“By any chance, does yer husband work with any women?”
Textile shops hired more women than men. Hell, textile work for a man was an uncommon occupation. They were needed only when manpower was a requisite, except for supervisory roles that could not be filled by women.
Considering their dire financial status, it was out of the question. So her question was purely rhetorical. It was at this point that Cherry needed to spare herself the uncomfortable conversation and deduce that her husband was having an affair, and that those ‘bruises’ were merely love bites from an impassioned lover.
“There is a bunch of them. Weavers, reelers, and them sort, but?—”
The stages of finding out your partner had stepped out on you were linear. First and foremost, there was anger. The only type of women men cheated on were the ugly and unfeminine; that was what most women chose to believe. Insinuating a woman’s husband might have stepped out was like saying to her face that you thought she was unattractive and lacking charms.
The second stage was violence. Her cheeks pinkened as she recalled diagnosing a venereal disease once. The patient had struck her hard and called her a quack. She was loyal to her husband, so where could she have acquired such an uncleanness? From her stupid husband, of course!
In her six years of practice, Talia had never met a woman who got to the last stage: acceptance. Maybe it wasn’t linear, after all. Maybe it was straight, then became a broken line that disconnected the sequence.
“Are ye suggestin’ that me husband has a bird on the side?” Now she wished John had returned to his post. “I understand, I am nae so clueless. Thank ye for yer help.”
Then Cherry did something that could only be considered an anomaly: she got up and left.
Talia now had only two weeks left to marry.
One week had passed since she arrived at McGhee Castle, three days within that week since Darragh had kissed her, and two days since she had resumed practicing. Oh, and three days since Darragh had taken to avoiding her.
She recalled the conversation she had had a day ago with Orlagh. Her lady’s maid had just seen a suitor out.
“He was pleasant,” Talia commented.
Orlagh looked up from her tea. Afternoon sun rays filtered in, bathing the room in an orange glow. She sat at the peak of the light, and the rays circumscribed her head like a ring around a lit taper in a dark room. When she glanced at Talia, the gold flecks in her green irises lent her a resemblance to a deity.
“He is dull, do ye nae think?”
“Ye’ve said that about the last two suitors.”
“Nay, I said Mr. Murray was dull.” The man was not dull. He was merely tight-lipped. “I called Mr. Graham boring.” His cologne still lingered in the air. “And I called Mr. Brodie bold.”
“Ah.” Talia smiled. “I am beginning to see a pattern.”
“Eh?”
“Ye daenae like the men I like. It’s as though ye daenae wish me to marry.”
Orlagh did not understand her jest, so she appeared flustered. “I just want ye to be happy with the best of the best, and none of those men have left a good impression on me.”
The best person for me would be meself.
“Never mind that, I shall add his name to me list.”
She pulled a piece of parchment from the inner pocket of her skirt and penned the man’s name under Mr. Ewen Brodie’s and Sir Reid Graham’s.
“Talia…” She folded the paper and tucked it back into her pocket. “How do ye feel about me son?”
Talia’s heart thudded. “What do ye mean?”
“Ye two are constantly combative.”
“I didnae ken that he confides in ye about our conversations.” Her lips thinned, and she averted her gaze.
“He doesnae, but I have eyes and ears. Ye cannae expect me to be this old and nae have the means to ken what goes on in me home.” Orlagh came to sit opposite her. “Darragh doesnae ken how to communicate. I understand it might have caused offense, but he is a genuinely good person.”
It was amazing how her brain worked. She could sound somber and gentle while laboring heavy cogs. She was not only mediating, but also studying her with the alertness of a predatory bird.
