That had taken some explaining. How had she gotten to this point in life without knowing how to play whist or piquet? Her sailor father had taken on a fictional vice, recovering gambling addict. No card games allowed. It had been that or a contrived avoidance on religious grounds. Since they’d covered religious philosophy by that point and found her zeal somewhat wanting, the choice was clear.
Half-truths. Outright lies. It didn’t sit well with her. She did her best to remain her normal honest, forthright self as much as possible without a neon sign flashing on her forehead to reveal the biggest truth she was unable to reveal for obvious reasons. Beyond that obvious gaff and a few slips in reference to works that hadn’t yet been released in this time, overall she’d done well blending in.
Playing her role.
The downside was: In the process of managing her small household over the past few days, she’d found herself taking on the roles of a nurse, babysitter/mother, housekeeper, and even wife.
Essentially, she’d become the one thing she’d never wanted and found herself in the exact position she’d sworn never to be. And liked it?
If she had Brontë to talk to, or Violet, she might be able to work out the jumble in her head. As it was, she hadn’t had enough time alone in the past few days to think it through, much less to talk to Finn alone. What would she say to him if she had? Honestly, she had no clue what she’d say when she hadn’t been able to sort through her feelings herself.
The last conversation they’d had, she nearly spilled the entire story about the catalyst that prompted her split from Kyle. She hadn’t told anyone the gory details, yet a man she’d known only a handful of days had almost become her dearest confidante. Only by turning his words about trust against him and picking a fight had she been able to stop herself.
She’d love to hear her therapist’s thoughts on that.
Entrusting the truth to a man she’d known less than a week.
All this rattled around Aila’s mind as she finished brushing Effie’s fine blonde hair and turned to braiding it.
“She sits so well for ye,” Finn commented quietly.
“Aila disnae pull, Da,” Effie told him.
Aila shrugged with a smile. After days abed, the girl had been in desperate need of a bath, and fresh clothes and linens. Scrubbed clean and her cheeks rosy for all the right reasons. “It’s a girl thing.”
His smile was tender, affectionate. For her or Effie… or both of them… Aila wasn’t entirely certain.
His gaze shifted to his daughter. “Either way, ye look verra bonny, sweeting.”
Beaming at him, Effie crawled into his lap the moment Aila finished with her. Father and daughter. The sight of them cuddling together made her heart flop. Such close parental bonds weren’t something she had much experience with. Honestly, she’d never considered motherhood because of her awful childhood. Now she wondered what it would be like to have a bairn with a man who appreciated all the ups and downs of fatherhood. One who loved freely, gave affection endlessly. If she’d ever had a biological clock, it was tolling the hour like Big Ben right now.
Not liking the direction of her thoughts, Aila forced a pause on them. She needed some time away from all this confusing domesticity. A night alone if nothing else to have a long bath and try to make sense of everything. Most especially, why she wasn’t gone yet.
Though perhaps not entirely alone.
The nursery door banged open, crushing that errant thought.
Niall burst in followed by Mr. Elliot, who’d taken on the role of Niall’s tutor — part time, so as to not alert Derne to his shift of position. Not just yet, he insisted. The young man appeared far less nervy than he’d been when they first met. Nor did he seem as harried as she’d been with a day with the active lad behind her. His ginger hair was still tied neatly into a queue and he was smiling, so the role of teacher must suit him.
Niall waved a rough, hand-drawn map in the air before he handed it to Finn. “We studied geography today. The Americas and Brazil.”
“The lad is most interested in legends of treasure as am I, so I used that interest to map possible resting places for them,” Elliot explained as if he needed to justify the subject. He looked at her with open curiosity, that wee twitch of his making his eyelid quiver ever so slightly. It was unnerving to meet his eye.
“He says you told him of the Seven Cities of Cibola, Mistress Marshall. How is it a young lady such as yourself came to be familiar with an ancient Portuguese myth and the conquests of Francisco Vázquez de Coronado? And El Dorado? The City of Gold?” He chuckled. “Not the sort of thing young ladies such as yourself are usually taught, if I may say so.”
Ye may no’, she longed to say. Nor could she refer to her childlike adoration of animated cartoons featuring the voice of the brilliant Kenneth Branagh or a love of any Helen Mirren role, even the most obscure.
“My father was a sailor.” She offered a partial truth, unwilling to quibble between the words “sailor” and “fisherman.”
“He traveled the world —” or so she imagined, since he’d gone far enough never to return “— and I spent much of my childhood reading about the places I imagined he’d visited.”
There. Not a single lie. She was proud of herself.
“Reading? I thought ladies only read poetry and gothic romance.”
Aila rolled her eyes.Heaven forbid! Someone needed to update the youth on the accuracy of his opinions of women. Since Finn, too, seemed interested and without a speck of skepticism, she added another truth. “I’m a terrible piano player.”
Elliot laughed at that and let the subject drop. “At any rate, I had a few tales of lost treasure myself. Ships from France carrying gold to support the Jacobites, only to vanish without a trace and the like. Niall is a most inquisitive lad with endless curiosity and imagination. I’ve enjoyed our studies tremendously. Tomorrow afternoon, then?”
