One Sinful Night

by Kaitlin O’Riley

  “I’m fine. Just cold.”

  He slowly began to row, realizing how drained he felt. The wind had picked up a bit and the lake began to get a slight chop to it. The oars cut through the water, making little splashing sounds amidst the awkward silence. He could not find the words to say what played over and over in his mind since yesterday. He knew he should say something. Simple good manners dictated he say something, anything, to her. He had known Vivienne longer than he’d known anyone else in his lfe. She deserved at least an expression of sympathy from him. Now might not be the best time, but at least they were alone.

  “Vivienne?”

  “Yes?” Her dark blue eyes turned to him.

  If he kept looking into them he would be lost. Or do something entirely stupid.

  He swallowed and tried to look away. “I’m sorry about your father. And Aggie.”

  An expression of utter sorrow shadowed her beautiful face; the grief was still raw for her. For a brief instant he wished he had not mentioned her loss, for her anguish was painfully obvious.

  “Thank you,” she whispered in a tight voice.

  “Gregory and George just told me yesterday.”

  She did not respond, nor encourage him to continue the matter. Yet he did so anyway. “I always admired your father. And I loved Aggie, you know. She was more of a grandmother to me than my own.”

  Almost everyone in Galway believed Agnes Joyce to be a witch, but Aidan knew her only as a wise old woman, with a wry sense of humor. As a child he had spent many hours in Aggie’s warm and cozy kitchen, listening to her recount Celtic fairy tales and legends. She was a riveting storyteller, Aggie was. Spry, witty, and with a zest for life, Aggie offered sage advice and had touched something, given something, to Aidan that he was unaware was lacking in his own family until he met Vivienne.

  And Aggie knew things. Aidan couldn’t explain it, and it was the reason half of Galway believed her to be a witch, but Aggie knew certain things were going to happen before they happened. Her ability both frightened and fascinated him. At the time she had been the only person in Galway who had recognized Aidan and Vivienne’s love for each other as something real. Although she had been utterly wrong about him and Vivienne, Aggie had once told him that he would be living in London years before he actually did. Some said Vivienne possessed the same otherworldly talents, but Aidan had yet to see evidence of that.

  Aggie had been so full of energy, so full of life, he could hardly imagine her gone. He could still picture her in her neat black dress, her hands always busy, sewing, cooking, making, creating something. She wore her dark hair, without a single strand of gray, pulled into a tight knot on the back of her head and her wrinkled but elegant face had merry eyes. He had always pictured Vivienne looking like her grandmother in fifty years.

  Now Vivienne’s blue eyes brimmed with tears at his words and she murmured, “She loved you, too, Aidan. Even after everything…”

  “You were with her at the end?” he asked, although he knew the answer. Vivienne would not have been anywhere else but at her grandmother’s side.

  She nodded her head. “She had not been well for years, and Aggie knew it was her time to go. She passed peacefully in her sleep one night.”

  “What happened to your father?” he asked after some time.

  “His ship was lost at sea.”

  “I’m sorry, Vivienne. I always admired your father.”

  “I know,” she choked out.

  “So that is why you came to live with your aunt and uncle?”

  “Only because before she died, Aggie told me to go live in England. She said that I would find happiness here.”

  “And are you happy?” he asked before he could stop himself.

  “The Cardwells have made me feel quite at home.”

  “They are set on finding a husband for you?”

  “What else would you expect them to do, Aidan?” she said matter-of-factly.

  Again he thought of Jackson Harlow. He and Vivienne had looked very cozy together earlier that afternoon. Aidan had watched while they sat on a blanket beneath a shady tree, talking quite earnestly to each other. Obviously Harlow was interested in pursuing her. But Vivienne could not possibly entertain the idea of marrying the likes of Jackson Harlow. Just the thought of it made his blood run cold.

  Then again, what business was it of his who Vivienne married at this point? It was not his place to give his advice or opinion. If she wanted to ruin her life by becoming the wife of Jackson Harlow there was not anything he could do to prevent it. There seemed to be nothing more to say after that and they rowed the rest of the way back to shore in awkward silence.

  Glenda Cardwell watched with stormy eyes as the boating party returned to the dock. The entire day was ruined now. Oh, the fuss that ensued over her foolish brothers and their ridiculous friends! It infuriated her. Truly. They were not even capable of simply rowing to the other side of the lake and back. One would think they had been shot at rather than simply fallen into the water. The idiots.

  That haughty Helene Winston acted as if she’d been dragged by wild horses, the way she carried on. The sobbing and the tears. It was really too much, how everyone was fretting over her, coddling her. And there was Gregory, preening about as a great hero for rescuing the little blond twit. Sarah and Victoria Atwood were wailing and describing the events dramatically, and nothing even happened to them! They all made her sick.

  At least that handsome Jackson Harlow had the good grace to actually get hurt, judging from the nasty gash on his head. He deserved it, too.

  Glenda was familiar with his kind. He never gave plain girls like her the time of day, but would fawn all over the pretty girls. Even the silliest ones. Glenda had tried her best to be nice to him at supper last night, for she had thought him most attractive, fascinated by his golden coloring and thick, tawny hair.

  At supper she attempted to discuss the fine spring weather, and how delicious the food tasted. But he only murmured a decidedly dismissive, “That’s nice,” and practically turned his back to her. As if she were not good enough! She hoped he had scarred his face terribly in the accident. That would teach him, for he was too handsome to be tolerated.

  Aunt Jane had already rushed inside with Uncle Richard to send for the doctor to care for Mister Harlow. Glenda, however, raised her eyebrows as she watched Lord Whitlock and her cousin Vivienne arrive alone together in the last boat, he bare-chested and she wearing his shirt. Well, well, well. This was most interesting. What had the saintly Vivienne been up to with the Earl of Whitlock?

  Now Lord Whitlock, there was a true gentleman! Even though he was a friend of Gregory and George’s, she could forgive him that flaw, because at all times he treated her as if she were the greatest beauty. He always made a point of asking, “How are you today, Miss Glenda?” as though he truly cared if she were fine or not. What a pity he was practically engaged to that feather-headed Helene Winston! Glenda would have liked being his wife, if she had to be someone’s. Not that anybody was offering, mind you. There was no fear on that account.

  By now Glenda had quite grown resigned to the idea of spinsterhood. She could not abide fools, and all the men of her acquaintance were nothing if not foolish. Most men she knew were not worth much as far as she could see.

  But the Earl of Whitlock, now he was different, a genuinely good man. He was industrious and hard-working, when he certainly didn’t have to be. He had even built a shipping company on his own. Being devastatingly handsome did not deter from his appeal either.

  No, she would not mind being married to someone like Aidan Kavanaugh, but he was destined to marry someone typically conventional like Helene Winston.

  As she watched Vivienne being escorted from the boat, she could not help but think that something was not quite right between Aidan Kavanaugh and her cousin. It was patently obvious to everyone that the pair disliked each other intensely and from what she had gathered, they had known each other as children in Ireland. There was
more to that story, she was quite sure.

  Ever since Vivienne Montgomery had come to live with them, Glenda’s quiet life had been upended. She was now constantly compared to her lovely cousin and found lacking in every way. Her parents thought Vivienne could do no wrong and treated her as if she were a crowned princess. Her idiot twin brothers were besotted with the girl, singing her praises till Glenda thought she would scream. Even her older brother Gerald, who was married and lived in the country, had been won over by Vivienne when Glenda had always credited Gerald as having more sense than Gregory and George combined.

  “Glenda, lend Vivienne your shawl,” her mother commanded, startling Glenda and forcing her to focus on the present. “Can’t you see she’s shivering?”

  Indeed Vivienne’s teeth were chattering and her wet dress clung to her. She looked a mess.

  “Oh, by all means,” she answered sarcastically. Shall I remove my dress for Vivienne also?

  Glenda sullenly whipped off the light gray knit shawl that she had draped over hers shoulders and tossed it to her mother. She wrapped it around Vivienne’s petite shoulders and they ushered her off the dock and back to the house. As everyone made their way inside, it was obvious the picnic day had ended. Ruined. By her feeble-minded brothers and their dimwitted friends.

  “Aren’t you fortunate you didn’t join the boating party, Miss Cardwell?”

  She turned to see Lady Whitlock standing beside her. Tall for an older woman, Susana Kavanaugh perpetually wore a serious expression. She carried herself like a queen, and unconsciously Glenda stood straighter.

  “I have more sense than that, Lady Whitlock. If I had gone, believe me, I would not have ended up in the water.”

  “I have no doubt of that,” Lady Whitlock murmured approvingly. “You, unlike some others, are a sensible girl.”

  “And even if I had ended up in the lake, I wouldn’t be carrying on the way those silly girls are,” Glenda declared as they walked slowly across the lawns toward the house together.

  “You have a point there. They were very dramatic. Except for Miss Montgomery, that is.” There was an edge to Lady Whitlock’s brittle voice.

  “But she got all the attention anyway,” Glenda could not help pouting. “Everyone loves Vivienne and I don’t know why. There’s nothing particularly special about her.”

  “I happen to agree with you.”

  “You’re the only one who does.”

  “Have you forgotten that I have known her for years? The real Vivienne. Not this sweet façade she displays for all the world to see.” Lady Whitlock’s voice became a sharp whisper.

  Glenda glanced at her quizzically. A determined look gleamed in the woman’s cunning gray eyes. She was quite intimidating, but Glenda did not fear for herself.

  Glenda had known Aidan Kavanaugh socially for years, due to his being close friends with her brothers, but she had only recently met his mother. She liked Lady Whitlock immediately because she could see through Vivienne’s sweet but false exterior to her true heartless character. Lady Whitlock had not divulged much, but she credited Glenda’s good judgment in not being taken in by Vivienne and that made Glenda feel worthy.

  “How would you like to help me reveal Vivienne’s true character to everyone here, expose her for what she really is, before this week is over?” Lady Whitlock asked her.

  Making Vivienne look the fool in front of everyone? Now that was an intriguing thought. Someone finally understood what it was like to be Glenda. Suddenly seeing the advantages of an association with Aidan’s mother, Glenda gave a most eager smile. “Why, I would be happy to help in any way I could.”

  Lady Whitlock smiled knowingly. “I thought you might, Miss Cardwell, being the clever girl that you are. Why don’t you come for a nice long walk with me now and we can have a little chat?”

  Chapter 8

  The Portrait Gallery

  The next day dawned with dark gray skies and a steady dripping rain. Vivienne groaned inwardly at the thought of being inside all day. After a hot bath last night she had completely recovered from the boating accident and, with her very legitimate excuse, she kept to her room. This morning she had breakfast in her room also, grateful that Glenda had already gone downstairs without her.

  Dressed in a simple day gown of dark blue with pale yellow trim, she was now restless. She knew the twins would be more than willing to entertain her, but she was not in the mood for their sort of fun this gray day. And she felt gray today. Maybe there had been too many social activities over the past few weeks for her.

  Living with the Cardwells had provided her with constant companionship, a concept that was new to her. For the first time in years, there was always someone with her: her aunt, her uncle, one of her cousins, or a servant. She enjoyed this novel life tremendously, especially after she had spent so many years living with just her and Aggie. Now she realized that she was never alone at all anymore and she needed some of that solitude again to sort through her thoughts and clear her head. Of Aidan.

  Aidan.

  She wondered why he dove in the lake to rescue her instead of Helene Winston yesterday. Given that the two were practically engaged, it made no sense for Aidan to come to her first. Yet he held her so tenderly in the water, and she could have sworn that he kissed her cheek. His concern for her welfare confused her. When they talked, he seemed genuinely hurt by the deaths of her father and grandmother. She did not know what to make of Aidan’s behavior. His compassion toward her had been so unexpected, especially after the obvious hostility he displayed during the parlor game the night before last.

  Longing to take a solitary walk along the shore of Galway Bay and to feel the brisk sea air on her face, she succumbed to a restlessness inside Bingham Hall. She missed Ireland; she missed home. Everyone in England looked down on the smaller island nation, but Vivienne loved her country even more because of the hardships the country endured. Admittedly there were problems, for great sorrow and tragedy reigned in her home country. The famine years had been devastating, although her family, fortunately, had been spared much of that anguish.

  But now, she yearned for misty days and green fields. The sound of the sea. The scent of burning peat fires. The lilt of a gentle brogue. In spite of the luxury that was lavished upon her now in England, pangs of homesickness washed over her.

  A stroll by the sea was out of the question today, however. She toyed with the idea of walking in the gardens, but the torrential downpour outside deterred even her love of walking in the rain. Instead she opted to explore the seemingly endless maze of corridors that comprised Bingham Hall. Although she had been in the house for days, there were wings of the massive estate in which she still had not set foot. With everyone trapped inside for the day, most of the houseguests engaged themselves in solitary pursuits, while the servants were kept busy preparing for the grand masked ball the following evening. But the section of the house that Vivienne intended to explore was still and quiet.

  However, after more than an hour of wandering aimlessly through the dim hallways, her troubled spirit was not soothed. Although she peeked in the many drawing rooms and gazed out tall windows washed with raindrops, the restlessness she felt was unappeased. As she made her way down to the corridor to return to her room, she noticed an oddly shaped wooden panel just outside her bedroom.

  Intrigued, she ran her hands over the smooth, polished oak. She pressed one corner and the panel sprung open, revealing itself to be a little door. Peering in, she saw stone steps leading down in a spiral and she laughed. She had actually found one of the secret staircases the twins had mentioned! Nothing if not adventurous, Vivienne went through the opening, closing the door carefully behind her.

  Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the lack of light. Keeping one hand on the wall, she descended the steps cautiously in the darkness, feeling her way. When she reached the bottom she could see the outline of another door, for a faint light shone through from the other side. Pressing her hand against the door, it sprung
open, and she stepped out to find herself in the portrait gallery!

  Pleased with the prospect of telling Gregory and George what she had discovered, she closed the door, purposely noting that it was next to the painting of some elderly Bingham relative in a violet frock coat.

  Vivienne walked aimlessly along the white marbled floor of the silent portrait gallery, hung with formal pictures of generations of the venerable Bingham family. The imposing array of paintings left her feeling very small. What would it be like to have the history of such an illustrious family supporting you? It was certainly unlike anything she had known in Galway, although her mother’s side of the family boasted a long and colorful past.

  Vivienne was half English, but she felt more Irish, because that was how she was raised. Aggie had always taught her to proud of her heritage, unlike Aidan and Susana Kavanaugh, who hated Ireland and everything about it. Even though she believed Aidan didn’t truly feel that way in his heart. That was just his mother’s influence over him.

  Aidan.

  His feelings for her were a mystery. He acted cold and standoffish with her and had been unbelievably rude and nasty to her during the parlor game. Yet, yesterday on the lake he treated her with such caring and tenderness. It seemed he was cruelest to her in front of others…Why?

  And how did she feel about him after all this time?

  She had to admit that she cared for him. He was more handsome than ever, and in spite of everything he made her heart race. She still felt a strong attraction to him, wanted to be near him, wanted to talk to him. When he entered a room, she could not help but look at Aidan. His presence demanded all her attention, no matter how desperately she attempted to ignore him. As it had always been with him.

  Suddenly she became aware of heavy footsteps echoing in a familiar rhythm through the marble corridor. And she knew, just knew, without turning around that Aidan stood behind her. She did not even need to look to confirm her feelings.