Page 13 of Irish Reign

But that’s not what he means. So I agree with him. “It’s not.”

“I’m worried about Aiofe.” He keeps his voice low; she’s just behind the bedroom door.

Guilt shoves something cold and sharp between my ribs. “I haven’t paid as much attention to her as I should have.” I’ve been focused on Braiden’s recovery, and on Sonja’s plans for my hearing, and on work, because I can’t let things fall apart at the freeport.

He waves off my confession. “She’s a lamb. Does exactly as she’s told. Doesn’t complain about a thing.”

“So the problem is…”

“Sheshouldbe complaining. She should be acting out. She lost Miss Birte and Grace.”

Those women—flawed as they were—were the closest thing to family Aiofe ever knew. “If you think a nanny would help…”

“She’s too old for a nanny. Maybe an au pair, to be a companion after she finishes schoolwork for the day.”

“You know Braiden will approve the expense.”

“It’s not money!” Fairfax must hear the sharpness in his voice, because he repeats himself in a much quieter tone. Then he says, “It’s safety. Security. She needs more routine than following me about all day.”

“We never should have told her tutor she was taking a break. Call John Bell and get him back here tomorrow.”

Fairfax frowns. “I already tried. He’s backpacking in the Andes. His first vacation in seven years, and he can’t be reached.”

“All right. Aiofe needs a companion. She needs classes. What else?”

He glances at the bedroom door, as if he fears Aiofe might be spying on us. “She has nightmares,” he says, his voice nearly a whisper. “More nights than not, she wakes herself screaming.”

“Why haven’t you said something before?” I don’t mean it to sound like an accusation, but I know it does. The thought of that poor child, haunted even while she sleeps…

He hunches his shoulders, and I’m reminded that life has been hard for everyone since the fire. “With Mister Braiden struck blind? With you handling those nasty reporters?”

“We all want what’s best for Aiofe.”

“What’s best for Aiofe is living in a normal house. Sleeping in a normal bed. In a room decorated for a normal girl. All of this istoo much, too large, too overwhelming. And…” He winds down his tirade.

But I push. “And what?”

“And she should see a doctor. Not Kelleher. There’s nothing wrong with her body. But she’s survived a lot of trauma. She should speak with someone who understands.”

I’ve been saying the same thing to Braiden since I met the child. I thought Birte should get therapy too. If she had, maybe we’d all still be living at Thornfield.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I tell Fairfax.

“Thank you.” He pauses, as if he’s about to say more, but he settles for topping off my coffee again, pouring from the carafe. “Thank you,” he says once more, and this time he sounds decisive. Leaving his croissant behind, he heads into the bedroom, where I hear him cajoling Aiofe into drawing him a picture.

Aiofe needs structure.

Aiofe needs rules.

Life at Thornfield was filled with them. At the most basic level, breakfast was mandatory. Everyone gathered in the dining room every single morning; there was none of this drifting by for a bite here, a meal there.

I blush, thinking about the rulesIlived by: No work after six o’clock. No black and white clothes after business ended for the day. No trousers either, only skirts. No panties.

I fought those rules every step of the way. But there’s a hollow inside of me that longs for the return of that slice of normal, everyday life.

And I know exactly how to make that happen.

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