The Truth Behind Their Practical Marriage

They retraced their steps on the opposite side of the river. There were fewer people about at this time of day, and their large lunch had made them both as lethargic as the afternoon, content to wander slowly, to gaze about them at the serene, confident beauty of the city. Estelle talked of her travels, reticent at first, made more garrulous by Aidan’s obvious interest and his perceptive questions.

At exactly the moment when she was beginning to crave a cool drink, he suggested they stop and a little café seemed to appear out of nowhere. She sat beside him at the tiny marble-topped table looking out over the Arno, their knees brushing, her mood as serene as the city. ‘Cashel Duairc. It sounds ridiculously romantic, your home. Is it very old?’

‘Parts of it go back a few hundred years, but the current castle was rebuilt more recently. There’s all sorts of papers, accounts and deeds in the attics. My father was always saying that someone should write a history of the place, but no one ever has.’

‘How exciting. No, really,’ Estelle said, in answer to his sceptical look, ‘there were all sorts of documents in the attics at Elmswood Manor which we consulted to help with the restoration. The walled garden, for example, had fallen into a complete state of disrepair, and I discovered one of the original drawings, along with a map from around the time it had been laid out, allowing Aunt Kate to restore the garden to its original condition. Elmswood Manor is Aunt Kate’s home,’ she explained, seeing Aidan’s confusion. I think I mentioned, she took the three of us in when we were orphaned. It’s a long story, and beside the point. How lucky you are, to have such an archive waiting to be investigated.’

‘You are serious! Should you like to be my archivist?’

‘Yes, please! I am fascinated by old documents.’

‘Good Lord!’ Aidan exclaimed. ‘No wonder the time has passed so quickly today, since we have far more in common than anyone would ever imagine, looking at the pair of us. We are both crusty academics, in our own way.’

Estelle chuckled, but shook her head. ‘One cannot claim to be an academic when one is utterly uneducated. I know nothing of the classics, nor have any interest in them. Ancient history, it seems to me, is nothing more than stories and speculation. I’ve no intentions of visiting Rome, or any of the other popular ancient sites recommended in all the guide books. And I’m not interested in battles and wars or much in politics either.’

‘I was force fed all the classics at school, and I came to much the same conclusion, that it was all speculation. Opinion tacked on to the few known facts.’

‘But weren’t some of the greatest mathematicians ancient Greeks?’

‘Yes, but it’s their work I’m interested in, not—oh, I don’t know, philosophy, history or archaeology.’

‘What has always struck me, reading history books, even recent ones, is how absent women are from the stories they tell. Of course they didn’t take part in important battles, and they were not permitted to be politicians, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t play any sort of role. Take Aunt Kate. Will history take any notice of the key role she has played not only in preserving Elmswood Manor for Uncle Daniel’s heir, but in restoring it to its former glory? To my knowledge, Aunt Kate doesn’t keep a diary. My uncle rarely writes, and what she does with his letters I have no idea. The only evidence of her contribution will be in the account books and all the domestic paperwork—there, I told you you’d be bored.’

‘On the contrary, I’m fascinated. Where is Uncle Daniel and why doesn’t he write?’

‘It’s complicated.’

When she said nothing more, Aidan shrugged and set a stack of coins down on the table. ‘Shall we?’

‘Yes.’ But Estelle made no attempt to move. ‘I had started writing a history of Elmswood, but my time there is over now—by choice, I may add.’ She got to her feet, giving herself a mental shake. ‘And now I find myself collecting recipes for Phoebe while I traverse the Continent. It’s my way of apologising for not taking her venture seriously. A practical reparation, of a sort. Any time you find yourself with a spare hour or two,’ she said, ‘feel free to assist me in my research.’

‘Have a care, for I’m almost certain to take you up on that.’

He offered his arm, and it seemed perfectly in order, as they started walking, to tuck her hand into it. She had never strolled in this way with a man before, their paces matching, the skirts of his coat brushing against the pleats of her gown. It felt perfectly natural, yet it unsettled her at the same time. She was acutely aware of him as a man, of the difference in their heights, his solid presence at her side. For a woman of twenty-five who had been travelling around Europe on her own, she was remarkably inexperienced. Her instincts told her that she could trust Aidan, but could she trust her judgement? Was she being naïve? After all, she had been caught out before, in the early days of her trip. They had spent almost a full day in each other’s company, but without anyone else to vouch for him…

‘What is it, Estelle? You’re frowning.’

‘I was thinking how strange this is—our encounter today, I mean. If this was England and not Florence, we’d never even have dared to take coffee together.’

‘Without an introduction, you mean? I’m very much aware of that. It’s one of the reasons I didn’t approach you before, though I wanted to.’

‘I know, you said you were worried that I’d think you were accosting me. I admit I have been, several times, but I’ve become very adept at rebuffing unwelcome advances. I’ve learned that men seem to assume that any female of a certain age on her own is desperate for their charming company,’ Estelle said sardonically. ‘I knew you were not like that though, because when our eyes met that first time…’

‘On Monday?’

‘Was it only Monday?’ She was blushing. ‘You could easily have taken my looking at you as encouragement, but you didn’t. Not that I was, though I was staring, and I don’t. Not as a rule. Not ever. In fact you are an—an aberration.’

‘You have an endearing habit of bestowing back-handed compliments.’ He quirked a smile. ‘But, speaking for myself, I’d very much like us to continue in this irregular vein—if, that is, you would like to?’ He scanned her face anxiously as she hesitated. ‘You wouldn’t like to? In that case…’

‘It’s not that.’

‘Then you’re wondering what my intentions are?’

Blushing, she nodded. ‘It is not for a moment that I think you dishonourable…’

‘But you’ve encountered too many men on your travels who are?’ Aidan ushered them into the shade of a tree. ‘I’ve no intentions or expectations, save to enjoy more of your company if I’m permitted to. Just to be absolutely clear, and I hope you won’t think me presumptuous, I’m not in the market for a wife, but I’ve absolutely no nefarious intentions either, I can promise you that hand on heart,’ he said, suiting actions to words. ‘I’m no seducer, I pride myself on being an honourable man, and despite the fact that you’re travelling the world all alone, it’s patently obvious that you’re no adventuress. There now, have I cleared the air?’

‘Yes. Thank you.’

‘Then shall we call ourselves friends?’

‘Yes, I’d like that.’ She took his arm again and they walked on in silence, but halfway across the Ponte alle Grazie they stopped once more, this time distracted by the view. The falling sun cast a warm glow on the buildings on the opposite bank, making a golden haze of their reflections in the now still waters of the Arno. Estelle leaned on the parapet to watch as the shutters were being pulled down on the shops which lined the Ponte Vecchio. ‘It’s breathtakingly lovely, isn’t it?’

‘As a backdrop, but so is the subject.’

She turned to face him and her breath caught as their eyes met.

‘May I see you again tomorrow, or is it too soon?’

She didn’t hesitate. ‘It’s not too soon.’

He smiled. They stood together watching the sun sinking and the sky fading from gold to pink before they turned of one accord to continue over the bridge. He walked her to the door of her pension. They made arrangements to meet in the morning. When she bid him farewell, he took her hand, raising it to his lips, before pressing a kiss to her gloved fingertips. She rushed up the stairs to her room, pushing back the shutters to lean out, and he turned and waved. It was the perfect end to a perfect day.

Chapter Three

‘I love to wander aimlessly like this, but I’m always a bit wary to do so on my own. Now I’ve you to chaperon me, I don’t have to worry.’

Estelle smiled up at him, her eyes gleaming with humour, and Aidan exhaled sharply. He really had to stop thinking about kissing her. ‘I’m a mathematician, not a prize fighter, I’ll have you know.’

‘And here was I thinking that beneath your coat there was a rigid wall of muscle, when it’s just padding. I should have brought my parasol, at least then I’d have a weapon.’

He swore to himself as another part of him threatened to become rigid when she squeezed his arm playfully. He was acutely aware of her every touch—the brush of her skirts with the hint of warm limb beneath, the cushioned bump of her thigh or the sharp nudge of her shoulder, her fingers twined around his arm. Was it the same for her? She certainly made no attempt to maintain distance between them, but perhaps that was because she didn’t notice! Yet in the café where they met this morning, when their hands were resting on the table, their fingers just brushing, there had been one of those moments when their eyes met and he was sure she felt that awareness of the contact that was both a pleasure and a pain because it wasn’t nearly enough. He swore again, shaking his head at himself. He was a mature thirty-year-old, not an overeager juvenile.

Though he couldn’t deny it was both a relief and a pleasure to learn that side of him wasn’t after all quite dead. How long had it been since he’d felt so free of cares and glad to be alive? Not that he could remember ever feeling quite like this before, and besides, he didn’t want the past to intrude on a day like this, with the sun shining, and with a woman so vibrantly full of life on his arm that he was able to persuade himself, just for now, that his slate had been wiped clean.

‘Welcome back.’ Estelle smiled at him again. ‘You’ve no idea that you do that, have you? One minute you’re here, the next minute, the shutters come down. Don’t worry, I promise not to pry into your darkest secrets if you promise not to pry into mine.’

‘I can’t believe you have any.’

‘I don’t have any thoughts at all. Sure, didn’t I tell you,’ she said, thickening her accent just as he did when jesting, ‘that I’m as empty-headed a female as any man could desire.’

‘You’ve a very low opinion of my sex.’

‘I’ve a very low opinion of those of your sex I’ve encountered on my travels. That’s a very different thing. Yourself excepted of course—in fact, in future it would be easier if you just assume that you’re the exception to every one of my rules.’

‘Thank you kindly, but surely—Estelle, you must have encountered some more worthy specimens in three countries over the space of so many months.’

‘You’re right, I’m probably being unfair, but my experience has not been particularly positive. It comes of being single and female and—well, looking as I do.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘People make assumptions—women too, to be fair—that red hair denotes a passionate nature would be to put it kindly, more crudely an indiscriminate one. Of course not all men are like that, I do know that. Certainly those on the list my sister gave me have been extremely respectful.’

‘Diplomats, I assume?’

‘For the most part, and all of the utmost good character. Why is it that good character seems to go hand in hand with boring character?’

‘I sincerely hope that once again I’m an exception to your rule?’

‘You are indeed, though I notice you didn’t deny having something to hide when we were discussing dark secrets earlier.’

She was teasing, but her smile faded at his expression. ‘Everyone has regrets,’ Aidan said, ‘I am no different.’

Would Estelle see him in a very different light if she knew the truth? Fortunately, he’d never know. There would be time enough to face up to the past when he returned to Ireland, but for now he wanted to savour this welcome respite, a chance to remember the person he’d once been, and to enjoy being that person again. It was just a pity that he’d not met her earlier, for the clock was already ticking on their day-old acquaintance.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he said, covering her hand with his. ‘My only recent crime is that I’ve been less than assiduous in my studies this last month or so, and frittering away my time. I reckon I’ve been waiting on you turning up.’

‘The fates must have conspired to bring us together then. Though I didn’t realise it until we met yesterday, I’ve become rather bored with my own company.’

They had arrived in a little piazza on the outskirts of the old town. There had been a food market earlier, judging by the tatty bits of greenery that were strewn around. Water spouted from a worn lion’s head into a small fountain in one corner. Estelle cupped her hand to drink from it, yanking it back when she remembered that she was still wearing her gloves.

‘Here, let me,’ Aidan said, making a cup of both his hands.

She hesitated only for a second before dipping her head and drinking. Her tongue brushed against his palm. He exhaled sharply. She stopped drinking. Their eyes locked. Water dripped down his fingers on to the cobblestones. A droplet glistened on the indent of her top lip. He brushed it away, heard her exhale as sharply as he had done. She stepped towards him. His heart was pounding. Her hand fluttered up to his cheek. He dipped his head, she lifted hers, and their lips met. Icy cold water, warm flesh. He felt dizzy with the delight of it, allowed himself a moment to relish the sheer pleasure of it, before stepping back.

Her face, shadowed by the brim of her bonnet, reflected his own feelings—wide-eyed, flushed, uncertain, as if she had imagined it. ‘Estelle,’ he said, then stopped, for she shook her head, and he had no idea what to say anyway.

‘Do you like churches?’ she asked. ‘Not grand cathedrals but workaday churches, I mean, like that one, that smell of incense and candles and the congregation. Do you like them?’

At this moment, he reckoned if she’d asked him if he liked pickled herring he’d have told her it was his favourite food, but in fact he did like churches, the sort she’d described, very much. ‘I do,’ he said, taking her arm again. ‘Shall we go and take a look?’

It was a lovely church, as far as Estelle was concerned, with no cavernous nave or fresco-adorned ceiling, but a simple affair with plain wooden pews, a scrubbed flagstoned floor, and a wooden altar. The icons on each of the side chapels were not painted by any master, though they were so old that the painted panels were cracking, but the flowers were fresh, and the church had the peaceful atmosphere of a place well used by the devout.

She wandered off on her own, trying to calm her racing pulses. She’d been kissed before. A good many kisses had been snatched from her or pressed upon her, during her early travels, before she’d become adept at spotting the warning signs, but she didn’t count those as kisses. Received and never freely given, they had variously disgusted, repelled or angered her. But Aidan’s kiss was very different. Firstly this, her first real kiss, had been as much her doing as his. She’d wanted him to kiss her, and he had duly obliged. Secondly, she was certain he wouldn’t have, if he’d thought for a moment he was forcing himself on her. Which was why she wanted to kiss him again. That, and the fact that it had been too brief, that first kiss. It had made her feel as if she were flying and melting at the same time, and that was the most important reason of all.

Was it wrong of her to want to kiss him again? Aidan had been on the brink of apologising. Yet he had been the one to end it before it had really begun. He doubtless worried that he had taken advantage of her innocence. Which he hadn’t because she’d wanted him to kiss her and he knew that, because otherwise he wouldn’t have.

She was going round in circles. Exasperated, Estelle rolled her eyes at herself. For goodness sake, it was just a kiss! A delightful kiss, but hardly one fraught with danger, not in broad daylight in the middle of a piazza. A delightful moment in a delightful day that she refused to spoil by analysing it any further.

She’d made a full circuit of the church now, and joined Aidan where he was standing beside a rather battered harpsichord.

‘Well,’ he asked her, ‘is it to your taste? The church, I mean?’

‘Very much. In the cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore, in any of the big churches in this city actually, you feel as if God is so remote as to almost not be present. Here, you feel He is so much more approachable, as if you could just sit down there and talk to Him. Do you think that’s an odd thing to say?’

‘If it is, then that makes oddities of both of us for I feel exactly the same. Clodagh fears that I’ll return to Ireland a convert to Catholicism. I told her that it would be no bad thing,’ Aidan said, ‘for it would give me something else in common with the majority of my tenants. But my sister, though a liberal in many ways, is very much a traditionalist when it comes to the subject of religion.’

‘Are you likely to become a convert?’

He shook his head, smiling wryly. ‘That would require me to have strong feelings on the subject, and I don’t. Look at this now. You claimed to be able to play almost any instrument, a church harpsichord should present no challenge.’

Estelle sat on the stool and opened the lid reverentially. The keys were worn, but when she struck some experimental soft chords, she discovered that the instrument was perfectly in tune. Her fingers twitched, feeling the connection, as if the harpsichord was begging to be brought to life. ‘I shouldn’t, not without permission,’ she whispered.

‘There’s no one around,’ Aidan replied, ‘go on, I dare you.’

Bach’s French Suite flowed from her fingertips to the keyboard, and she was quickly lost, playing her favourite movement, the fifth, meaning to stop there but finding her fingers flying on to the next and then the next as the music swooped and soared around the small church. She brought the seventh to a flourishing close, resting her hands on the keys and breathing deeply with the kind of intense satisfaction that only music could provide.

Aidan’s applause made her eyes fly open. She blushed deeply. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…’

‘Please don’t apologise. That was quite breathtaking.’

‘You told me you’d not a musical bone in your body.’

‘Estelle, you made me feel as if I had heartstrings that were being plucked. You have a rare talent.’

‘Raw talent, perhaps. I’ve never really had any lessons.’

‘Then you’re even more talented than I thought. You played for almost fifteen minutes without sheet music and as far as I could tell you didn’t make one mistake.’

‘I should think not, the number of times I’ve played that piece. We had hardly any sheet music when I was little, so the few we had, I played over and over again. That was one of them.’

‘You’ll think this sounds fanciful, but it was as if the music poured straight from your heart through your fingers and on to the keys and then into the air, filling the church with beauty.’

She stared at him, quite dumbstruck for a moment. ‘That is possibly the loveliest compliment anyone has ever paid me.’

‘I find that hard to believe. Anyone who has heard you play…’

‘They are few in number. My sisters, mostly, so they’re bound to think I’m good.’ She closed the lid of the harpsichord, frowning. ‘I wonder if that is why Phoebe opened her restaurant, because she needed some independent approbation of her cooking. I never thought of that before.’

‘Perhaps you should play in an orchestra.’

Estelle shuddered. ‘It was a family joke, that Phoebe would open a restaurant and I would establish an orchestra, but I never thought of it as anything other than a bit of fun. I don’t like to play for strangers.’

‘Then I’m extremely honoured.’

‘You’re not a stranger, I thought we’d agreed that yesterday.’

‘We did, and now we’ve known each other almost two days, I suppose we should consider ourselves old friends. Look Estelle, what happened earlier…’

‘Please don’t apologise,’ she interrupted hastily. ‘You must know perfectly well that I wanted you to kiss me. There’s nothing to apologise for, or to discuss. I’m twenty-five years old, Aidan.’

He held his hands up. ‘But if we were in England…’

‘I’m a woman of independent means, with a mind of my own and I’m not in England. I’m beginning to wish that we hadn’t kissed now.’

‘Well I’m not, despite the fact that I know we shouldn’t have.’

‘Oh. Good. Then why are we arguing?’

‘I’ve no notion at all.’

‘Can we forget about conventions and rules, and what we ought to do, and what people might say? Forget all about the real world for a little while?’

‘You’ve no idea how much I crave that.’

There was the slightest tremor in his voice. She touched his arm tentatively. ‘What did I say to upset you?’

‘Nothing. Your playing moved me, that’s all.’

She didn’t believe him, but she didn’t want to upset him further, and having agreed to forget about the real world, she didn’t feel she had the right to enquire either. ‘It was written for the organ, that piece. You don’t get the full majesty of it on a harpsichord.’

His smile was grateful. ‘You do know there’s an organ here too?’

‘It’s quite usual for a church to have both. A pipe organ is operated by a lever which works enormous bellows. It’s very strenuous work and tends to be saved for high days and holidays, since it’s difficult to find volunteers for the task. The rest of the time a harpsichord will suffice.’

‘Are the bellows too strenuous for a feeble mathematician, do you think?’

‘Aidan, you can’t possibly mean—the harpsichord is one thing but I would not be comfortable playing the official church organ without permission. It would be sacrilegious.’

‘There is no one to ask. Do you honestly think God would mind?’ Aidan said, ushering her towards the instrument. ‘I take it this lever is the bellows. How do I…?’

‘Slowly!’ Laughing, Estelle sat down, flexing her fingers. ‘And regularly—like you’re pumping water.’

She tested a chord, and it blared out, making Aidan jump and making her laugh more. She played a series of intricate scales, and then, with a theatrical flourish, the opening bars of Bach’s most famous piece for the organ, the Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, before launching into the piece, playing it with a dramatic gusto that had Aidan, as she had intended, struggling to contain his laughter as he worked the bellows. When she was done, collapsing over the keyboard herself in gales of laughter, he applauded with a gusto to match her own, calling bravo, and it was only when he ceased that the pair of them realised he was not alone in his applause.

‘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!’