“I can imagine,” Cameron said. “What did she do after she finished at the academy?”

“Ainsley never finished,” Isabella said, sounding surprised he didn’t know. “In the summer before her final year, Patrick and his wife took her on a trip to the Continent. They decided to stay there for a year, in Rome, I think. When I next saw Ainsley, in London, she was already married to John Douglas. Mr. Douglas was a very kind man, but at least thirty years her senior. Ainsley seemed content enough, but I always wondered why she married him. I’ve speculated, but she’s never told me, and I don’t like to pry.”

“Yes, you do,” Beth said. “When you first met me, you made me come home with you the moment I mentioned Ian.”

“That was different, darling,” Isabella said. “That was family.”

Cameron lifted the honey dripper again. The amber folds cascading down made him imagine swirling the honey over Ainsley’s naked body. Slowly, slowly licking it from her skin, savoring each sticky drop.

He looked up to find Ian watching him, no doubt guessing Cameron’s exact thoughts. Ian so rarely looked at anyone straight in the eye that when he did, it could be unnerving.

Cameron put down the dripper. “And since her husband’s death, Mrs. Douglas has worked for the queen?”

“Indeed, she has. Ainsley’s mother and Lady Eleanor Ramsay’s mother were good friends, and the queen adored Ainsley’s mother. So one year when the queen was at Balmoral, Ainsley and Eleanor Ramsay were staying with a mutual friend nearby. The queen visited with them, and when the queen discovered who Ainsley was, there was nothing for it but that Ainsley should come and work for her. The queen finagled Ainsley into her household somehow and made her a lady of the bedchamber.”

Mrs. Yardley had told him much the same thing. “So, she and the queen are chummy.”

“Not really. Ainsley is grateful for the position and the salary, but she finds it trying at times. The queen doesn’t like to let her leave very often. I’m surprised Ainsley was allowed to spend two weeks with me here, but I’m happy for it.”

Isabella picked up her coffee and sipped, clearly finished with her story.

“Is that all?” Cameron asked.

“Isn’t that enough? I’ve chattered on about my friend’s private life long enough, and I told you that much only because Daniel told me he caught you kissing her.”

Mac started laughing, damn him, and Curry was getting an earful to spread below stairs.

“Stop all the confounded smirking,” Cameron growled. “I’m not looking to marry her. She’s disrupting my life.”

Isabella lost her smile. “She’s a dear friend, Cameron. Do not hurt her.”

“I have no intention of hurting her. I want her to cease pulling me into her affairs and to quit meddling in mine.”

“Stop kissing her then.”

Cameron saw by the faces turned toward him that they were going to line up against him. None of them understood the damage a woman like Ainsley could do to his sanity. The thrumming in his body wouldn’t go away when he was around her, and he’d already lost two nights of sleep because of her.

What Cam should do was pack his bags, load up the horses, and retreat to his house in Berkshire where he had his main racing stables. He could join his other trainers and continue with Jasmine in his big, open paddocks.

But Cameron had already promised Hart to stay at Kilmorgan until the races at Doncaster, and he didn’t like to break promises to his brothers. Aside from that, Jasmine was too jittery for a long journey south. If she were Cameron’s horse, he’d back her off to light training, build her up slowly, get to know her, teach her to trust. As it was, he had to work her carefully. A long trip now would ruin her.

No, he had to stay at Kilmorgan and finish this. Once he’d had Ainsley, as he’d vowed to, he could forget her and return to sanity.

Ian slid the pot of honey toward his plate. “We should go back upstairs,” he said to Beth.

“What?” Beth looked up from a list she was writing. “Why?”

Ian rose and pulled back Beth’s chair without answering. Ian had difficulty lying, so when he knew he shouldn’t say what was on his mind, he’d learned to keep his mouth firmly closed.

Beth knew him well, though. Without arguing, she let him take her arm and steer her from the table. Before he walked away, Ian reached back and snatched the honey pot from the table, balancing the pot in his hand as he led Beth from the room.

Two days later Ainsley sat among a sea of costly fabrics at a dressmaker’s in Edinburgh. Rain fell outside, the sort that obscured everything in mist, but inside with Beth and Isabella, all was dry and snug.

Ainsley had telegraphed Phyllida’s new demand to the queen, and while waiting for the reply, she’d restlessly searched the house again, just in case. She’d recruited Daniel to help her look, and Angelo too, although she didn’t tell either exactly what she searched for and why. But both knew the house better than she did, surprisingly well, in fact. The Romany and the youth found hidey holes that she wagered even Hart didn’t know about. But Phyllida hadn’t made use of them, because they found no letters.

Phyllida herself refused to speak to Ainsley at all. She’d walk away when she saw Ainsley approach, deliberately surround herself with people, or confine herself to her chamber, claiming a headache.

A rather exasperated reply came from the queen that she could not send Ainsley any more money. Ainsley would simply have to be resourceful, and the queen would reimburse her later.

Blast and botheration. Ainsley didn’t have anywhere near enough to make up the difference, and her brother Patrick would never lend her five hundred guineas without demanding a full explanation of why she needed it. Patrick couldn’t know the truth, and Ainsley didn’t want to lie to him either. Her barrister brother Sinclair would have the same curiosity, Steven could never keep money in his pockets anyway, and Elliot, who had the most resources, was away in India.

The only thing to do was borrow the money from Cameron. He already knew about Phyllida’s demands and had offered the cash. Ainsley could give him her mother’s jewelry as collateral and pay him back once Ainsley received the money from the queen.

This sort of situation was exactly why the queen employed her, Ainsley thought darkly, because Her Majesty knew that Ainsley would finish the job no matter what it took.

Hence, Ainsley hadn’t fussed when Isabella suggested that she, Ainsley, and Beth take an afternoon’s holiday from the house party for shopping in Edinburgh. She could take the opportunity to get her mother’s jewelry valued, so that she could offer Cameron a fair exchange for the loan. Despite what Phyllida claimed Cameron would demand for helping, Ainsley was determined to keep the transaction businesslike. She had to.

Ainsley admitted to a pleasant warmth sitting at Isabella’s dressmaker’s surrounded by costly and beautiful fabrics. Isabella instructed the dressmaker’s assistants to bring out bolt after bolt of moiré, taffeta, fine broadcloth, crushed velvet, and cashmere, and yard upon yard of laces, ribbons, and trims.

Ainsley fingered a china silk so fine it felt like mist in her hand. “This is heavenly. Pity she doesn’t have it in lavender. You could wear this, Beth.” Its dark sapphire tones would exactly match Beth’s eyes.

“Beth?” Isabella repeated. “My dear Ainsley, everything Madame Claire is bringing out is for you. You are going to have an ensemble of dark blue, with this cream stripe for the underskirt, and the china silk for the lining.” Isabella pulled out swaths of blue velvet and laid it over a cream and white striped satin. “With light blue silk for the ruffles and finish.”

Ainsley looked at her in alarm. “Isabella, I can’t. I’m still in mourning. Or half mourning, at least.”

“And it’s high time you left it off. I know the queen swoons when you wear anything lighter than dark gray, but you’ll need smarter frocks for when you visit me in London—for the opera, and balls, and my soirees. I intend to show you off, my dear, and I have excellent taste in clothes.”

“Her ladyship does have an eye,” the dressmaker, Madame Claire, said.

Isabella waved away the compliment. “Living with an artist has taught me things. I will concede mauve or violet for you, Ainsley, but never lavender.” She shuddered and reached for a swath of burgundy moiré. “Trim this with black piping and you’ll have a lovely tea gown. But for your new ball dress, you will have this glorious sky blue. With your eyes and coloring, you can make this fabric sing. What do you think, Beth?”

Beth, who’d grown up poorer than poor and hadn’t had a pretty dress in her life until she’d turned twenty-eight, nodded but with caution. “It is beautiful, Isabella.”

“Then we shall take it. Now, where did the book get to?” Isabella dug around for the fashion book that she’d buried under fabric. “I know I saw some silver tissue, Madame Claire. I want that for Ainsley’s ball dress as well.”

While Isabella and Madame Claire searched for the book and the tissue, Ainsley whispered to Beth, “Does she know that I can’t afford this? One gown, maybe, but certainly not a new ball gown. I bought the gray only last week.”

“You’ve been seen in it once,” Beth whispered back, her lips twitching. “That’s what Isabella will say.”

“But I can’t pay for all this.” Isabella, the indulged daughter of an earl and now the wife of wealthy Mac Mackenzie, might not understand that most people couldn’t buy a new wardrobe on a whim.

“Darlings, are you being sordid and discussing money?” Isabella sat back down and spread the fashion book across her lap. “This is my gift to you, Ainsley. I’ve been dying to get you out of those dull gowns for ages. Don’t spoil it for me.”