by Barb Hendee
She pulled Anna’s mother along and without knowing what she should do, Anna followed them down a passage into a small side room, where Siobhan closed the door.
“He is unfaithful!” she hissed, sounding half-mad. “Unfaithful.”
Anna’s mother flinched and glanced at Anna. Apparently, the presence of Siobhan’s niece did not have the desired effect. Nothing had been tempered.
“And he only lies with the lowest of women,” Siobhan rushed on, “servants and maids and village girls . . . always girls, never women, rutting with them shamelessly in some back room or outside in the trees.”
“Siobhan!” Mother gasped, glancing again at Anna.
“He doesn’t come to me anymore!” Aunt Siobhan babbled on as if her sister had not spoken. “Not to me! I beg him. I weep for him. I’ve dismissed all the pretty servants, sent them packing, and I hire only ugly pockmarked women, but it does no good. He finds someone! He always finds someone but me.”
Anna stood frozen. She knew little of what took place between men and women. She only knew that she pitied her aunt and was also embarrassed for her. Siobhan seemed so small, so diminished.
Where was the woman of power who sat over a cauldron, looked up at the sky, and called down revenge upon her enemies?
Was this the result of love? If so, Anna wanted nothing to do with it.
Giving up on attempting to reason with Siobhan, Anna’s mother instead turned to offering comfort, but this had little effect.
Dinner that night was an equally uncomfortable affair. When Malcolm walked into the dining hall, he smiled and welcomed his guests warmly as if there were nothing amiss.
“My girl,” he said to Anna, taking her hands. “You’ve grown taller and more lovely. How are your sister and brother? How is your father?”
His behavior struck Anna as bizarre considering the state of Aunt Siobhan. Was he not concerned?
At the table, Siobhan sat with him, hanging on his every word, and he appeared utterly unaware that his wife had not dressed for dinner or combed her hair and watched him with a mix of hunger, love, and hatred.
There was only one instant when she thought his obtuse manner might be a facade.
As dessert was served, Anna asked, “May I see Jenelle tonight? I should so like to see her this evening.”
Aunt Siobhan frowned. “Jenelle?”
“Yes, the baby.”
It hit Anna that Siobhan hadn’t recognized her own daughter’s name. A look of panic crossed Malcolm’s face, and then it was gone.
He smiled. “Of course, my dear. I’ll take you up myself. She’ll be in her crib by now, but you can see her.”
Rising, he motioned her follow, and they went up to the nursery.
Jenelle was just a year old, and a sweet, chubby baby with reddish hair. Anna loved her right away. Malcolm looked down at the child curiously, as if he’d not seen her in some time. They didn’t stay long that night, but Anna returned the next morning.
She came to realize Jenelle had been left in the care of servants and nannies, and for the duration of this visit, Anna was determined the child should be loved by someone from her family.
Also, as guilty as she felt about this, she couldn’t help wishing to avoid Siobhan. Several days later, she sat on the floor of the nursery, helping Jenelle to stack a set of painted wooden blocks.
A shadow passed over them, and Anna looked up to see Siobhan in the doorway.
“Come in, Aunt. We were playing with some blocks. Jenelle is a lovely child.”
Siobhan barely seemed to see the baby.
“The worst thing is that he won’t admit to anything,” she whispered, her eyes drifting. “He can almost be caught in the act, and he denies everything. It’s almost as if he believes his own innocence even after he’s left the bed of some slut. He’ll never admit to anything. Never.”
Anna sighed. “If he has done so much intentional wrong, what have you done to punish him?”
Wasn’t this what Anna had been taught as a child? That intentional wrongs must be met with swift justice?
For the first time, Siobhan’s eyes cleared, and she focused on Anna. “That is my heartbreak,” she whispered. “I cannot punish him. I cannot.”
And then Anna understood. Not only were her aunt’s mental and physical deterioration due to her obsession with her husband, but her love for him was so strong she couldn’t punish him for his infidelities.
It was killing her.
After a week, Anna was not sorry when the visit came to an end, but upon leaving the keep, she worried for Jenelle.
The journey home was less intimate, as Anna’s mother was deeply concerned for her sister. The problem was that Anna’s mother believed all problems could be solved by self-control and that Siobhan would be fine if she simply cleaned herself up, stopped worrying about Malcolm’s affairs with a few village girls, and focused her attention on the proper running of the household.
She viewed Siobhan’s grief as weakness.
Anna knew her aunt to feel things deeply. Siobhan could no longer stop loving Malcolm obsessively than she could stop breathing.
This left Anna and her mother with little to discuss.
Upon arriving home, though, Anna found Landon, Adrienne, and Tobin all waiting for her at the manor. She was so glad to see them and begged to go back out and walk on the land right away. She wanted to wash away the visit to Yegor.
Years passed.
Anna’s life was peaceful and happy for the most part, broken only by infrequent visits from Siobhan and Malcolm. They never brought Jenelle.
Siobhan slowly seemed to descend further into madness, and Malcolm staunchly pretended that everything was well, but his polish and laughter had long since ceased to charm Anna.
For some reason, he refused to acknowledge reality.
Every time they left, Anna fought guilt over the relief of watching them go. She had once loved her aunt so much.
The summer Anna turned eighteen her parents invited her to join them in their visit to Kéonsk to the gathering of the princes and nobles. Landon would be going as well.
“You’ve grown into a fine young woman,” her father said, catching her off guard. “It’s time you met other . . . people of your own class.”
He means other men, she thought.
Terror filled her at the thought of being handed off to some strange nobleman, and she begged to be allowed to remain at home for one more year.
“I’ll go next year,” she said. “I promise.”
Both her parents were baffled by why she would prefer to remain at home when she could be dancing and eating fine food at banquets in the company of princes and nobles, but they didn’t force her.
As they were packing to leave, Anna heard hoofbeats outside in the courtyard, and she went to see who it was.
Tobin came riding up and jumped off his horse at the sight of her. His expression was concerned, almost distraught, and she’d never seen him like this before.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, hurrying to meet him. “If your father ill?”
“My father?” He shook his head. “No, I just heard about the gathering and that your family was preparing to leave. I heard . . . I heard they were taking you this year.”
“No, I’ve begged off. I would rather stay at home.”
His expression shifted, as if she’d given him good news. “You’re not going?”
“No.”
Why would it bother him if she went to the Kéonsk gathering?
“Come and walk with me,” he said.
They headed around the back of the house, toward the rose gardens, and to her surprise, he reached out and took her hand, holding it as they walked. His red-brown hair hung down past his collar and in the sunlight, his eyes were a shade of dark green.
“You won’t be lon
ely while they’re gone,” he said. “I’ll come as often as I can.”
That night, in bed, Anna found herself thinking on three weeks of Tobin’s company with no other companions except for Adrienne. She remembered the feel of her hand in his, and her palm tingled.
Soon, Anna came to understand her aunt a little better. What she came to feel for Tobin was not an obsessive love, but it was strong. He came to the manor one morning, and they slipped off without telling Adrienne, riding all the way to the eastern border of the Janvier estate. He showed her his family’s vineyards. The neat rows of grapevines stretched for miles.
Standing beneath an aspen tree, he leaned down and touched his mouth to hers. When she kissed him back, he pressed harder, and she felt her heart jump. She loved his face and his smile and the way he got her to talk of things that mattered—things she would tell no one else.
“I love you,” he said simply. “I always have. Will you marry me?”
“I would marry no one else.”
The problem was that for him to ask for her hand, he’d need a profession or some way to prove he could support a family. She didn’t like the idea of him joining the military, as did so many second sons.
They kept their engagement a secret for a year.
The following summer, as Anna’s family began preparing for the gathering at Kéonsk, fear washed through her. They would insist she go this year. They would insist she dance with young noblemen and put herself on display for proposals.
She didn’t know what to do.
Then a miracle happened. Tobin came racing up to the manor and when she went to greet him, he drew her off alone into the stables.
“I have news,” he said, holding both her hands. “I told my father and brother about us. I was desperate for help, and they have been kind. There is a cottage . . . a large cottage with six bedrooms, down at the southern end of our estate. No one has lived there in years. It sits on four large fields of white grape vines that have fallen into a state of neglect, as white wine has been out of fashion. But it’s coming back into demand. Father says he’ll give us the cottage and those vineyards, and my brother was glad to agree. He’ll inherit the rest of the estate.”
He gripped her hands more tightly. “Don’t you see, Anna? We will have a home and a good living.”
She did see. Even more, she wouldn’t have to leave these lands she loved. She and Tobin could build a life together here. She kissed him. Her heart was bursting.
“I’ll go and talk to your father,” he said, rushing off.
That was the part that concerned her. What would her parents say?
After Tobin left, they called her to them.
Her father’s face was not angry, but nor was it happy. She couldn’t tell what he thought.
At first he seemed lost for words, and then he asked, “Anna, is this what you want?”
She exhaled. He had asked the right question. “Yes, Father. I want it so much.”
He exchanged a long look with her mother, who appeared equally at a loss. “Then if your mother has no objections,” he said, “I don’t. I’d hoped for much greater things for you, but the Bonnays are a good family, and I couldn’t think more highly of Tobin. He’s managed to take part of the estate from his brother, and I think he has good prospects.”
This was not exactly the case. Tobin had been given part of estate, but such things didn’t matter.
“Mother?” she asked.
“If this is what you wish, I am of the same mind as your father.”
Father nodded. “You can use your dowry to refurbish the cottage.”
With joy, Anna ran to Adrienne and told her the news. Adrienne was glad and hugged her fiercely. “I knew,” she said. “I knew you’d end up with Tobin. He’s a good man, and he has always loved you.”
Had Adrienne known this before Anna?
They planned the wedding for early autumn, as Tobin and Anna would need time to make some improvements in the cottage before winter set in.
By late summer, the manor was such a buzz of activity that Anna almost forgot about a pending visit from Aunt Siobhan and Uncle Malcolm.
When they arrived, Anna hoped that discussion of the pending wedding might help fend off some of her aunt’s more painful behavior, but Siobhan had no interest in the wedding. She had no interest in anything other than her husband’s affairs.
Once again, they didn’t bring Jenelle. The poor child must be seven years old.
Thankfully, Siobhan seemed to be paying more attention to her appearance, and she wore a crushed velvet gown with her hair properly styled up on her head. But her face was lined with bitterness, and every time she got Anna alone, the conversation was the same.
“He spurns me for maids and village girls,” she would whisper. “He has not come to my bed in years. I put potions in his drinks. I cast spells. Nothing works, and I cannot live much longer without his touch.”
“Oh, Auntie, can you not leave him?” Anna said. “Can you not take Jenelle and come back here to live with Mother?”
“Leave him? No, I cannot live without him.” Her eyes drifted again. “If only he would admit his guilt just once. He lives in lies. All these years, no matter how flagrant he’s been, he claims innocence as if he’s never strayed even once.”
Anna gave up. There was no way to help her aunt.
That afternoon, Malcolm came to her and asked her to go riding. She didn’t wish to go, but also didn’t see how she could refuse. They saddled up and rode toward the quarry at a walk.
“I made the worst mistake of my life in marrying your aunt,” he said. “I was so drawn to her love for me, for her passion, but I was a fool. I should have married a woman with dignity, someone more reasoned with self-control, like you.”
Anna stopped her horse. It was wrong of him to be saying these things to her. It was inappropriate. “Forgive me, Uncle. I’ve forgotten that I promised to help Mother plan the menu for dinner.”
“Of course,” he said smoothly, and accompanied her back to the stable.
Dinner that night was the usual strained affair with Siobhan staring at Malcolm, and Malcolm chatting away lightly as if nothing was wrong. Anna counted the days until their visit would be over.
The next afternoon, however, she vowed to try to distract her aunt. They had tea together in the dining room, and then Anna said, “Auntie, come out to the rose gardens with me and help me choose the best blooms to decorate the table. You have such an eye for roses.”
For once, Siobhan seemed to reflect at least a shadow of her former self and nodded. In years past, no one could create table arrangements like Aunt Siobhan. The two women walked out into the passage and then down through the servants’ quarters.
“I think a mix of white and pink,” Anna said. “Or do you think yellow?”
A door opened up ahead and she was not paying much attention until she saw Cora, a young maid, perhaps seventeen, whom her mother had recently hired.
“Cora, what are you doing here at this time of . . . ?”
The girl’s hair was down and her dress was partially undone. At the sight of Anna and Siobhan, she clutched the front of her dress, turned, and fled down the hall, vanishing into another room.
Anna was perplexed, but Siobhan shot forward, shoving the first door back open and looking inside wildly.
Anna drew a sharp breath as she followed her aunt’s gaze. Malcolm stood there buttoning the front of his shirt.
“Here?” Siobhan whispered. “In my sister’s home?”
Malcolm gave her a warm smile. “Lost a button,” he said, holding up the bottom of his shirt. “Came here for help.” He turned the smile to Anna. “Nice girl, that Cora. Sewed a new one on for me.”
For a second, he was so calm and friendly and sincere that Anna could almost believe he’d lost a button and come looking for help. Then s
he remembered Cora’s hair and undone dress.
How could he stand there and smile as if he were speaking the truth?
“Unfaithful,” Siobhan sobbed, tears of hate and rage and love in her eyes. She tore out a handful of hair. “For once tell the truth! For once don’t hide behind your lies.”
“My dear, calm down. I lost a button. That is all.”
“In my sister’s home,” Siobhan whispered. “This . . . this is too much.”
Turning, she ran down the other direction, down the passage, back toward the stairs leading up to the second floor.
Anna studied Malcolm a moment longer and he said no more. Then Anna continued onward, going out to the rose gardens for air. She wished Tobin were here, but it was now late summer, and he was home helping his father and brother to check the progress of the grapes in the fields.
That night, she wondered how she’d be able to make it through dinner. Everyone began gathering in the dining room at the expected hour, but Siobhan didn’t appear. More time ticked past.
Finally, Anna said, “Perhaps we should check on her? Mother, will you come with me?”
She didn’t wish to go alone.
“Of course.”
Anna and her mother went upstairs. Siobhan and Malcolm were always in separate guest rooms now. Anna’s mother went to the door of Siobhan’s room and knocked.
“Sister? Are you well?”
There was no answer. After a brief hesitation, Anna’s mother opened the door and gasped. Then she cried out, “No!”
Anna ran forward and looked at the scene inside the room.
There was so much red.
Siobhan lay on the bed with both wrists slashed open. Blood had saturated the comforter and mattress.
Slowly, Anna walked past her mother into the room. Siobhan was dead, her eyes open, and a scrawled note lay on the pillow above her head.
My love was unfaithful. Ever unfaithful.
Perhaps this was the only way she could think to punish him.
* * *
They buried Siobhan in the rose garden, and everyone agreed to say she caught a fever and died quickly.
Anna agreed to keep to this lie if only to protect Jenelle from ever learning the truth.