Chapter 23 - Spare Your Breath
Aidan quietly moved down the corridor toward the stairs. The scent of porridge and tea was wafting upstairs already. Mistress Jones never failed to beat him getting up.
He paused at Catherine’s door, like he did every single morning. His fingers twitched against her doorframe, the flat of his palm against the smooth wood. He’d thought he’d just knock one morning. When the time was right. When Catherine accepted there were two sides to their story.
Seeing how his tenants had “welcomed” her, the time didn’t feel right.
He moved to the kitchen, taking two steps at a time, stopping by briefly. He didn’t bother to sit down, but wolfed down his usual bowl of porridge, leaning against a counter. Mistress Jones glared.
He eyed the pot, and the cook lifted her spoon.
“You’re not the only mouth, mo Tiarna. Leave some for m’Lady.”
Aidan lifted an eyebrow at her. “I told you m’Lady gets for breakfast whatever she desires! So don’t let a hungry man starve.”
Mistress Jones shrugged.
“M’Lady usually doesn’t look like a barbarian eating her porridge. And she sits down doing so. She never requests anything extra.”
Aidan put his bowl aside.
“You asked her preferences for breakfast, didn’t you?”
The cook nodded. Her eyebrows told Aidan her thoughts about the inquiry. He lifted both hands and backed out.
. . .
By noon Aidan took a break at the well, drinking deeply from the ladle, not caring that some water splashed onto his shirt. The sun was bright enough to make it a welcome refreshment.
Padhraigh joined him. The stablemaster took a deep drink himself, casually leaning against the nearby fence.
“Heard old Seamus’s wife wasn’t well.”
His gaze lingered on the ground too long.
Aidan studied him briefly. Not worried — a little impatient, rather.
“Something contagious?” he inquired.
Padhraigh shrugged. “Didn’t hear about anybody else.”
Aidan nodded. “Mistress O’Flaherty checked on her?”
“The witch didn’t.”
A beat.
“They say she saw a doctor.”
Aidan’s eyes narrowed. A small nod.
“A real doctor?”
“Aye. In Kilkenny.”
A sharp gaze.
Aidan’s face stayed carefully unimpressed.
“She’s better?”
Padhraigh shrugged. “That’s what I heard. Seamus seems worried still.”
Aidan rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“We take care of our own. Make sure the doctor is compensated.”
“I did. Says it’s already taken care of.”
A bitter taste gathered in Aidan’s mouth. He took another sip of water. It stuck to his gums.
“Good.”
Padhraigh’s shoulders dropped a fraction.
“Aye.” His foot shuffled briefly. His eyes found Aidan’s face.
“We’ll need you sharp.”
Aidan held his gaze.
“I am.”
Padhraigh didn’t push. “Lunasa’s coming.”
Aidan huffed a breath through his nose.
“And?”
“First quarter’s day as a married man. Eyes are on you.”
Aidan nodded once. His voice came flat.
“On her, you mean.”
Padhraigh shook his head. “On you… m’Lord.”
Aidan’s jaw locked.
Padhraigh’s gaze swept toward the main house after a while.
“Tell Mistress Jones I’ll dine with m’Lady tonight.”
Padhraigh nodded. “Aye. I’ll be grabbing lunch anyway.”
----
The sun was setting slowly, painting the dining room in warm oranges. Catherine’s eyes flickered toward Aidan, then back to her food. He seemed very focused on his own dinner as well.
Mistress Jones had informed her that the Viscount wished to dine with his wife. The demand had twisted her stomach into a knot. That’s where they stood now.
Perhaps her judgement had been quick. Maybe her own pride had now ruined what had been between them when they first met. Her own husband was so intent on avoiding her that the house staff informed her about his dinner plans.
During their first course — a plain soup — Aidan had informed her about the formalities of the upcoming Lunasa events.
He had outlined the procedure of collecting the rent and had also explained most of the tenants would eat at the big house that day.
Usually quarter’s day was a festive event — due to circumstance, this Lunasa might turn out less celebratory than usual.
“We will be judged by the progression of this day.”
It was the only time his eyes met hers.
“We need to stand united, m’Lady.”
She had held his gaze. “We shall then.”
He had not reacted to her not calling him by his title.
Her fork sounded too loud when she stabbed a steamed carrot. Catherine looked up again, stealing another gaze at his face. He was devouring his meal with unbroken focus, oblivious to the heat stinging her cheeks.
Only days ago she had been so sure she had been right. She had not been happy — but she had known she was bound to a man who couldn’t be trusted. A traitor. A manipulator. A man who didn’t care whom he destroyed with his behaviour.
Today she might be married to a man who had cared too much and had acted without thinking. Somebody who had been affected by her. Her husband — who could barely stand being in the same room with her now.
Her heart stumbled.
She couldn’t stand it any longer — not knowing if there still was a way to live with each other instead of around each other.
The silence between them stretched. Aidan seemed entirely unimpressed. Gooseflesh was rising on Catherine’s forearms, her throat tight.
Her breath hitched, then the words spilled out. Too quick. Annoyingly loud in the silence of the salon.
“I saw you working on a carriage the other day, Aidan.”
He swallowed his own bite carefully before looking up — his gaze causing gooseflesh to rise on her arms. His expression stayed entirely calm, however, his shoulder lifting.
Something flickered across his face — embarrassment?
No. Something tighter.
Her heart sped up.
“That’s just how things are around here, m’Lady.”
A shrug.
“My apologies — I know you’re not used to this life.”
M’Lady.
Not Catherine.
She forced the bite in her mouth past the lump in her throat. Catherine set the fork down delicately and stared outside the window. Unblinking — until the glow of the sun in her eyes stung worse than the foolish moisture that had risen all too quickly.
“Are you done, m’Lady?”
A chuckle threatened to tear from her throat. She wasn’t done. How could she be done, if this was all she’d ever know?
She tipped her chin politely in response.
Aidan didn’t hesitate. Her chair was politely moved, his elbow offered.
Catherine’s fingers settled upon it — and for the first time she didn’t find the strength to suppress the tremor in her touch.