Chapter 19 - False Certainties
Sleep had not come easy. The gentle knock at her door, followed by the rustle of skirts on the wooden floor, caused Catherine to growl into her pillow.
“Good morning, m’Lady, it’s a beautiful day,” the merciless voice of her maid announced.
“Long night, m’Lady?” the voice asked, a distinct chuckle lacing the words.
The question hit her harder than it should have.
Catherine instantly sat up, suddenly very aware of the situation.
It had taken forever to peel herself out of her garments.
A couple of hooks in the back of the mantua had torn from the fabric.
She had not been able to reach all of them. She had given up trying.
Unlacing the stay had proved equally impossible, but she had managed. Barely. She had fallen asleep in her shift, the expensive silk of the garment crumpled from tossing and turning endlessly.
Mistress Murphy’s eyes swept over her slowly, and Catherine defiantly stuck out her chin. Her eyes felt swollen, the skin tight when she blinked. She was painfully sure the old maid knew exactly what had happened — or rather, what had not.
Her own gaze dared the old woman to speak up about it. Mistress Murphy gently cleared her throat and motioned for her to rise. Catherine complied, biting back the urge to yell at the woman.
She missed Anne. But Anne had stayed with her mother and was probably already on her way back to Bath with her.
Heat stung her eyes. Catherine straightened her back, willing the moisture gathering behind her lids away.
Maisie would be back with her husband by now as well.
And she? She was here.The only remotely familiar face pointedly not looking at her while helping her into a fresh shift, sitting her down, and brushing her hair.
She had enough.
“Did I grow a second nose overnight? When I wasn’t looking? A horn in the middle of my forehead? Anything like that? Or why else would you keep staring at me, Mistress Murphy?”
Mamó Murphy didn’t flinch. She efficiently kept working on Catherine’s hair. She did lower her eyes briefly, acknowledging her mistress’s anger.
“Forgive an old woman for her curiosity, m’Lady.”
A couple of finishing touches at Catherine’s head, a fresh stay held out for her to put on.
The maid’s voice was steady — carefully neutral, if anything.
“I’ve seen my share of married couples, m’Lady. The little L… m’Lord Aidan… has been up before dawn. He’s outside with the tenants. He’s…”
When the maid caught Catherine’s expression, she quickly shut her mouth again, finished lacing the stay in place, and helped her mistress into the rest of her garments. She backed away from Catherine, curtseying deeply.
“He has been… rather affected by you, m’Lady. Ever since that high tea at your father’s house.”
A pause.
“If you’d like a bite for breakfast — Mistress Jones saved some porridge for you, and I think she also mentioned freshly baked oat rings. Please let the kitchen know when you are ready to be served.”
Catherine’s fingers tightened around the fabric of her skirt. She cast the maid a long glance.
Something about the maid’s words didn’t add up. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
She didn’t like it.
----
Aidan slipped into the stables with the first light.
The smell of hay and the warm odour of the animals hit him immediately.
Padhraigh — reliable soul that he was — was already tending to the horses, shooing around the stable boys.
Rank didn’t protect anybody from doing their part in Aidan’s world, and so the Viscount took one of the forks and started to help.
He worked his way toward Padhraigh, joining him, and the men exchanged a couple of words. Padhraigh’s voice was quiet.
“They checked the north road,” he casually let him know.
Aidan stilled, then kept working in the same steady rhythm.
“The north road?”
Padhraigh nodded. “Aye.”
A pause.
“That’s where the Sheriff’s men waited yesterday,” he added.
Aidan’s gaze lifted slowly.
“We don’t use the north road.”
His remark was met with a toothy grin.
“Aye.”
The corners of Aidan’s mouth briefly twitched.
“Good.”
Something in his chest eased just a little. Progress. The threat was still dangling above every single Dhorn’s head — but knowledge was power. And they had just gained valuable insight.
The thought dragged him back to his wife. Aidan cursed under his breath.
It earned him a raised eyebrow.
“Nothing,” he deflected.
The stable master shrugged.
“If it ain’t about rats, I don’t care.”
Aidan rolled his eyes at him and kept working silently. He knew he couldn’t avoid his wife forever. He chose to inspect the pastures and fences instead.
Catherine probably wouldn’t take well to him joining her for breakfast. It was best to give her space. Better than making things worse.
Aidan readied Oiche, letting Padhraigh know where he was going.
“How long will you be, m’Lord?”
He shrugged. “Afternoon, probably. I’ll be back for dinner, though. Let Mistress Jones know, right?”
Padhraigh met his face with a long, unblinking stare.
“Shouldn’t you show m’Lady around, Viscount?”
The title stung.
“Don’t dare tell me what I should or shouldn’t do.”
Aidan dug his heels into Oiche’s flanks and set off.