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Anne pulled her hood deeper over her head. The neighbours would certainly talk if they saw the oldest Guinness daughter walk in these parts, especially after dark in the pouring rain. She was holding a basket of food from her house, which had been given to her with a knowing smile by the servant girl. She’d kept her head low the entire journey, her feet were aching, and she was soaked to the bone, but she couldn’t risk a carriage. She couldn’t risk her brothers knowing where she’d gone off to. Now, she had to raise her head to find his house. Anne had only heard vague descriptions, but she knew she’d recognize it in an instant. When she looked up, she saw the light of a lantern appear through the raindrops and heard a voice she knew all too well.
Rafferty appeared, with both lantern and umbrella, and said, “You daft girl, why would you come here?”
This time, when she looked up higher, she saw his smiling face, and her face was guarded from the rain.
“I heard about what happened at the brewery,” she said. Her hand not holding the basket came up to his face, carefully brushing the cut on his cheek.
“It’s nothing but an accident that got handled,” he said as he cast his eyes down. He felt her cold fingers and saw her shiver. “Let’s get you inside.”
He offered his arm for her to hold, and she took it without question, not thinking of the last time she got to hold him like that. If she stumbled, if she fell, would his words still carry the weight of that one night?
It only took a few more metres before they stopped at a door with three small steps in front. There was no indication of who lived here, no nameplate, nothing familiar. What had she been thinking? Maybe deep down, she’d always hoped he’d come to her instead of her having to seek him out like this. She’d done it once before, but had been foolish to bring a witness. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
“You once said I had no home to go to,” Sean said as he opened the door, holding her close with the other, “yet, here we are.”
He carefully pulled her up a little to keep her from stumbling over the threshold and tried not to think about any implications with that gesture. With the door now closed, Anne dropped the hood from her head, the light from the lantern casting a warm glow over her face. He’d never imagined seeing her here, and yet, here she was, dripping all over his floor. He put the umbrella near the door and took the basket from her hands. He was sure she was about to turn blue from the cold soon, if her shivers were any indication.
Now that she was here, she suddenly forgot how to act. After all, this had been a trip on an impulse she had not been able to ignore. She’d been at Iveagh House with her husband for a family dinner called by Edward and Adelaide. As soon as Arthur had offhandedly mentioned a skirmish with a dishonest worker at the brewery during dinner and how Rafferty had made quick work of it, there had been no holding her back. Ever since Arthur and Olivia’s wedding, they’d only seen each other in passing. Now, there were no servants to whisper, no younger brothers to tell her what she could and could not do, only a woman soaked in the hallway of a house standing in front of a man who’d looked at her as if she could eat the world raw and would let her.
Her soaked dress underneath the equally soaked coat started to weigh heavily, so she tried to undo the button. She struggled as her fingers were frozen, and of course, he tried to help.
“I can do this on my own,” she whispered, her fingers slowly defrosting as they were engulfed in his.
“I know, Anne, but you do not have to.”
He let go of her hands to put them on her cheeks instead, putting some light back into them as well.
“We’ll get you out of these wet clothes and into something warm.”
So they did. Slowly and carefully, he undid clasps and buttons, lacing and ties until all that was left between him and her were a few layers of cloth. Lastly, he undid the pins from her hair and brushed the strays out of her face. If he noticed anything different about, she couldn't tell.
“I’ll find you a blanket while you wait by the fire,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to the fireplace. With each step, she felt a growing familiarity. It was as if she’d been here a hundred times before, carrying a basket from the market, being caught in the rain and being warmed by loving hands. She sat down on a cushion as he placed a woollen blanket over her shoulders. She followed every movement with her eyes as if to make sure this was not a dream. Then, he stood up to put another log on the fire.
“There’s food in the basket I brought.” The fire in front of her and the fire within pulled her out of the daze she didn’t know she’d fallen in.
“Feeding the strays now, are we?”
She smiled, “Well, we are known for being good and generous, Mr Rafferty.”
He shook his head smiling, and disappeared to find and heat the food. She stared into the fire, keeping her mind from wandering too far to what other people might think or do. She looked around to take in her surroundings. There was no denying that she had indeed once said he had no home to go to. Had she been right? Or was it to keep her own heart safe so as not to imagine him at a home? A place where she did not belong. But could she? Was there a world in which she could belong here instead? There were his coat and hat in the far corner of the room, her own clothes behind her on a lonely chair by a slanted table. The sound of him in the other room, the rain outside. What else in this room said this was a home? There was a cabinet with some lanterns, and she thought she could make out some picture frames, but not the pictures inside. It was so bare compared to her own house and the house she’d grown up in. No looming paintings of long-dead family members, no draperies to hide behind. Everything was bare and out in the open. Could she live here? Was there a possibility that she could have been Mrs Rafferty not Plunket? It was something she had no reason to think, and yet her mind went there. Sean called her Guinness, called her Plunket, but the moments when he called her Anne are what pulled the thread in her heart towards him. Lit the fire as Edward had said. Could they find a way in which she could be Anne here? Away from formality and decorum, unburdened by rules and expectations?
The sound of Sean’s footsteps and the smell of the reheated food kept her from spiralling further, and as if he could read her mind, he smiled and laughed:
“There are no rules here, love,” He said as he placed the plate in front of her. It contained the reheated vegetables and pieces of meat she hadn’t been able to stomach at dinner. The difference was the setting: no table, no cutlery. No brothers, no husband.
“Go wild, Anne Guinness.” He told her before taking a seat in front of her with his own plate.
With those words spoken, all the stiffness she still felt in her body was thrown off her shoulders as she bit into the meat with her bare teeth. He could only smile, realizing that not many people saw the Guinness daughter without the restrictions she and society had placed upon her.
After dinner, he sat behind her near the fireplace. She’d been warmed by the blankets he’d put around her shoulders and the food they’d eaten, but she still looked too pale for his liking. Her hair was still dripping, forming curls he hadn’t seen on her in years. He wrapped a curl around his finger and felt her lean into him even more. She still smelled like rain, but underneath the smell of rosemary, which he’d grown to love over the years. He leaned in closer as she closed her eyes, her head falling on his shoulder, his face into her neck. When she shivered this time, he didn’t know if it was still from the cold. He reached for a few more cushions behind him and pulled her down with him towards the floor.
“Do you sometimes think about her?” he asked when they’d settled underneath the blankets. Both of them were lying down, facing each other. His one hand was underneath her head, his other underneath the blanket near her hip. Yet, he still needed to be closer, so he absentmindedly started drawing three spirals fusing together on her lower belly. One for the mother, one for the father and one for the child that wasn’t there.
“Her?” Anne replied, after putting her hand on his cheek, repeating the same pattern. But she knew very well who he was referring to. She did, sometimes. Especially now. The last time she’d bled had been months ago. Her corset had grown too tight when it had always felt a bit too loose, no matter how tightly it was laced. She was with child. A child by a man she was supposed to grow to love, but didn’t. She was grateful he had not been cruel towards her, at least not physically. Grateful that this child would grow up legitimate, from a married husband and wife. And yet, in the morning, in the afternoon and in the evening when she was left to her own, she wondered, what if? She had not crossed any limits in years, besides glances and stolen touches, so there was no denying that this child was her husband’s.
“I think it would’ve been a strong girl,” Sean said with his eyes closed, this time unknowing of her thoughts, perhaps trapped in his own, “like her mother is a strong woman.”
She caressed his cheek and moved in closer. She’d been here for hours and all they had once again were fleeting touches, but no more. She softly pressed her lips against his and he gave in willingly, pulling her on top of him without a second thought.
And maybe, in the months to come, she would be able to pretend the child was his after all.