Chapter 6
Chapter six
“True romance, with all its intricacies, isn't going to happen for me, unless, by chance, I happen to fall in love with the person of my parents choosing. Miss Quirke, while lovely in figure and personality, not to even discuss my close friendship with her, doesn’t stir my heart or ignite poetic rhymes of all-consuming fire.” - from the diary of Oren Byrne, age sixteen.
“There’s no Christmas ball this year,” I told Sevrin when he asked.
His eyebrows raised. “You must like that.”
I hated balls—that was no secret—even more than parties, which was a feat. Most of the time, partway through a ball, I would sneak out to hide in the library. It was far more pleasant of an evening, though Mother usually found me and forced me to return.
This year, though, I didn’t mind the thought of having a ball near as much, because Aidan would be there. Everything was different now that he was one of the gentry and not Father’s ward or my aide. He was truly our brother, as he should’ve always been.
That fetid emotion twisted in my gut once again as I looked about the parlor, and I wasn’t sure why, but I banished it to Hades, where it belonged.
“Why?” Phineas asked.
Mother gave him a smile as she replied, “Because this year is different, and not how we intended.”
Aidan was lord, not I.
I swallowed. Why? Why should it bother me when I’d never wanted the title to begin with?
“Originally, we’d planned to host a larger house party in the spring to celebrate Oren’s wedding,” she continued, sipping a cup of tea. “Now, that has been delayed as well. There was also the matter that when I told Cethin it was time to start planning, he said ‘No’ and left.”
I didn’t say anything about my supposed marriage to Miss Quirke, though I couldn’t stop shifting in my chair like a sinner in church.
Mother continued to have her hopes pinned on a union between the two of us, apparently.
I had truly wished that when my hopes as future lord had died, so had the possibility of the two of us. I seemed to have been mistaken.
My mind’s eyes replayed all of Miss Quirke’s looks and nods from the dinner party, and my pulse sputtered and my stomach churned something fierce.
Was she counting on this marriage as well?
In the past, she had never, not once, hinted at hoping to marry me.
Miss Quirke, like me, had acted resigned to the fact, but I’d heard her speak of schemes to get out of the ties to me without enraging her mother or tarnishing her reputation.
Had that changed?
Sevrin glanced at me in obvious question, and I simply smiled as I gripped the arms of my chair, trying not to give into the beehive of buzzing that had taken up residence in my skull or succumb to the sheer terror that had black lining my sight.
“I see,” Phineas said, then promptly changed the subject. “It doesn't shock me that Cethin is uninterested in planning a ball.”
“He will have to learn,” Mother said, her voice remaining calm and soft, though iron lay beneath her words that spoke of the battle ensuing between her and Cethin. But she wasn’t angry, which was hardly surprising.
I’d only seen her truly angry once in my entire life.
It had been when Nevan and Neil had stolen the carriage, racing down the lanes.
An axle had ended up cracking, and Neil flew out of the carriage, breaking his arm.
To say Mother had been furious was an understatement—she’d been apoplectic.
Her main contention had been that Nevan and Neil could’ve killed themselves.
“Will he, though?” Sevrin asked, resting his ankle on his opposite knee. “Cethin is not going to be you, Hester.”
She set her tea down with a gentle clink. “I know, but he lacks any interest in taking over matters of the estate, and Aidan is and will be far too busy to take that on as well.”
“Perhaps after the newness of Aidan and Cethin’s marriage fades, he will turn his focus to other matters,” I suggested.
Mother chuckled. “I will be dead in my grave by then. Cethin is hundreds of years old, and he’s been waiting for Aidan that entire time. It’s going to take more than a few months for him to calm in his regard.”
I swallowed at the romantic notion. Cethin had waited and searched for Aidan for centuries, never giving up and claiming Aidan the instant he laid eyes upon him.
I wanted that. No, I craved that on a level I didn’t quite understand.
While Cethin himself held no appeal for me, I needed that devotion.
I’d spent my life reading poems and tales of great love, and I wanted the same thing… with a very different dark fae.
The door opened, and Aidan strolled in, chatting with Emma, who clutched a book in her hand.
His eyes were narrowed and he bit his lip as he watched the girl, appearing almost uncomfortable.
While being an official uncle was new to Aidan, he did know all of the girls well and had been a part of their lives since their births.
Thomas and Whit had both ensured that Aidan interacted with their daughters, wanting him close.
Now, after all the secrets had been laid bare, it made sense why they had both been so insistent to have Aidan involved in the girls’ lives.
Georgie and Frances came in right behind them.
Georgie was all ease in their light blue morning gown; Frances was not.
While her blonde hair was perfectly drawn back into a bun and her green morning gown didn’t have the slightest wrinkle, dark circles ringed her brown eyes, looking even darker against her pallid skin.
Beatrice and Sarah came in after their mother. Beatrice, a sweet girl of nine with mahogany hair and her mother’s brown eyes, bounced to the corner with Emma to read the book about local insects. Sarah stuck next to her mother’s side, her veritable twin, though she had her father’s blue eyes.
“Frances,” I started, “are you quite well?”
Her fingers worried at the front of her gown before she smoothed it.
“I heard noises all night. I swear some beast was threatening to come eat us. And the bed. There must be something evil jabbing into my back keeping me from sleeping. The air here is different, quite quite different, though I am unable to articulate why. Perhaps the fireplace needs cleaning or I should ask the vicar to come pray. Do you think he might?”
Frances had always had a nervous constitution and never loved coming to Byrne Manor, let alone leaving her own home, but this was a tad more excessive than usual.
“I will never allow anything to harm you,” Aidan said in a gentle voice.
She nodded, but her hands returned to picking at her gown.
Muscular arms came around her waist, and Frances nearly leaped to the ceiling with a sharp screech that had me wincing.
Whit hugged his wife, groaning loudly as he squeezed her close, before putting proper distance between them.
“Don’t worry, my wife, I will protect you from any nasty beasties.
Besides, the bed and air are the same as last time. ”
Blushing, she pressed against Whit’s side. “I’m sure you’re right.”
Sarah shifted toward Aidan, and he smiled down at her.
“Yes, love?” Aidan asked.
“Can I have a book too, Uncle?”
“Of course. What would you like?” Aidan asked, crouching so he was eye level.
“Flowers.”
“Flowers?” he asked, glancing at me and smiling, and I could easily read his thoughts.
Aidan was pleased Sarah was calling him uncle, and of course, Sarah was simply being adorable.
I returned his smile, and all was right again.
We were as we’d always been. No secrets. No festering emotions. No inadequacies.
She nodded, her eyes darting to her mother.
I glanced at Frances, who was smiling at Aidan and her youngest. Something deep inside my gut unclenched.
Out of everyone in our family, Frances was the most formal and the most religious.
In the past, she’d always treated Aidan with kindness and much the same as the rest of us, but now that he was Father’s bastard, and a half-fae one at that, I’d been concerned about her reaction.
Apparently, my worries had been unneeded.
Ice flooded my veins, making me cast my eyes down at the fine rug beneath my feet. I should’ve trusted Frances more than I had. My sister-in-law had never shown herself to be anything but kind, generous, and caring.
“I’m sure I can find you one,” Aidan said, drawing my focus outward. “Or Uncle Oren can. It seems as if he knows every book in the library.”
Sarah’s blue eyes widened as she gaped at me. “Every book?”
“Not all of them,” I protested, lifting my hands.
Whit slung an arm over Aidan’s shoulders. “Every one. He’s read them all too.”
Her eyes grew even larger, and I frowned at Whit for lying to her. I’d read a good portion of them, but certainly not every single book in the library—there were far too many, even for me.
Aidan suddenly tensed, and I glanced at him.
His eyes went to the doors overlooking the balcony as his gaze turned distant.
He wasn’t here. He’d been doing that more often lately, which Father had told us was normal.
Sídhetír would ease its hooks once the bond grew stronger and solidified.
Or it would, at least, be less obvious when Aidan was sensing something on his lands.
The conversation continued naturally, everyone ignoring Aidan’s stillness, except me. I watched my brother, making sure he was alright, that those cold eyes would never stare at me while wearing my brother’s face.
Suddenly, a wide smile split his lips and made his green eyes close. “Cethin,” he whispered before he was out the door to the balcony and over the railing.
Frances gasped, as did the girls, while Georgie exclaimed, “What the hell?”
The rest of us didn’t react. The very lands responded to Aidan, and at times, usually involving Cethin, he wouldn’t use the proper exits in the manor.