Chapter 4 - Making a Move
Chapter 4 - Making a Move
Aidan had reached the Butler estate perfectly on time. Punctuality, at least, could not be used against him. The staff escorted him into a small salon to await his hosts, and he let his gaze wander briefly across the polished furniture and heavy drapery before returning to stillness.
The Earl was well known in these parts. A fiercely loyal man to the British crown, he ruled the lands under his control with a strict hand and little patience for dissent.
The common people feared him, and most of them hated him.
Aidan had stood against men like him for years — and now he found himself beneath his roof, preparing to dine at his table.
Winter was approaching fast. The crops had failed in too many fields, the storages stood half-empty, and imported grain cost more than most families could hope to afford.
British fees pressed the last penny from a beggar’s pocket.
A Butler daughter would never know the sting of those fees.
A Butler daughter who might soon become his wife.
He would endure the whispers. He would endure the speculation that he had softened, that he now sought comfort in British nobility.
The Earl needed him as much as he needed the connection to the Butler fortune.
If a visible alliance persuaded even a fraction of the populace to stay their hand, if it bought time before the next riot flared, then the bargain would be worth the cost.
For a brief moment, he allowed himself to consider the daughter herself.
He had met ambitious young ladies before — polished, educated, raised to play their part with grace.
He pictured silken shoes stepping cautiously across the worn floors of the O’Donell family seat — a respectable farmhouse, nothing more — and a faint, wry amusement tugged at him.
It did not matter greatly. Once married, he would not need to linger at her side. He was not courting a bride; he was negotiating terms. The contract was the prize. The rest was circumstance.
The door opened, and the butler entered to escort him to the dining room.
With a deep breath, Aidan followed suit, shoulders straightening underneath the fine jacket he had dressed up for the occasion as he braced to meet the Earl and his potential bride.
He recognised her the moment he entered the dining hall. The fierce little Lady from the woods. His eyes narrowed, fixing on her face as he approached his hosts. She lifted her chin when she noted his gaze, and Aidan let it linger for a bit longer.
The breath that had caught in his chest released when there was no sign of recognition in her eyes. At least that. Being arrested at the Earl’s estate for robbery — and probably indecent conduct towards a Lady — might inhibit the negotiations of a marital contract.
A strange warmth spread in his stomach when he tried to shift his attention to the Earl and still caught the way her lips twitched just briefly.
He cleared his throat, very grateful for the two years he had spent in London in his youth.
Countless fights with his father — the old man had still insisted he go.
Aidan’s bow was polite, aware of the power he was facing, yet not deep enough to be read as submissive in any way. The heavy Irish accent he’d grown up with faded, carved away by his years of studying.
“Milord! I’d like to express my sincere gratitude for the renewal of your generous invitation. It is my honour to follow in my father’s footsteps. The Laird always praised your intelligence.”
The Earl’s face remained a polite mask when he returned the bow and welcomed Aidan to the estate, before turning to his daughter.
“My youngest daughter, Lady Catherine Butler,” he formally introduced her, and she immaculately curtseyed to him, her neck bent gently.
Aidan reached for her hand, his lips barely touching the back of it. “A pleasure to meet you, M’Lady Catherine.”
He quickly let go of her hand and stepped back, irritation gnawing at his insides at the unbidden thoughts she stirred. This wasn’t about her. It was about his people.
The butler saved him from extended small talk, announcing the serving of the dinner.
They took their seats at the large dining table — appropriately far apart from each other, but close enough to lead a polite discussion.
Aidan noted Catherine had been strategically placed ahead of him so they would be able to familiarise.
Catherine kept her eyes politely lowered when the Earl picked up the conversation. They had successfully reached the third course of the meal when the tone of their exchange changed, even though the Earl’s voice stayed deceptively light.
“It was brought to my attention, Master Aidan, that you expressed certain concerns about this year’s harvest. I trust this to be hearsay — the fine Irish soil surely offers a plentiful yield, at least as much as last year’s.”
“We cannot complain, dear Sir.” Aidan’s voice was cold. “Surely you would be aware of any misfortunes concerning the populace — unfortunately many of my peers tend to be very outspoken about such events.”
The men briefly glared at each other. A cold, dangerous sparkle shimmered in the Earl’s pale blue eyes.
Aidan allowed himself a brief smile. Stalemate. Of course the Lord was aware of last year’s devastating crop failure. Unfortunately, Earl Ormond wasn’t aware just how deeply invested Aidan was in how close the area was to open rebellion.
Dessert was served — an exquisite soufflé, garnished with cream and fresh fruit. The tastes mingled in Aidan’s mouth as he carefully swallowed. The Earl exhaled.
“In light of our mutual satisfaction at the current political situation, I’d like to confirm that a connection between our houses seems promising.”
Aidan cast Catherine a brief glance as her father finally got to the core of today’s meeting. Her eyes briefly flickered to his face before fixing on her father. Aidan tipped his head.
“I daresay a mutual understanding between your family and mine seems even desirable.”
The Earl nodded and took a sip of wine.
“You met my daughter, Lady Catherine. I would be surprised if you found her anything but utterly suitable for marriage.”
Aidan had tried not to pay her any attention. He still noticed the brief narrowing of her eyes before her face returned to the impeccable, polite smile she had presented all evening.
He turned toward her fully. For the first time since he had entered the dining room, he truly looked at her.
“With your approval, M’Lady…”
It earned him a sharp, thoughtful glance before she lowered her eyes again — a perfect portrayal of female obedience. Aidan knew there was steel underneath the docile smile.
“…I shall formally court you.”
He did not let his eyes linger on her any further, his attention returning to the Earl.
“My daughter is happy to accept the proposition of your courtship, Viscount. Your attendance at a formal tea tomorrow afternoon is expected.”
The absence of any reaction from Catherine to her father speaking for her rang loud in Aidan’s ears.
He lifted his glass in a toast.
“To a mutually benefitting connection.”