“A test,” he said simply. “Can you remain as you are now, gracious, composed, refined, even in the company of those who knew you before? If so, it will prove to me that these changes are not merely affectations, but character.”
Aoife swallowed. “You want me to… prove myself.”
“I want you,” Halverton said, “to show me you understand what it means to step into a new life. A better life. Imagine the delight it will bring your sister to see you so transformed.”
The words were honeyed, but they stuck like pins.
Aoife forced herself to look hopeful. “Thank you,” she said. “I would do anything to see them.”
“I know.” He reached for her hand, lifted it, and brushed his thumb over her knuckles.
He released her hand with a quiet, satisfied nod. “You may go,” he said. “And Aoife—”
She paused in the doorway.
“Do not hide from the person you are becoming. She will serve you better than the girl I picked up out of the dirt.”
Aoife dipped her head, the picture of gratitude. She left his study with careful steps; the door shutting behind her like the closing of a vault.
***
Her father arrived at the manor two days later with Eoin and Maire.
The moment he saw her, he stopped short. His breath caught. It had been barely two weeks, yet the dress Clara had altered now fit perfectly. There was a softness to her cheeks, a weight in her frame. Aoife fought tears at the sight of him, at the hollows in his face and the sharp bones of her siblings’ wrists. When she knelt to hug them, she let the tears fall, disguising them as joy.
They sat together in the sitting room, dwarfed by its opulence. Her family’s threadbare clothes looked almost translucent beside the heavy velvet curtains, the marble hearth,the gleam of brass and silver. The upholstered chair swallowed little Maire whole; her feet dangled far above the floor.
Lord Halverton sat beside Aoife, his hand resting on her leg, light but possessive. The conversation stuttered along, awkward and shallow. Her father thanked him for his generosity, for taking Aoife in, and for the food sent to the village after the feast.
Aoife kept her eyes lowered, fingers laced tightly in her lap. Part of her was grateful her father knew how to play the game, how to survive a man like this. But another part of her burned with a quiet fury that he had to thank Halverton at all.
“How are your lessons?” Aoife asked her siblings, her voice soft.
“I can read now,” Maire announced proudly.
“You can read letters,” Eoin corrected, grinning. “Not whole words yet.”
Aoife smiled faintly, though her heart ached. It hadn’t been that long, had it?
She longed to ask about Cormac. Yesterday, she’d snuck into Halverton’s study again and changed another ledger line, taken a sack of grain from storage, but she hadn’t returned to see if it was missing yet. She wanted to ask how he was, but she couldn’t risk it. Not with Halverton watching her so closely.
Instead, she asked carefully, “And how is everyone?”
Her father hesitated. “Two more families have gone,” he said at last.
Halverton leaned forward, alert. “Which families?”
Her father paused. He looked at Aoife, who nodded minutely. “The Tanguys and the Lowens. They sailed for the New World last week.”
Aoife caught her breath. Good. Let them be far beyond his reach.
Halverton’s lip curled. “Fools,” he said. “Half of them die before the voyage ends. They pack those ships tighter than grain sacks. What parent risks their children like that?”
Parents who want them to live.
Her father nodded smoothly. “Quite right, my lord.”
Halverton reclined again, satisfied. “And what of Aoife’s friends?” he asked, pronouncing her name correctly for once.
