Marguerite Kaye - The Truth Behind Their Practical Marriage

‘Mi scusi,’ Estelle said, jumping to her feet, horrified.

But the priest smiled, extending his hand. ‘I didn’t know our humble organ could produce such a wonderful sound, signora . It was a pleasure to hear. Music is one of God’s gifts and we can celebrate Him in many different ways. You seem such a nice young couple. Please, feel free to come in and play any time you are passing.’

‘He thinks we’re either married or engaged,’ Estelle said with mock horror when they got outside.

‘We are,’ Aidan said.

‘What!’

He grinned. ‘Engaged in the business of being friends. What else!’

The next day, their meanderings brought them to another part of the city and another dusty little piazza where a few rickety wooden tables had been set outside an osteria.

‘I think we might claim one of those,’ Aidan said, ‘what do you think?’

‘I think you know perfectly well that you didn’t need to ask,’ Estelle replied.

The wine was rough, but the ribollita , a peasant soup made of stale bread, tomatoes and beans, Estelle pronounced delicious. ‘More a stew than a soup, and very filling, which is just as well,’ she said, eyeing the next dish with some trepidation. ‘I didn’t quite catch what this was?’

‘ Lampredotto . Tripe. I fear it’s an acquired taste. I can just about manage a couple of mouthfuls.’

‘I cannot contemplate even that.’ She grimaced. ‘What are we to do? I can’t possibly send back my plate untouched. It would be the ultimate insult. I can imagine how Phoebe would feel.’

Aidan took a large glug of wine, before quickly tipping the contents of her plate on to his. ‘Oh, no,’ she protested, appalled, ‘you’ll be ill.’

‘Ah but I’ll have the compensation of feeling noble.’

‘Aidan Malahide, you are a true knight errant,’ Estelle said, quite seriously, ‘let me pour you some more wine to help it down.’

He nodded, concentrating on the task in hand, and she concentrated on keeping his glass full. ‘Not so bad,’ he said when he had done, pushing his plate aside with a sigh of relief. ‘I expect an Italian would feel much the same, confronted with crubeens and cabbage.’

‘What on earth is a crubeen?’

‘You call yourself Irish! A boiled pig’s foot, of course. Have you really never tasted it?’

‘Have you?’ she asked, narrowing her eyes.

‘I have it served every Saturday—to my old grandmother’s receipt.’

‘That is a fib!’

Aidan laughed. ‘It is. My old grandmother, what little I remember of her, wouldn’t have known the way to the kitchen. A woman with a strong sense of her own importance, and a strict proponent of the rule that children should be seen and not heard. Clodagh and I used to dread having to visit her. Once a month my father took us—she lived in a town house in Kildare itself, my father having had the presence of mind to forcibly relocate her from the castle when he inherited—or perhaps it was my mother’s idea, I’m not sure. Anyway, for some reason my grandmother favoured me very much over poor Clodagh. At tea there would always be a big slab of cake and a glass of milk for me, while my sister was given water and a dry biscuit.’

‘What on earth had Clodagh done to offend the old lady?’

‘Nothing, she swears, and for myself, I didn’t do a thing to endear myself to her either.’

‘Save be your charming self.’

‘At the moment, I’m a very full self. As a reward for my noble act I claim as my prize your company for a post-prandial walk, Miss Brannagh. The Parco delle Cascine is just a few steps away from here, on the banks of the Arno.’

‘I would like that very much, kind sir. Without wishing to do your sister an injustice, I can quite easily see why your grandmother thought you so charming. Do you have any other relatives wrapped around your finger?’

‘Oh, whole heaps of cousins on my mother and father’s side. A few aunts and uncles too, scattered across Ireland and England. What about you?’

‘There are cousins on my father’s side, I believe, but none who would acknowledge us. When he married Mama they disowned him, and on her side—she eloped, and so her family disowned her too. My Uncle Daniel, my Aunt Kate’s husband, is Mama’s brother and so my closest relative.’

‘The mysterious absent uncle who rarely writes?’ Aidan asked, steering her through a set of gateposts into the woodland park.

‘The same. He is an explorer, and spends all his time abroad. Exploring.’ Estelle made a face. ‘To be honest, I’ve never quite understood what exactly that entails.’

‘Haven’t you asked him?’

‘I’ve never had the opportunity. He married Aunt Kate when his father died, about twelve years ago, which was a couple of years before she took us in.’

‘You mean he’s never been back since?’

‘The whole point of their marriage was to allow him to remain abroad. It is an arrangement that has suited them both very well, I assure you. Aunt Kate’s father was the estate manager for many years, so she was ideally placed to take on Elmswood Manor, and Uncle Daniel never wanted the responsibility.’

‘Good grief. Do you mean that your uncle and aunt have spent their entire married life living apart?’

‘They have, and what’s more have been very content doing so. For my part, I think Aunt Kate and Uncle Daniel did a very sensible thing.’

Aidan caught the hand she had withdrawn from his arm. ‘I didn’t mean to imply any criticism, I’m sorry. I assumed—you see for me, the only reason to marry would be to have a family.’

‘Actually,’ Estelle said, wondering at the shadow that crossed his countenance, ‘I happen to agree with you that it is the best reason, but that is not to say it is the only one.’

‘You’re right.’ Aidan was himself again. Perhaps she had imagined it. ‘Your aunt sounds like a very practical woman.’

‘And the kindest, most loving—and in fact, she has always said that we three are the children she never had. She is only related to us by marriage, yet she took us in when none of our own relatives were in the least bit interested in our fate.’

‘And you quite rightly won’t have a word said against her. I’m sorry.’ Looking down, seeing her eyes awash with tears, Aidan cursed. ‘I’ve made you cry.’

‘It’s not your fault.’

Casting a glance along the deserted pathway, he pulled her to one side before producing a large handkerchief and dabbing at her eyes. Half-laughing, she tried to bat him away. The handkerchief fluttered towards the ground and as she stumbled trying to catch it, Aidan caught her, righting her with a hand on each shoulder. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Perfectly.’

As he never wore gloves, she could feel the heat of his skin through the flimsy muslin of her summer gown. Her smile faltered as she met his eyes, and her heart skipped a beat, then began to beat far too fast. She closed her eyes. He kissed the teardrops from her lashes and she sighed. He whispered her name, and she opened her eyes, seeing the question in his, and she lifted her face.

Their lips met hesitantly. His short beard was surprisingly soft. He tasted of wine. His lips were warm on hers, and her heart was beating wildly. Anticipation and excitement edged with slight panic, for she had no idea what to do next.

As if he sensed this, he pulled her closer, sliding one arm around her waist, pressing little kisses to her bottom lip. She sighed, her apprehension evaporating, a liquid heat pooling in her tummy as he slid his other hand up her back, caressing the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck, teasing her lips apart with butterfly kisses, then moulding his mouth to hers, moving his lips gently. She followed his lead. As their kiss deepened, her body melted of its own accord against his. She clutched at his shoulder for balance, and beneath her lids, the world turned a flaming red.