The Truth Behind Their Practical Marriage

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘Why don’t you tell me how you imagine her.’

  ‘A matriarch,’ he said promptly. ‘Stern, a little like Mrs Aherne, but with a tender heart.’

  Estelle gave a peal of laughter. ‘You couldn’t be more wrong. For a start, she’s only eight years older than Phoebe and I.’

  ‘But that means she was—good grief, twenty-three when she took you in, have I that right?’

  ‘Exactly right.’

  ‘I imagined her an old spinster when she married your uncle. To have taken on three girls at such a young age—I see now where you got your own intrepid spirit from.’

  ‘Oh, we were used to fending for ourselves, we three, from a very young age.’

  ‘Yes, but not literally, surely? I know your parents were often absent, but they must have left someone in charge.’

  ‘We had governesses some of the time, but they left as soon as they could find a better situation—and to be honest, it would have been difficult to find worse—or they left when Papa persistently failed to pay them. I did tell you, Aidan, that my education had been neglected.’

  ‘Neglected! Do you mean to tell me that there were times when the three of you were left in the care of the servants?’

  ‘The servants who were left behind, for Mama and Papa took most of them to the Dublin town house. You know, put in such stark terms, I’m inclined to agree with you, we are rather intrepid to have survived such an upbringing.’

  ‘You make light of it, but it’s appalling.’

  ‘Looking back, yes, it is, but we knew no different. Is this the walled garden?’

  ‘As you can see, it’s lacking a full complement of walls. A project for you, if you wish it. Shall we sit over there, in the shade?’ The stone bench was mottled with lichen. ‘Here, let me.’ Aidan stripped off his coat. ‘There, I don’t want you to ruin my favourite dress by sitting on moss.’

  ‘I’m not sure I can sit down after eating that enormous breakfast.’

  ‘I’m sure Cook would love to try some of the recipes you gathered for your sister. If the weather holds, we could set up a little table here for lunch, and pretend that we’re back in Florence.’

  ‘I wonder if she’ll be able to lay her hands on some tripe, I know how much you enjoyed it the last time.’

  ‘I feel terribly guilty for eating so much of it,’ Aidan said, grinning. ‘This time, I’ll leave the lion’s share for you.’

  ‘You are too thoughtful. It tasted even worse than Phoebe’s grass cake.’

  ‘No! Is this a speciality she serves up to the gourmands of London?’

  Estelle giggled. ‘It was one of the first cakes she ever made. I think we were only six, perhaps seven at the time. She said it was a very special cake, but though we tried for hours, neither Eloise nor I guessed the ingredient which made it so very special. My sister has a penchant for trying out odd combinations, some more successful than others. A legacy of having to conjure food from an empty store cupboard.’

  ‘Are you teasing me again?’

  Regretting that she’d said this much, Estelle shrugged. ‘We never starved, thanks in part to Phoebe, and we were always well dressed, thanks to Eloise, who could make a ballgown worthy of Almack’s out of a pair of old curtains. And thanks to me, we were never short of entertainment.’

  ‘You are a very gifted family.’

  ‘Sadly, my talent is a great deal less practical than my sisters’. Music doesn’t put food on the table.’

  ‘No, but it feeds the soul.’ Aidan stretched his legs out in front of him, putting his arm around her shoulders. ‘I’d rather listen to you play than eat one of your sister’s dinners any day of the week.’

  ‘You say the nicest things,’ Estelle said, surrendering to the temptation to put her head on his shoulder.

  ‘I do, don’t I?’

  * * *

  Estelle woke with a crick in her neck. The sun had moved round so that the walled garden was completely in the shade. Easing herself upright, she studied Aidan, who appeared to be sound asleep. His lashes fanned his cheek, and a lock of hair had fallen over his brow, making him look tousled and much younger. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, the leather of his breaches pulled taut against his thighs. He had wrapped his arms around himself in his sleep. She leaned in, watching his chest rise and fall, feeling his breath on her cheek. There had been no need for her to ask, this morning, if he had slept well. The shadows beneath his eyes told their own story.

  She wanted to snuggle back down beside him, but she didn’t want to wake him. Besides, snuggling was not meant to be part of their arrangement. Though snuggling was hardly passionate, was it? Heaven knew, between them, she and her sisters had witnessed her parents sharing far more intimate moments than any child should see, but she couldn’t remember anything remotely like snuggling. Wheedling, on her mother’s part. Cajoling on her father’s. But snuggling? No.

  Which meant that snuggling with Aidan, as far as Estelle was concerned, was permitted. Maybe even required, in these early days, when their path was still a little rocky, when they needed to remind themselves of how happy they had been in Florence. Did this morning’s kiss count as snuggling, for it had started with a hug, hadn’t it? She studied his mouth. His lower lip was much fuller than his top lip. When he kissed her, his beard wasn’t at all tickly or scratchy, and it wasn’t soft, precisely, but it made her lips tingle, adding something to the kiss, making sure she didn’t forget that he was a man. As if she could forget! When he kissed her, it made her insides hot. It made her restless, and sort of anxious, and this morning, when he kissed her, she hadn’t wanted him to stop kissing her, though he did. He always did.

  Was it unfair of her, to expect him to be the one to rein in their kissing, to ensure that it never led to anything else even though she was increasingly intrigued and curious and sometimes downright rather desperate to experience the something else? She wanted him to touch her breasts. If they were fully clothed, and if that was all he did, would that be permitted? It was she who had insisted on a platonic marriage. Did that mean she could bend her own rules, provided they didn’t bend to breaking point? If Aidan touched her breasts, would he expect her to touch him? She shivered, trying to imagine him sprawled on the bench but without his shirt and waistcoat.

  She was ogling! Ogling her own sleeping husband. Mortified, Estelle jumped to her feet. She would take a closer look at this walled garden, see if she could discover any trace of its former glory, and leave Aidan alone to sleep unmolested.

  Clambering on to one of the ruined walls at the far side, she spotted a huge dog on the other side at the same time as it spotted her. Lolloping over to her, its long tail wagging gracefully, the hound’s fur was dark grey flecked with white, the tips of its ears a much darker colour.

  ‘Hello there,’ Estelle said, jumping down to the other side of the wall and holding out her hand. The dog whined, licking her fingertips. ‘You’re a lovely boy.’ Kneeling, she checked the silver tag on the large leather collar. ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon, Hera, you’re actually a beautiful girl. I wonder who you belong to?’

  ‘Finn.’

  Estelle jumped, for she hadn’t heard Aidan approach. ‘Finn?’

  ‘Finn looks after her. I don’t know what the hell he’s thinking of, letting her loose. Come away from her.’

  ‘But she’s clearly friendly, Aidan.’

  He jumped down from the wall. ‘She’s not permitted to be in the castle grounds.’

  Shocked, as much by his tight-lipped expression as his harsh tone, Estelle stood up, releasing her hold on the dog’s collar. Hera immediately took off. ‘You frightened her. What is wrong with you, Aidan, don’t you like dogs?’ He was staring at the rapidly retreating dog. ‘Aidan?’

  He jerked around, stared at her for a moment as if he had no idea who she was, before striding off in the opposite dire
ction. Bewildered and hurt, Estelle picked up his coat from the bench, shaking the dried moss from it before making her way despondently back to the house.

  * * *

  An hour later, when there was no reply to her tentative knock on his bedchamber door, she entered the room. Guiltily, she took a look around, but the only personal items on display were his brushes on the dressing table, his razor on the shaving stand. There were no pictures on the walls, no miniatures on the bedside table, only a book, the history of the Medici family which she had lent him.

  Still holding his coat folded over her arm, she sat down on the end of the bed, smoothing the dark-red silk counterpane. Their kiss at breakfast seemed like days ago. Their kiss at breakfast had restored her optimism, it had restored Aidan to himself, but both had quickly vanished when Hera appeared.

  Come away from her. He’d reacted to the wolfhound and the harp in exactly the same way, as if he was seeing a ghost. A ghost playing the harp. A ghost petting the dog. Aoife. Hera was Aoife’s dog. It was so blindingly obvious, she couldn’t think why she hadn’t realised straight away. The look on Aidan’s face should have told her. It was a sure fire way to blight his mood, she was discovering, to make any mention of his dead wife, transforming him into a man she barely recognised.

  If he could bring himself to answer a few simple questions, then she’d be able to do as he bid her and consign the woman to the past. Why was it so impossible for him to talk? In Florence, the day he’d proposed, he’d been painfully frank, but ever since then, he’d been simply pained each time she tried to broach the subject.

  Had he been frank with her? She was certain he hadn’t lied to her, but there were so many things he hadn’t said, she couldn’t help wondering if there was more to his wife’s death than a tragic accident. And the changes in his mood were so extreme! Even in Florence, he’d had these moments of disappearing into himself, but they were silent moments of contemplation. His temperament had never struck her as volatile.

  She didn’t understand him. Was it too early to expect to? She had ample evidence of how much it hurt Aidan to talk of his first wife, but she couldn’t understand why. The woman had suffered, but so had he, and he’d had the extra burden of putting a brave face on to the world. For two years he’d mourned her, alone here at Cashel Duairc, it was time to move on. His sister said so. He had said so, when he’d proposed. Didn’t he realise that by failing to put action to words he was putting their whole future at risk? Those moods of his, didn’t he realise the effect they would have on a child? For heaven’s sake, they were already upsetting her, making her think goodness knew what.

  She had to put an end to it. No matter how much she loathed the idea, she had to confront him, make him listen to her worries and answer some of her questions. But the very idea of it made her feel sick. Perhaps she was being premature. She’d give it a few more days, and see if things settled down.

  * * *

  ‘Am I disturbing you?’ Aidan peered round the parlour door. ‘Oh, Mrs Aherne. Do you mind if I borrow my wife for a moment?’

  ‘Of course, Mr Malahide.’ Mrs Aherne dropped a curtsy. ‘If you’ll excuse me?’

  ‘We haven’t finalised the...’ the door closed, leaving Estelle alone with her husband ‘...changes to the green drawing room,’ she continued flatly. ‘Which I intend to make into a small dining room. We can’t keep eating in the library, it’s not good for the books, and the grand dining room is far too big for two. There is another dining room in the east wing, but there is no direct route from there to the kitchen. It took me ten full minutes. I can’t imagine whoever thought it was a good idea, but I’m not fond of eating stone-cold food. So if you’ve no objection, Aidan...’

  ‘You actually timed the walk from the kitchen to the dining room?’

  ‘Did you want something? I’m very busy.’

  ‘And understandably feeling a bit neglected. I’m sorry.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘These last two days, I’ve been occupied with estate business.’

  ‘There’s no need to apologise. You’ve been absent for a year, you must have a hundred things to do. I’ve not exactly been kicking my heels, sitting around waiting for you to pay me attention, I’ve found plenty to do.’

  ‘I hope Mrs Aherne is being supportive.’

  ‘We’re getting on like a house on fire, which is more than I can say for you and me. I’ve been sitting opposite you at dinner these past two nights and you’ve barely spoken a word to me.’

  ‘I know.’ Aidan ran his fingers through his hair. ‘There’s a host of things requiring my attention, and I’ve been struggling to catch up, that’s all.’

  Struggling to catch up, and nothing to do with his peculiar reaction to the dog, Estelle thought sceptically. ‘You could have explained that.’

  ‘I could have. I should have. I’ve been feeling guilty for leaving so much in Finn’s hands.’ He was smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Let’s have a cup of tea, and you can tell me what you’ve been plotting with Mrs Aherne.’

  ‘You don’t drink tea.’

  ‘I’ll consider it a penance.’

  She was obliged to laugh. ‘It’s cold.’

  ‘Even better, I deserve to suffer.’ He made a show of surveying the room. ‘You’ve made quite a few changes here.’

  He wasn’t going to say anything about his behaviour. Which meant she was going to have to bring the subject up. ‘I like it because it’s cosy, and it gets the morning sun, when it shines. It’s not been used in a very long time. I didn’t think you’d mind.’

  ‘I’m happy for you have your own little sanctuary here.’

  ‘Aidan?’

  Her tone made his attempt at a smile stall on his lips.

  ‘I know you don’t wish to discuss your first wife...’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘I understand that, but frankly, it would be foolish of us to pretend that she wasn’t mistress here for five years.’ He said nothing. ‘I don’t even know what she looked like. There’s no portrait of her anywhere.’

  ‘No, there’s not,’ he said in a tone that made it clear he had made sure there was not.

  ‘You even haven’t told me her name.’

  ‘She’s dead, Estelle. She has nothing to do with us.’

  ‘Aoife,’ she exclaimed impatiently. ‘Her name is Aoife. Can’t you bring yourself to say it?’

  He went completely still. ‘Ah, now I see. You’ve been using Mrs Aherne to find out things behind my back.’

  She gazed at him in shock. ‘Do you really think so little of me?’

  ‘I didn’t mean you to take it that way.’

  ‘How else am I supposed to take it? You are accusing me of being disloyal.’ Shock gave way to outrage. ‘How dare you!’

  ‘Estelle, don’t look at me like that.’

  But once unleashed, her temper had her in its grip, fuelled by two days of walking on eggshells and a growing sense of frustration at her own reticence. ‘Her name was Aoife,’ she said. ‘She had a dog called Hera. She liked to play the harp. She had a very different taste in furnishings from me. That is about the sum total of the facts I know of her. I don’t even know how she died. I could easily have asked Mrs Aherne but I didn’t Aidan, because I’ve been hoping you would tell me.’

  ‘What good would it do? She’s dead!’

  ‘Dead, but not buried it seems. You see ghosts in every room, but I’ve never seen a place stripped so bare of a person. It’s like you’re trying to pretend she didn’t exist.’

  ‘I wish to hell that she had never existed. I wish to hell I’d never set eyes on her. I wish to hell she’d leave me alone.’

  He looked so wretched that her spurt of temper died as quickly as it had flared. ‘But she won’t, Aidan, and I don’t understand why.’

  He eyed the door, contemplating his
escape, flexing and unflexing his fingers, before giving a shuddering sigh. ‘The last year, maybe more, of our marriage, it was a living hell.’

  She wanted to put her arms around him and tell him to say no more, but she had waited so long for him to speak, she forced herself to stay silent.

  ‘She refused to talk to anyone about her—our situation. None of her woman friends, certainly not Clodagh. I think she thought if she talked about it, it would make it real or—to be honest, I don’t know what she was thinking half the time. She was so unhappy, we both were. It was clear to me that we’d never have children, that whatever happened, we couldn’t go on as we were, but—’ He broke off, squeezing his hands tightly together. ‘As I said, she wouldn’t listen, she wouldn’t talk to anyone, she certainly wasn’t ready to admit defeat. Whenever I suggested it, she became completely overwrought.’

  ‘So you continued to help her put on a front,’ Estelle said softly.

  ‘What else could I do? Perhaps I should have tried harder to make her face reality, but I’d failed her so badly in this one vital thing, I couldn’t bear to let her down again, not when this was something I could do. In the grand scheme of things, keeping up appearances wasn’t a lot to ask.’

  ‘Oh, Aidan, you didn’t let her down.’

  ‘I did.’

  Her instinct was to contradict him, but he was so determined to shoulder the blame that she feared any attempt to mitigate it would turn into an argument. He’d confided in her, he’d bared a little of the darkness in his soul. That was more than enough.

  Aidan unclasped his hands, flexing his fingers. ‘I’ll take that cup of cold tea now.’

  Estelle forced a smile. ‘I’ll let you off. This time.’

  ‘There won’t be another.’ He pulled her into his arms, hugging her fiercely. ‘Against the odds, we’ve found each other. I’d be an errant fool to ruin our chance of happiness.’