The Truth Behind Their Practical Marriage

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘My love, think how we’ve been these last weeks. I’ve made you so unhappy that you barely eat. You can’t even bear to play your harpsichord any more, and it will only get worse.’

  ‘I’m not your love. If I was your love, you’d want me to stay here with you no matter what.’

  ‘I wish I could, but it’s because I love you more than anything that I can’t. I don’t deserve to be happy but you do. Don’t you understand?’

  There was such anguish in his voice it tore her heartstrings. She did understand, though she thought his logic was inherently flawed. He truly believed he was responsible for Aoife’s death, and being the man he was, now he’d admitted it, he wouldn’t be capable of forgiving himself. Giving up his own chance of happiness was his way of atoning. She knew it was pointless, but she had to try one more time to make him see.

  ‘I think you’re wrong to blame yourself, Aidan. I understand why you think it was your fault. I know what I say won’t make any difference. I know you would never have forced yourself to tell me what has so clearly been eating you up for three years if you felt there was the slightest chance of our marriage succeeding. And I promise you I’ve no intentions of forcing myself on you if you don’t want me to stay.’

  ‘It’s not a question of what I want.’

  ‘But it is.’ She sounded cold, but that was better than hysterical, and if he took it for hurt then he was right. He had hurt her, he was in the process of breaking her heart, but she wouldn’t add that to his already overflowing burden of guilt. ‘You did everything in your power to make Aoife happy. The fact is that you were doomed to fail because she wanted something that between you was impossible. That’s tragic, Aidan, but it’s not a crime.

  ‘She couldn’t face the truth. Because you knew it would hurt her, you went along with her, though it cost you dear. One time, and only once, you tried to confront her with reality. Once, Aidan, you tried to make her see the situation from your point of view. She couldn’t face it. She took her own life rather than face it. That was her choice. Whether you could have saved her that night, you’ll never know, but I’m fairly certain if you had there would have been another occasion and another, and the outcome would eventually have been the same.’

  She reached for his hand again, unable to stop herself from rubbing it against her cheek. ‘She was sick, Aidan, and you were at the end of your tether. You’re not a murderer, you’re an honourable man who made some flawed decisions for the best and most loyal of reasons. I wish you believed you deserved to be happy, but you don’t believe that, do you?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘So am I. For myself and for the little ones we’re depriving of a happy home.’

  He flinched at this jibe, as she’d known he would, for it was a cruel one, but he didn’t throw himself at her feet and beg for another chance. Estelle got up. Her legs were trembling but they held her upright. ‘I’ll make arrangements to leave as soon as possible. A few days should be enough.’

  ‘A few days!’

  ‘I don’t think either of us wishes to prolong the agony now.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  She had absolutely no idea. At this moment in time, the only thing that appealed was to shut herself away in a darkened room as far away from Cashel Duairc as possible. ‘I rather think you have abdicated any right to ask me that.’ She shivered violently. ‘Now, can we get off this godforsaken island?’

  * * *

  In the next few days, Estelle did her best to maintain rigid control over her emotions as she made arrangements for the journey to Dublin then on to London. She didn’t always succeed. She allowed herself to cry alone in the attic which housed the newly ordered archive which she would never now turn into a history. She wandered alone in the pouring rain in the walled garden she wouldn’t be here to restore either, her tears falling unchecked. Playing music, which had always been such a comfort in the past, was unimaginable now. She couldn’t bear to look at her harpsichord, and took to working in the library in order to avoid her parlour.

  She didn’t beg Aidan to change his mind, but the meals they took together were strained. She could not bear his attempts to make polite conversation, or to pretend that the situation was in any way normal. At breakfast, she recited the list of tasks she had set herself for the day, and at dinner, she updated him on her progress. She might as well have set a clock on the table between them to count down the hours until her departure, but Aidan, though each recitation pained him, endured it and did not beg her to delay her leaving, or to cancel it altogether.

  She didn’t beg him to change his mind, but it was a daily battle not to. They hadn’t even been married six months, not nearly long enough to have failed conclusively. Could she put her case more forcefully? She could, and she could repeat it endlessly, and Aidan would listen, but he wouldn’t hear. She’d only make him even more miserable. He believed his way was the only way, the best and only solution. Which was the cruellest of ironies given that once upon a time they had considered themselves the best and only solution to each other’s problems.

  There was nothing she could do or say to counter his conviction of his culpability and guilt. The only thing to be done was to mitigate the damage by removing herself. Unlike Aidan, Estelle believed she did deserve to be happy. And in time, she was determined that she would be.

  * * *

  Her last day at Cashel Duairc was spent supervising her packing and saying her goodbyes. With Cook and Niamh, the story she and Aidan had agreed made it less painful, for they believed she was merely paying a visit to her sisters. She had no words for Finn, and he had none for her, save to tell her, as he enveloped her in a hug, that she would be sorely missed, and that he would pray every night for her return. She wore her blue gown for dinner, Aidan’s favourite, though it was no longer too tight. They ate next to nothing. They said next to nothing. She gazed at him across the table, thinking this is the last time, this is the last time, willing him to speak, willing him to beg for even one more day. Silence fell between them.

  She pushed back her chair. ‘I think I’ll go to bed. I’ve an early start in the morning. Goodnight, Aidan.’

  She was out the door before he could reply, but then she waited, on the other side of it, her heart thumping. She heard his chair scrape back, heard him cross the room and hesitate, but the door wasn’t flung open. Furious at herself, she went to bed, forcing herself to lie still and close her eyes, though she had never felt less like sleeping. A while later, she heard his boots on the floorboards, and waited for his bedroom door to open, but instead the footsteps stopped outside her door and her heart leapt. Foolish, foolish heart. After an agonising wait, the footsteps retreated and she heard Aidan’s bedroom door close.

  Was this how their marriage was to end, with the pair of them lying in separate rooms yards apart, counting down the hours to dawn when they’d say a tense, chilly farewell for fear they would break down and let each other see that their hearts were breaking? This last week, she had been punishing him for forcing her to leave, but he wasn’t forcing her. She was choosing to leave because she loved him too much to hurt him by staying. It was her choice, a painful choice, but it was still hers, not Aidan’s.

  This was the wrong ending. Without giving herself time to consider, Estelle acted on instinct, jumping out of bed, tapping on his door, opening it before he had time to answer.

  ‘Estelle.’ He was in his nightshirt, standing at the window. ‘Is there something wrong?’

  ‘Yes.’ She crossed to him, throwing her arms around him. ‘We deserve a better goodbye. It shouldn’t end like this.’

  He wrapped his arms tightly around her, burying his face in her hair. ‘I’ve been standing here looking up at the stars and thinking the same thing, and kicking myself for letting you go like that, after dinner.’

  ‘I’m here now, Aidan.’

  He laughed softly, pulling h
er closer. ‘I’m very, very much aware of that.’ He kissed the top of her head, then loosened his hold. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I thought you would come after me when I left. Then I thought you might come to my bedchamber to say goodnight, even though you never have before.’

  ‘I wanted to, I almost did, but how could I? I’ve already asked so much of you, and you’ve been so...’ His voice broke. ‘I couldn’t have done this without you. I know, that’s a completely irrational thing to say, but it’s the truth. You gave me the courage to confront the past because I couldn’t bear to lie to you. And God love you, your courage in facing up to the consequences since I told you has made it almost bearable. You’re an amazing woman, Estelle. I should never have married you, but I will never regret having met you.’

  ‘I don’t want to go. No,’ she added hurriedly, ‘I don’t mean tomorrow. Let me stay here tonight, Aidan.’

  ‘There’s nothing more to say.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk. They say actions speak louder than words.’ She hadn’t intended this when she leapt out of bed, but once again, she surrendered to her instincts. ‘Love me, Aidan,’ she said. ‘Just love me.’

  Without giving him time to consider, she kissed him, and the instant their lips met, she knew she’d been right. This was what they needed, this was how they should say goodbye, this was how they should remember each other.

  She curled her fingers into his hair, pushed herself hard against him, opened her mouth to deepen their kiss, wanting to eliminate every little bit of space between them. He matched her every move, murmuring her name between kisses, his hands on her back, on her bottom, pulling her closer and still closer. She could feel his arousal pressing through the flimsy fabric of their nightwear, could feel the heat of his skin as she let her hands roam across his shoulders, down his back, to the slope of his buttocks, wanting to learn every contour, wanting to remember.

  Their kisses were wild, their hands frenzied. She was burning up inside and out. He kissed her throat, undoing the buttons at the front of her nightgown to kiss the valley between her breasts, and then her breasts and then her nipples. Her heart began to hammer, and the sweet, aching tension inside her began to build. He eased her backwards on to the bed, undoing the last of the buttons. She could see his chest heaving as he looked at her, could see the effect she was having on him, the jut of his arousal beneath his nightshirt, though she dare not touch him.

  He kissed her again, easing her legs apart, stilling her hands when she reached for him, telling her to wait, to be patient, and before she could ask him what he meant, he kissed her again, so that she forgot all about the question. He was kissing her mouth and her breasts and then her belly and then lower. The creases at the tops of her thighs. And then between her thighs, kissing and licking, rousing her to new heights so delightful that she wanted to cling there for ever, and as if he sensed it, he held her there, taking her to the edge then stopping, until she thought she would die of the waiting, and she heard herself begging, please, and before the word was out, she was tumbling over, pulsing and arching up under him, calling his name, clutching at his shoulders, mindless with wanting.

  ‘Aidan.’ Pushing herself upright, she wrapped her legs around him, tugging at his nightshirt. He yanked it over his head, and for the first time she saw him naked, refusing to allow herself to think that it would be the only time. She pressed her mouth to his chest, kissing him, rubbing her cheek against the rough hair, licking his nipples, relishing the way he moaned at her touch, the way his heart was hammering, all the time conscious of the hard ridge of his arousal pressing between her legs, against her tummy. ‘Love me.’

  ‘Estelle, I...’

  * * *

  ‘Just love me.’

  Estelle lay back on her elbows, gazing up at him boldly, the look of a woman who knew she was desired, and who was relishing it. One long tress of her hair lay over her breast. He leaned over to suck the nipple that was peeking through and she shuddered. He kissed her mouth again, slowly, and he began to enter her, slowly. She was hot and wet and it took all his powers of self-control not to thrust deep and hard, but he held back, and she opened up to him, so he pushed higher, until he was inside her.

  He pushed a fraction higher, and she moaned. He began to pulse and she tightened around him. He slid his hands under her bottom to pull her closer, and thrust. She moaned. He didn’t think he’d ever been so hard. He thrust again and this time she met him, holding him then tilting towards him, and he lost himself, forgot himself, thrusting harder, higher, faster, until she cried out, and her climax sent him spinning out of control into a gut-wrenching climax of his own that left him utterly spent. Chest heaving, he fell on to the bed beside her, wrapping his arms around her, kissing her, desperate clinging kisses, telling her he loved her with his hands and his mouth, not wanting to let go of her, not ever.

  It was Estelle who finally moved, gently disentangling herself. ‘Don’t get up,’ she said. ‘And please don’t see me off in the morning. I want to remember you like this.’ She picked up her nightgown and pulled it on. She leaned over him, her hair trailing on his chest, for one last gentle kiss. ‘Goodbye, Aidan.’

  * * *

  All the same, he forced himself to watch her leave the next morning, from one of the upstairs windows, and for the first time since his confession on the island, he doubted the wisdom of his decision. If she had looked up, he’d have gone to her. All she had to do was look up. But she didn’t look up.

  Chapter Thirteen

  December 1832—Fearnoch House, London

  ‘Has she finally gone to sleep?’ Phoebe asked. ‘You’ve been up in the nursery for ages.’

  ‘She dozed off a good half an hour ago, after only the third retelling of her favourite story,’ Estelle answered, ‘but I couldn’t tear myself away. I can’t believe how big she is. Or how adorable.’

  ‘I know, I do believe Matilda is my absolute favourite niece.’

  ‘Tilly is our only niece, Phoebe.’

  ‘So far. Alexander and Eloise are such besotted parents I don’t expect it will be long before we gain another little niece or perhaps a nephew. We are very privileged you know, Twinnie, to have been entrusted with the care of their little poppet. I reckon if Alexander had his way, he’d have taken her with him to the Admiralty party.’

  ‘She might be a little poppet now, but she’s Eloise’s daughter. I’ve no doubt she’ll grow up every bit as strong and independent as her mama.’

  ‘I have to admit, Eloise has astonished me. For someone who was so absolutely adamant that she never wanted children, she’s taken to motherhood like a—well, I’m not sure a duck to water is the right phrase, but you know what I mean. The other day, I overheard her arguing with Alexander over whether their daughter’s first word was Mama or Papa. Would you like a sherry before dinner? It’s not as good as the one we have at home, but it’s very palatable.’

  ‘Talking of which, where is Owen tonight?’

  ‘Oh, he’s having dinner at his friend Jasper’s.’

  ‘Is he the one who married Owen’s former fiancée?’

  ‘Olivia. She is expecting now, so I’ll be another sort of aunt.’ Phoebe handed Estelle a glass of sherry and dropped on to the sofa beside her. ‘So, how are you really? Since Eloise and Alexander came to town, you chose to abandon my humble abode for their enormous mansion, I’ve barely seen you.’

  ‘Phoebe, I’ve only been here ten days. I was more than a month living under your roof.’

  ‘You were there in body, but I’m not sure you were there in spirit.’ Phoebe clinked her glass and took a sip of sherry. ‘Palatable, as I said. Have you talked to Eloise?’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘The thing you’ve not mentioned at all to me. The small matter of what on earth is going on with your marriage, Estelle, and where your husband is?’

  ‘He’s in Ireland, as
you very well know.’

  Phoebe rolled her eyes. ‘Eloise said I should wait until you’re ready to talk, but...’

  ‘You’ve discussed me with Eloise?’

  ‘For goodness sake, Estelle, of course we’ve discussed you! We’re worried sick about you. You’re a shadow of your former self. In all the time you’ve been staying with me, you’ve never once had a letter from Ireland and even more worryingly, you didn’t go near the piano.’

  ‘How can you possibly know that, since you spend most of your time at one or other of your restaurants.’

  ‘I would have happily taken leave of absence if you’d shown the slightest sign of wanting my company. Well, apart from Friday and Saturday, which are the busiest days.’ Phoebe took another sip of sherry, wrinkling her nose. ‘And as for the piano, I know you haven’t played it because when I first noticed you hadn’t been near it I sprinkled some talcum powder on the keys and it was still there the last time I checked. What’s more, Eloise tells me you’ve not even opened the door of the music room here, and I remember when we first visited, when she was just married, you thought you’d died and gone to heaven.’

  ‘How does she know that, has she sprinkled talcum powder on the door handle on your advice?’

  ‘Eloise knows everything, she has eyes in the back of her head, you can’t have forgotten that! But never mind Eloise. Please, I need to know, because there’s only so much not interfering a twin can bear.’ Phoebe paused to draw breath. ‘What is going on?’

  Estelle shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I know that’s nonsense.’ Phoebe set her sherry down and took her hand. ‘Can’t you tell me?’