The Truth Behind Their Practical Marriage

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘No, I mean there’s nothing going on. There’s nothing to tell.’ But the weeks of keeping her feelings battened down, wandering the streets of London under the guise of sightseeing, in an effort to avoid the perennial question of what Aidan was doing right at this moment, were suddenly too much for Estelle. ‘I love him so much, and he loves me, and yet it makes no difference whatsoever.’

  Phoebe, to her astonishment, laughed. Then she burst into tears. ‘I’m so sorry, you can have no idea. Oh, Estelle, come here.’ Without waiting for her to move, Phoebe threw her arms around her. ‘I don’t know why I’m crying, save that I’ve known something was wrong and I’ve not wanted to ask because there are some things that you can’t talk about, even with a twin. I know that better than anyone, believe me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Phoebe sat up, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve. ‘I’ll tell you, though I’ve never talked about it before, not even to Eloise. But I’ll tell you because I hate seeing you so miserable, and because it might help.’

  ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘About Owen and me.’

  * * *

  ‘So you see, even though I loved him desperately by then, and he loved me, it would have been wrong to beg him to stay.’’

  ‘How could I not have known any of this?’

  ‘I made very sure you didn’t. I wasn’t at all sure how you’d react to me telling you I’d fallen passionately in love for a second time. Not that I was in love the first time, but I thought I was because I imagined myself and Pascal like Mama and Papa.’

  ‘While you and Owen are nothing like.’

  ‘No, though we are very happily married in every sense, if you understand my meaning. Ah,’ Phoebe added with a knowing smile, ‘I can see from your blush that you understand me perfectly. That is not the issue, then?’

  ‘No, it’s certainly not. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with my little sister.’

  ‘Ha! Imagine having it with your big sister.’

  ‘No!’ Estelle giggled. ‘Though I have to tell you, I suspect that Eloise and Alexander are also very happily married. The other day, I caught them kissing at the breakfast table, and exchanging a look.’

  ‘Like this?’ Phoebe fluttered here lashes, rolled her eyes and flopped theatrically forward with her lips pouted.

  ‘Exactly like that.’

  ‘So, do you want to tell me about this Irishman you’ve married?’

  ‘I don’t know that I can.’

  ‘I find that sherry is ideal for soliciting confidences. I’ll pour us another.’

  * * *

  When Estelle had finished a very much abbreviated form of her tale, Phoebe was silent for a long time, chewing on the corner of her mouth. ‘How strange, I had no idea you felt that way about children.’

  ‘I had no idea you had fallen in love with your husband.’

  ‘Unfortunately, as you now know, the simple act of falling in love doesn’t guarantee happiness. If you really want a family Estelle, you’re going to have to find a way to fall out of love with Aidan. If he’s right when he says your marriage can be annulled, then you’d be free to marry someone else, and...’

  ‘I don’t want to marry anyone else. I’m married to Aidan. I want to remain married to Aidan.’

  ‘Aha! So it’s not really about wanting a family after all?’

  ‘It is. It was. Stop looking at me like that, as if you can see inside my head.’

  Phoebe held up her hands. ‘I’m saying nothing more.’

  ‘We married because we wanted a family, or that’s what we told ourselves, though we both admitted afterwards—ages afterwards—that neither of us could bear to say goodbye. We weren’t in love, but we were—’ Estelle broke off, sighing. ‘Don’t laugh, but right from the start, from the moment I set eyes on him, I was drawn to him, as if we were meant to be together.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s silly at all. Did he feel the same?’

  ‘I think so,’ Estelle said. ‘No, I know he did.’

  ‘But even though you both feel you’re meant to be together, you’ve decided to live apart. Why did you leave, Estelle? I mean, I understand all you’ve said about not being able to have a family together because his behaviour is so—well, frankly, he sounds troubled in much the way that Owen was, and so I do perfectly understand the destructive effect that has on a household, but is that really why you left?’

  ‘I left because Aidan didn’t want me to stay.’ Estelle twirled her empty sherry glass between her fingers. ‘I would love to have children, but if I had to choose between a family and Aidan, there’s no question of what I’d choose—whom I’d choose. What’s more, I don’t want children at all unless Aidan is the father.’ She set her glass down on the floor. ‘When did you get to be so wise, Phoebe?’

  ‘Has Phoebe been dishing up advice? I thought I had exclusive rights to that role, as big sister.’

  ‘Eloise! What are you doing home so early? Couldn’t you bear to be parted from your first born for more than a couple of hours?’

  ‘I’ve already checked on her, and she’s sound asleep. The truth is, I couldn’t bear to miss out on a rare opportunity to have both my sisters’ company, or to be the subject of your gossip in my absence, though it sounds as if I had no cause to fear on that account.’ Eloise pulled a chair over to the sofa and sat down. ‘So tell me, what have I missed?’

  ‘Estelle is in love with her husband, and her husband is in love with her, but he sent her away because he said he couldn’t make her happy, and she left because she thought it would make him even more unhappy if she stayed, but now she’s not so sure.’ Phoebe slanted Estelle a glance. ‘I think that’s it in a nutshell, isn’t it?’

  ‘Estelle is in love!’ Eloise exclaimed. ‘Good heavens, who would have thought it.’

  ‘Well you clearly did, for one. You’re using your classic “I’m pretending very hard to be surprised but I’ve known all along” voice,’ Phoebe said drily.

  ‘It wasn’t difficult to guess. I’ve never seen anyone try so hard to be cheerful, or so determined to change the subject whenever it veered even close to Ireland or her husband. Besides, she’s been here ten days and she’s not once ventured into the music room.’

  Phoebe threw Estelle a triumphant glance. ‘I told you.’

  ‘In any case,’ Eloise said, reaching over to pat Estelle’s hand. ‘I recognised the signs, for I was the same myself, when I first fell in love with Alexander, and though he loved me, he would have none of me.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Eloise!’

  ‘Tell us!’

  ‘I’ll explain after dinner.’

  ‘It can wait,’ Phoebe said. ‘That’s how important this is!’

  * * *

  The three sisters talked long into the night, but Estelle was still wide awake when Phoebe left and Eloise retired. The music room of Fearnoch House was too far away from any of the bedchambers for her to worry about disturbing anyone. She lit a candelabra and set it down on the open lid of the harpsichord, but made no attempt to play.

  Loving someone, according to Phoebe and Eloise, meant letting them go if that’s what they wanted. It’s what both her sisters had done. It was what Estelle had done. Her sisters were convinced they’d done the right thing, for they were both now reunited with their husbands and extremely happily married. Would absence make Aidan realise that he didn’t want to live without Estelle? But it wasn’t a question of what he wanted, it was a question of what he thought he deserved.

  What about what she wanted? Closing her eyes, Estelle began to play, and for the first time in months, the music flowed. Bach’s French Suite. The fifth movement, which she had played in the church in Florence back in May. She had known then that she and Aidan were meant for each other. She had known that from the moment she set eyes on him.
It had taken her a long time to put her feelings into words, to realise what she felt was love, but that’s what it had been, right from the start. For both of them.

  She stopped playing abruptly. She hadn’t let Aidan go at all, she’d simply walked away because he’d asked her to. She’d persuaded herself that it was the right thing to do, because that’s what he wanted her to believe. But she didn’t believe it, as Phoebe, her clever little sister, had pointed out. She loved Aidan. The idea that she’d find happiness with someone else was preposterous, children or no. She would never marry someone else, because she was in love with Aidan. She could fashion a life of sorts for herself, she could found her music school or do any number of things independently, and she could reconcile herself to that life, perhaps even find contentment. But contentment was not happiness.

  Aidan didn’t believe he deserved to be happy. He had proved very adept at making himself miserable and she couldn’t deny that she had been unhappy living in Cashel Duairc, but it was a very different kind of unhappiness to what she felt now. She couldn’t force herself on him, she wouldn’t want to, but if she waited patiently, as both Eloise and Phoebe had, she wasn’t at all convinced he would ever change his mind. He’d endure, and while he was enduring, she was trapped in limbo, and wasting her life.

  She had to try again, one last time. He might refuse point-blank to see her. She might return to Cashel Duairc only to discover that he had been right, and that they simply couldn’t be together. But at least then she’d know for sure. She had to try again. The idea terrified her, but for the first time since she’d arrived in London, she felt a flicker of hope. She owed it to herself to try. She owed it to them both to try.

  Gently closing the harpsichord over, she blew out the candles. Outside, the dawn had broken. Checking the clock on the mantel, she saw that it was almost breakfast time. Eloise and Alexander were both early risers. The Earl of Fearnoch’s name and reputation had greased the wheels of her Continental journey. Getting her to Ireland with all possible haste should be a piece of cake in comparison.

  Cashel Duairc

  Aidan beached the boat and almost before it had stopped moving, Hera leapt out, her tail wagging. Leaving the hound to enjoy her long overdue rediscovery of the island, he made his way around to the stone bench on the castle-facing side to consider his own plans. The sun shone brightly in the cold December sky, melting the morning’s frost. The air was cold and crisp, stinging the lungs when you inhaled, making a little cloud when you exhaled, making you aware, with each breath, that you were alive. The perfect day for making a fresh start, but he needed to be absolutely certain, this time, it would be a lasting one.

  Here on this very spot he had effectively put an end to his marriage. When Estelle left, all those weeks ago, he’d known she was taking his heart with him, but he’d been unprepared for the sense that she’d taken the essence of him as well. He’d waited for the anticipated sense of relief that he’d surely earned for having given her up, but as the days passed, what he had felt was a growing belief that he’d made a terrible mistake.

  Her leaving had successfully banished Aoife’s ghost, but now he was haunted by different memories. Estelle playing the piano and the harpsichord. Estelle, with her chin on her hand, across the table from him at breakfast and at dinner. Estelle poring over plans and rearranging furniture. Estelle laughing. Estelle kissing him. Estelle telling him that she loved him. And here, on this spot, Estelle agreeing to walk away from that love, because he asked her to. It was the last thing she’d wanted to do, but she hadn’t begged him to change his mind. She had made their goodbye as perfect as any goodbye could be, and then she’d gone, as he had asked her to do, and she hadn’t looked back.

  He’d heard nothing from her since. He assumed she was with one of her sisters, but for all he knew she could have headed off on her travels again. Not knowing was one of the many things he was finding almost impossible to bear. As to wishing she would forget him, find someone else, have a family with another man—he couldn’t wish any of those things. Not for the want of trying, but he found it impossible.

  She was meant to be with him. He was meant to be with her. Now that she was gone, he couldn’t understand why he’d not understood that incontrovertible truth. That was why their eyes had met across the crowded piazza in Florence. That was why they’d extended that first encounter from coffee to lunch to a walk and another coffee and another walk. That was why they’d met each other every day in Florence, and why they’d not been able to say goodbye. That was why they’d constructed the notion of a practical marriage between them. Not because they so desperately wanted to be parents, but because they so desperately wanted to be man and wife.

  When Aoife died, the ghosts that had haunted him had all been sad, pathetic creatures. When Estelle left, he was not tormented by recollections of how unhappy he had been. He could hardly conjure up the tense silences, the determined distance he’d put between them. He was haunted, not by the past, but by the future he’d given up. What had seemed so clear to him, standing on this very spot all those weeks ago, had begun to seem misguided, from the moment Estelle gave him what he’d asked for.

  He loved Estelle. She loved him. It was a simple equation that should guarantee happiness, were it not for the guilt he bore for Aoife’s death. Guilt he had been so certain would eventually destroy him. Guilt he had been sure he’d have to endure for the rest of his life. Guilt which meant he and Estelle could never be happy. Guilt which had gradually, in the weeks since she left, begun to shrivel and to change shape into something he now believed he could live with.

  Aoife wanted what she could not have. She refused to accept that it was impossible. She took her own life because she couldn’t accept that her deepest, most fundamental desire would never be realised. Had that been his fault? In the last year of their marriage, he’d been unable to try to father a child, but for four years he had tried, and for most of that time, he’d wanted a child just as much as she had. His desire had faded with their hopes, but he’d subverted his wishes to hers, had put her wishes over his own, because otherwise, their marriage had no purpose. They weren’t enough for each other, they never had been. If he was guilty of anything, it was marrying her in the first place, and that decision was Aoife’s as much as his.

  They shouldn’t have married, but they had, for the same reason that countless other couples had married in the past and would in the future. Their marriage had failed, and that failure had driven Aoife to the grave. His fault, but only partly. Her childlessness had made her ill. Her illness had made him impotent. But it had been her illness, not his impotence, that had sent her to her grave. Could he have saved her life that night if he’d not been at the end of his tether? He’d never know, but he did know now that he wasn’t a murderer. He was, as Estelle said, simply a man who had made some flawed decisions for the best and most loyal of reasons. He couldn’t undo some of them. Aoife was dead. But there was one, vital decision, which he had got wrong, and which he was now determined to reverse.

  But first he had to say goodbye. He was not surprised to find Hera sitting sentinel at the grave, but he was taken aback at the joyful bark she gave when she saw him, jumping up, her tail wagging madly. ‘In a moment,’ he said, scratching her head affectionately. ‘Go and wait by the boat, there’s a good girl.’

  The rattle he’d left on the grave when he’d last visited the island with Estelle was tarnished and weather-beaten. He dug a hole for it and covered it over, before kneeling down on the damp ground to whisper a prayer.

  His breeches were soaked at the knees when he got up. ‘I hope you have found peace, Aoife, for there’s nothing more I can do.’ He waited, but there was no familiar pang of guilt or regret. Finally, he believed the truth of his words.

  In a week’s time the year would be over, but he wasn’t waiting another week to try to claim his chance of happiness. Whistling to Hera to jump into the boat, Aidan pushed it aw
ay from the shore and leapt in beside her. He rowed quickly, making for the shore beside the castle. He’d have to replace the rusty mooring ring, or maybe he should think about building a little jetty. And on the island, where the stone bench was, he should think about some sort of covering, so they could still enjoy their picnics even in the rain. It might be an idea to build something similar in the walled garden too, once he’d had the walls rebuilt. And then there was the bridge. Finally, he could picture the bridge. As he beached the boat and Hera leapt out before him, Aidan’s head was full of plans.

  First things first, though. Before he could put any of them into practice he had a journey to make and a wife to reclaim. If she’d have him, after all he’d put her through.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dublin Bay—one week later

  Standing on the upper deck as the ship sailed into the wide expanse of Dublin Bay, Estelle was already suffering from a severe attack of butterflies. At this rate, by the time she had completed the one remaining leg of her journey, she’d be too sick to get out of the carriage. Which would suit Aidan very well, if he didn’t want to speak to her. In retrospect, sending a letter warning him of her arrival might have been a mistake. Perhaps she should have surprised him, left him no time to prepare. If she simply turned up unexpectedly, perhaps he’d be so delighted to see her that he’d forget that he had decided never to see her again, by which time it would be too late. No, if anything, she liked that scenario the least. It had been the right thing to do, to warn him. Though there was a chance she could arrive at Cashel Duairc to find he wasn’t there at all. Then what would she do?

  What she had to do was get herself off the boat and get in the carriage and get there in the first place, without making herself even more nervous. Retiring to her cabin to assemble her luggage, she could hear the cries of the stevedores and feel the ship sway and settle as the sails were lowered and they docked. Assuming that the knock at the door was one of the crew come to take her trunks, she bid them enter and picked up her hat.