Cait and the Devil by Annabel Joseph Page A

wine in his glass, then offered her a sip.
    “No thank you.”
    “Don’t enjoy wine?”
    “Not very much.”
    “Perhaps you’ve never had really fine wine.”
    “Perhaps I’ve had no wine at all,” she said. “I’m just a nobody from a cottage in the woods.”
    He looked over at her sharply. “You aren’t a nobody . You’re my wife.”
    “I suppose.”
    I suppose. I suppose? What did she mean by that? “There’s no supposition about it.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re my wife. The priest married us.” She made no reply to that comment, only sat very still with her hands clasped in her lap.
    “A cottage in the woods?” he asked, changing the subject. “You were not raised at court?” She shook her head. No, of course not, he realized. If she had been, she wouldn’t be such an innocent.
    “My father hates me. No, I wasn’t raised at court. He wouldn’t have tolerated me there.”
    “He hates you? Why?”
    “Because I remind him of my mother, and she was a liar and a slut.”
    He nearly spit out a mouthful of wine. “Who told you that? Your father? I’m sure it isn’t true.”
    “I don’t know. I never met my mother.”
    “Then who did you live with in your little cottage?”
    “My old nursemaid, Erma. She died a few weeks ago.”
    “And she didn’t tell you anything about your mother? Or your father?”
    She shook her head. “I never knew either of them.”
    “And you didn’t ask? You weren’t curious about your circumstances?”
    “I didn’t care. I didn’t think about it. Erma was my family. I was happy there.”
    He frowned, not missing the insinuation. She was happy, but not anymore. “Can you not be happy here? I’ll have some gowns made for you.”
    Gowns. Idiot. She was no typical, vain woman to be mollified with the promise of new gowns or pretty ribbons. He thought of the way she’d thrown the perfect apple down for him just a few hours earlier.
    “I enjoy dining with you, Caitlyn. You’re not a nobody to me.”
    “Thank you for saying that.” She was obviously unconvinced. Then she asked again, “May I be excused?”
    He sighed and nodded. “Yes.”
     
    * * * * *
     
    Time passed, a couple of weeks, and Cait was pleased to be given many lovely gowns, but no more spankings over her husband’s knee. It still occurred to her in lonelier moments to draw his attention through mischief, but the result was really too painful to make it worthwhile.
    So she behaved as well as she could. She tolerated whichever surly young soldier followed her around and did her best to stay out of the earl’s way. She loved to be outside, strolling through the town watching the townspeople. She enjoyed watching the animals in the yards and the many children at play. The children avoided her for the most part, although she smiled at them. She supposed her strange appearance scared them away.
    She found herself alone a lot, but it didn’t matter. She was well cared for, content as she might be. She had plenty of fresh air and not many duties to attend to, although she begged for chores. She wanted to be put to work to escape her boredom, but Henna chased her from the kitchen and the laundry rooms whenever she lingered too long. The gardener at least let her help tend the gardens. The earl rolled his eyes when he discovered her dirty fingernails. He picked weeds from her curls and told her she needn’t till the soil like a common laborer. Thankfully, though, he didn’t make her stop. If it wasn’t for the solace of the garden, she would lose her mind.
    The earl still ignored her as much as possible. He sat with her at dinner, yes, but they barely touched. They had trouble finding things to talk about since they knew each other so little. When he looked at her, which he did often, she always developed a lump in her throat that kept her from talking, from asking, from confiding, from saying any of the things she wanted to say.
    How can I please you? What will make you like me? When