallow curtsy. ‘You must excuse the informal welcome. I had intended to have the staff lined up in a guard of honour to welcome you, as is the custom, but Mr Connolly was adamantly opposed to the idea. I only mention it to reassure you that I did not intend to show any lack of respect.’

  It was a perfectly pitched reminder that Estelle was not the first bride he’d brought home. Was it deliberate or obtuse? He never could tell with the damned woman, and it was obvious that Estelle was wondering the same. ‘I’m sure my wife is relieved not to have to face such an ordeal after our long journey,’ he said. ‘I know I am. I assume you have carried out my instructions regarding the rooms?’

  ‘Everything is as you requested, sir. Shall I take madam up? I believe your dresser has not yet arrived, madam. Are we to expect her imminently?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t have a dresser,’ Estelle said.

  ‘Then you will be wishing to send to Dublin for one, madam. I know of a reputable agency, it is the one that Mrs Malahide used. That is to say, the first Mrs Malahide.’ A dull flush mottled the housekeeper’s throat. ‘Beg pardon, madam.’

  ‘Well, the second Mrs Malahide prefers to dress herself,’ Estelle said, stepping into the breach, casting Aidan a worried glance. ‘I would, however, very much appreciate it if you would arrange a bath for me.’

  ‘Have one of the chambermaids wait on my wife,’ Aidan snapped. ‘And then you may inform Cook that we’ll take dinner in the library.’

  ‘That was a bit harsh,’ Finn muttered, watching Estelle follow in the housekeeper’s wake. ‘Though I completely I understand why you find her continued presence here an unwelcome link with the past. Would it not be easier to just move her on?’

  ‘I can hardly dismiss her,’ Aidan said, rubbing his eyes. ‘Apart from the awkward connection, I can’t fault her as a housekeeper, though I have to confess, it’s beyond me too, why she stays. She knows I’d give her an excellent reference since I’ve told her so several times.’

  �
�Perhaps it’s a misplaced sense of loyalty. Regardless, it’s to be hoped that your wife has a thick skin. I presume you told her what to expect.’

  ‘I thought it best not to prejudice her against Mrs Aherne.’

  ‘Aidan! This is me you’re talking to. The woman constantly harps on about the good old days. You’ll need to warn Estelle.’

  ‘I will. I just need to find the right moment.’

  Finn eyed him speculatively. ‘What have you told her?’

  ‘She knows all the salient facts,’ Aidan said, horribly aware that he was prevaricating, and Finn knew it. ‘Which reminds me, I appreciate you sparing us both the staff line-up.’

  ‘To be honest, I did worry that your wife would be insulted by the lack of formality, but given the circumstances that gave rise to the last guard of honour...’

  Aidan winced. ‘The funeral. I don’t need reminding.’

  Finn patted his shoulder awkwardly. ‘Your household has grown considerably smaller in the last three years, what with you deciding to live like a hermit. You’ll need to think about taking on quite a few more indoor staff, assuming that your wife intends to open the house up properly again. I was thinking it might be a good idea for you to host a party, show off your lovely bride. And she is lovely, Aidan, as good looking a woman as I’ve seen in many a long year. Put yourself back out into society again. It’s about time.’

  ‘Do you think anyone would come?’

  ‘Why the devil wouldn’t they? You shut yourself off from the world, Aidan, not the other way around. Yes, it was an extremely difficult time for you, it generated speculation and ill-founded rumour, but it’s been three years. All that has died down, life moves on. Time you did too.’