‘For Jude?’ Elden questioned.
He didn’t mean anything by it, Maeve told herself. Elden’s fierce protectiveness was one of the things she admired most about him. She laid her hand on his arm. ‘It’s not to hurt him or to… spy. I promise.’
Slowly, Elden nodded. He cast a final look at the icon. ‘I’ll see you downstairs. Dinner’s almost ready.’
Maeve watched him go, her thoughts quickly whipping into a maelstrom.
Bethan.
A knot formed in her stomach as she changed into something more presentable. Were Bethan and Jude… she couldn’t even think the word. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Maeve finished buttoning her cardigan and headed down the stairs.
Approaching it like a hot coal, she forced herself to consider the idea that Jude had a lover. A lover who was currently standing in their front hall, one of his jumpers wrapped around her shoulders. She said something, and Judelaughed.
Maeve’s lungs felt too tight. She studied Bethan from the stairs, taking in what she hadn’t had time to in her studio. She was tall, almost Jude’s height. Her black hair had dried in messy waves to her shoulders, and her skin gleamed with a healthy glow from the walk.
Undeniably beautiful.
‘Maeve.’ Jude looked over his shoulder towards where she lurked in the shadows. His smile fell slightly. ‘What are you doing halfway up the stairs?’
Her cheeks warmed as she descended the rest of the steps. ‘Sorry. I was waiting for Elden.’
On cue, footsteps sounded on the stairs behind her moments before Elden appeared. ‘Dinner’s ready. Which I’m sure was theplan. Eh, Bethan?’ He wrapped an arm congenially around her shoulders and aimed them both towards the kitchen.
‘I’m not one to miss a free meal,’ Bethan said, ‘but I do really need to—’
The rest of her reply was lost down the hall.
Jude lingered behind, his eyes still on Maeve. His expression was unreadable in the soft light from the oil lamps. His mouth opened and shut, a muscle tensing in his jaw. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. ‘She won’t stay long.’
‘It’s fine,’ Maeve replied quickly.
He studied her for another long moment before nodding briskly. He headed down the hall towards the kitchen without glancing back.
What was happening? Hadn’t they just been kneeling on the floor before Jude’s icon, their hearts laid out between them as he had prepared to pray? She looked down, cringing at the mud coating the toes of her boots. Her fingernails were caked with paint, and the hem of her dress was ragged with wear and age.
A mess. Inside and out.
Whatever she thought had been slowly building between them, she needed to tuck it away. She represented everything Jude hated. The Abbey, devotion to the saints, his lost memories. Maeve knew she could be difficult. Ezra had often told her she was naive, her desperation for attention too palpable, turning her into someone exhausting to be around. Words she’d heard often enough to begin to believe them. Jude needed someone different. Someone confident in who they were. Capable and carefree and easy to be around.
Everything she was not.
Feeling like she was gathering the cracked pieces of whatever hope she’d been guarding like a precious jewel, Maeve followed the sound of Jude’s laughter towards the little-used dining room at the back of the house.
At Elden’s urging, Bethan sat at the head of the table. Shelaughed and poked fun at the two men as she ate, though a strange tension lingered around her grip on the fork, her darting gaze. She was also attentive to Maeve, asking her questions about her painting, where she’d got her jumper, and what she did to look after her hair. She found herself warming to the other woman. If it hadn’t been for the unwelcome jealousy digging claws into her heart, they might have been friends. If Maeve could push past her feelings, maybe they still could be.
She picked at her food. The malty brown bread, sausages, and mash were more palatable than usual. Not like it made much of a difference. Her appetite had all but disappeared.
‘The bread is wonderful,’ Bethan remarked. She sipped her wine, sloshing the deep red liquid around in her cup. ‘Jude, did you make it?’
He pointed his fork towards Maeve. ‘Maeve came up with the recipe. She’s quite the baker.’
‘Oh!’ Bethan exclaimed. ‘You must give me the recipe. My mum and I bake bread twice a month to bring to the children’s home in Oakmoor. You should join.’
‘I’d like that,’ Maeve murmured. If she’d been planning on being here long term – which she wasn’t – she could have seen herself making a home in the community. Giving back. Searching for the sense of belonging she’d always wanted out of the Abbey. But, like everything good in her life, her time in Jude’s home had a quickly approaching expiration date.
Bethan leaned towards Maeve, grinning conspiratorially. ‘Elden must be fond of you to allow access to his kitchen.’
Maeve flushed, fiddling with her fork. ‘Oh… I don’t know about that. I’ve taught him a few recipes, so I reckon I’ll be kicked out soon enough.’ She forced her lips up in a smile. From across the table, Jude watched her with an unreadable expression.
