Chapter 24
The journey back to Caerleon was silent.
Catherine sat with her hands clasped tight in her lap, her thoughts in endless motion.
Anger still burned in her, anger at Gideon’s evasions, his refusal to trust her with his truth.
Yet even as resentment rose, so too did sympathy.
She had seen the look in his eyes when the boy called him ‘General’.
Fear, yes, but also shame? What could he be hiding that is so bad?
She could not stop herself from swinging like a pendulum, one moment away from him, the next moment drawn back irresistibly. Desire tangled with doubt, attraction warred with mistrust.
Who is he, truly? He is certainly not the boy I knew.
Aaron Tarnley, the Aaron that she had known, was gentle and kind, always smiling. Quite like the description Viscount Everdon had given.
The adult Aaron was cold and guarded. His walls were high and his defences ferocious. But there was warmth there. She had seen glimpses of it.
Aaron had gone with her to Haventon to confront her Aunt and Uncle. He had sat vigil with her through her ordeal to free herself from the poppy juice. Then he had filled the lodge with flowers. She did not know for certain that he had done so, but something told her that it was him.
The sight of him sleeping on the floor, unable to leave her side, was one that filled Catherine with warmth. Those were not the acts of a cruel man.
And yet the street urchin was so afraid of him? And why had the boy called him the General?
It was inexplicable. The questions gnawed at her. Could she live with him as he was now, leaving the past untouched? Or would the shadows always lie between them? Could she forget that he was a different person from the one she had known? Simply accept him as he was?
Perhaps I should be willing to. The fault may be mine that I cannot accept the man as he is now and forget his past.
But, above all, if he was not the true Aaron, what had happened to her Aaron?
“Will we dine together?” she asked as they drew nearer to Caerleon.
“I would like to. I think we should make it the norm. Because that is what it is,” Aaron said, stirring beside her.
He had been staring with brooding eyes out of the window of the carriage since they had said goodbye to Jeremy and Isabella. Catherine’s attempts at conversation had been waves battering rocks. In time, perhaps she would have worn him down, but in the short term, she could not make headway.
“It should be, and I would also like it to be our norm. Our beginning was anything but normal—we should take normality where we can find it.”
“Does it trouble you that our association has been unconventional thus far?” he questioned.
“Our association?” Catherine looked at him, “You make us sound like a gentlemen’s club or an extension of your business arrangement.”
“It is not yet arranged, merely an ambition. And may never come to fruition,” he brooded, “and did we not begin as a form of business arrangement?”
Catherine felt uneasy at his distancing himself from her with his words. Making their marriage and their relationship something impersonal.
“Do you seek to remove yourself from me?” she asked, bluntly. “Make me just another entry on your ledger?”
He frowned. “Is that what I am doing?”
“That is how it sounds.”
“I think you are overly sensitive.”
“Or just sensitive enough. Since the incident with that boy in the park, you have changed.”
He looked away to the rolling fields that had replaced the buildings and streets of London. He scowled.
“I do not like to think of the past. I am for the future.”
“I would also like to let go of parts of my past. The time I spent as ward to my Aunt and Uncle could be wiped from the tables of my memory quite happily. But I do not want ever to forget the time growing up with my parents… Or with you.”
“I am not so sentimental. My past has no redeeming qualities.”
“Me?”
Aaron did not answer, and Catherine fell into silence. She could not understand the intimacy they had shared and the glacial coldness that followed. It was as though he were at war with himself. He weakened and gave away more than he wanted to. Then lashed himself in punishment for his weakness.
A determination crept over her. It was a different kind of coldness, one born out of the desire to make a lasting connection, to not be shut out again. It was steel, unbending and unbreakable.
When they reached Caerleon, she resolved to learn more, to get her answers.
Later that afternoon, Catherine sought out Mr. McKay.
She found the butler in his small office within the nest of servants’ rooms at the rear of Caerleon Manor.
He stood rigidly as she opened the door, after knocking first, seeming surprised that she was there.
Despite that, he received her with his usual implacable dignity.
“Your Grace, to what do I owe the pleasure? How may I be of assistance?”
“Mr. McKay,” she began, careful to keep her tone light, “I remember something Sally once told me. There was a letter, addressed to a former member of staff. She said you forwarded it on to that person. Do you recall?”
The butler’s expression did not flicker. “I cannot say that I do, Your Grace.”
“Oh, well, I am sure that you deal with dozens of letters every day in your role. It would be difficult to remember one in particular, received some years ago now. It would have been around the time of the start of your employment with the current Duke—I mean, my husband.”
McKay shook his head, lips tight. “I do not recall such a letter, Your Grace. Do you know the name of the member of staff perchance?”
“Alas, I do not. Perhaps an efficient man such as yourself would have made a note, kept a record…?”
“No, Your Grace.” McKay’s tone was as firm as he dared to his mistress.
Catherine studied him. His manner was too smooth, his denial too neat. “Perhaps Sally was mistaken,” she said, forcing a smile.
“Perhaps, Your Grace.” He bowed his head, offering no further words, as though drawing the conversation to a close and expecting Catherine to leave.
But she was not convinced.
Sally had no reason to lie to me. She could have been mistaken, I suppose. Or Mr. McKay could be hiding something.
But if so, was he hiding it at her husband’s command? Protecting him out of loyalty?
Either way, she had gained nothing but more questions.
That evening, Catherine dined with Aaron in the candlelit dining room. The fire glowed low, and silver gleamed upon the table.
“Your friend Isabella seemed quite taken with Everdon,” Aaron declared as the soup course was served.
Catherine sipped her wine, smiling her thanks at the servant who had served her.
Aaron’s words were ordinary, the kind of conversation expected at the dinner table.
She found herself wanting to be drawn into that ordinary conversation.
It was comforting and warm. There could be no mystery or fear in such a conversation. In such a reality.
I could just let it go. Forget the past. Focus on the present and the future. I may never have my questions answered.
And while they remained unanswered, they would eat her alive from the inside. Better to forget.
“I was present one of the first times they met. It was in the gardens here at Caerleon. Now that I think of it, there were signs even then.”
“Everdon is a rogue, but he has a good heart.”
“A rogue?”
“As a bachelor, he is fond of gambling, drinking, and… other sports. But he will settle himself to the domestic life for the right woman.”
“As you have done?”
Aaron’s eyes seemed to glitter like blue flames in the candlelight. She wanted to gaze into them all night. For a moment, they stared at each other. She felt her cheeks grow hot, her bosom rising and falling. To stare at each other after the intimacies they had shared was intensely exciting.
She could not gaze into his eyes and not remember the pleasures he had given her, could not forget that they were alone in this room and that the door could be locked.
Time passed. A clock struck the half hour.
She was sure she had heard it strike the hour a few moments before. Had they been silently staring for half an hour?
“Yes,” he said finally, “I never thought such a life would appeal.”
“But it does?”
“Does it appeal to you?”
“Oh, yes,” she found herself replying enthusiastically, the words involuntarily torn from her.
She attempted to disguise her blushes in the wine glass and took too much. She coughed as the acidic liquid caught the back of her throat. Aaron rose, hurrying to her side with a linen square.
“I think perhaps I should move my seat closer, lest you choke during dinner,” he said with a smile.
“That would not be disagreeable,” she replied, checking her front for any staining drops of wine.
“The servants will wonder at it,” he murmured, returning to move his chair to a place at Catherine’s right hand, then his soup and cutlery.
He is kind and gentle. Would it be so bad? Can’t I just take pleasure in this?
But what if the past her husband concealed was something that tainted him? What if the kindness was a facade to conceal something darker? Something that was his true nature.
He dabbed at the front of her dress.
“Oh dear, you have a spot here. I reckon it might stain.”
She looked down as he gently blotted the wayward wine. His hand was inches from her bosom. She wondered if there was any stain on the dress or if this was just an excuse. If it was the latter, she did not care to challenge it.
“Once stained with wine, a dress should be laundered at once. Like tea,” she smiled. “Should I remove it?”
He looked into her eyes and grinned. It was the grin of a rogue, and she could not help but return it.
She shrugged. “And it hardly seems fair that I should be the only one…”
His hand had stilled; now it was simply pressed against her chest.