“The queen has a houseful of servants and ladies at her beck and call,” Cameron said. “Why should you go?”

Ainsley had seen Victoria grieve before, how ill she made herself with it. The queen was a robust woman, but she did not handle loss very well. She loved hard and she grieved hard, rather like Cameron in that respect.

“I had another telegram, from one of her ladies,” Ainsley said. “The queen can’t walk, is unable even to rise from her chair. If I can ease some of that, if I can help her again, take my leave of her as friends, then I can return here and begin my life.”

“Begin your life? What the devil have you been living these past five months?”

“Please, Cam, this is important. She needs me.”

“Damn it all, I need you!”

Ainsley watched him in silence. Cameron held himself rigidly, fists clenched in dusty gloves.

“Cam,” Ainsley said. “I’ll come back.”

“Will you?” The words were bitter.

“Of course. We’re married.”

“Is that all?”

“That’s rather a lot, to me.”

Cameron knew she didn’t understand. Her gray eyes were still, hands halted in the act of folding a shawl. The shawl complemented her, silver and satiny, dripping down her arms the same way her hair slid over Cameron’s body when they made love.

Ainsley was leaving—Cameron losing her. The very thought made him break into a cold sweat.

“By the time I return, Daniel will have come home for his short holiday,” Ainsley said. “We’ll be a family again.”

A family. Again. She sounded so certain, as though everything were simple. Cameron and Daniel had only ever been tense satellites circling each other, and they had both known it. Until Ainsley. Daniel had tried at every turn to shove Ainsley into Cameron’s life, had turned up to winter with them, to make sure his father and Ainsley stuck it out. Now Daniel had gone, believing that everything was well.

“You won’t come back,” Cameron said.

“Yes, I will. I’ve just said.”

“You’ll intend to. But the queen will get her clutches into you, drag you back into her world, where she is the sun and the moon. She doesn’t like the Mackenzies, and she’ll do whatever she can to get you away from us.”

Ainsley looked puzzled. “The queen takes your advice on horses. You even turned up at Balmoral to speak to her about it.”

“Because she wants her horses to win. That doesn’t mean she likes or even respects me. Victoria knew my mother, thought her a fool for putting up with my father. She pitied my mother and despised her at the same time. She thinks Mackenzie sons are cut from the same cloth as the father, and she’s not far from wrong.”

“She is wrong. I know that. Isabella told me about your father. He sounds horrible.”

“But he’s here.” Cameron pressed his chest. “He’s in here. The bully who beat us, who killed my mother, who locked Ian away in an asylum—he’s in here with me. He’s in all of us. You might have noticed that my family is not exactly sane.”

She gave him her little smile. “Eccentric, certainly.”

“Stark, raving mad. I ease the madness with the horses, but between seasons, I barely keep it contained. Until this year, with you. Instead of drinking and sexing until I couldn’t remember which day was which, I strolled in parks and went to museums and to gardens, for God’s sake. I watched you and Daniel discuss the virtues of pastries and play draughts together on rainy evenings. My friends in Monte Carlo told me I’d gone domestic, and I laughed, because I didn’t care.”

Ainsley sent him another puzzled look. “You were miserable in Monte Carlo.”

“Restless, yes. Miserable, no. Hell, no. There, and in Paris, I was seeing everything as though it were new. All the things I took for granted for years suddenly had color and substance. Why? Because I saw them anew, through your eyes.”

Ainsley couldn’t know how beautiful she was standing there listening to him, brow puckered in confusion. “But your heart is here,” she said. “In Berkshire. With your horses at Waterbury Grange. I’m not wrong about that.”

“My heart is where you are, Ainsley. So when you leave . . .” Cameron made an empty gesture.

“I’ll come back,” she said stubbornly.

“To this wreck of a man? Why should you?”

“Because I love you.”

Cameron stopped. She’d said that before, though not often, as though worried how he’d respond.

But damn it, Ainsley could say it as often as she bloody well pleased. Plenty of women had told Cameron they’d loved him, even Elizabeth had. Usually they cooed it after he gave them some expensive present. Ainsley stood forlornly in the middle of a room and said it.

With Ainsley, something whispered to him, it just might be true.

“Then why go?” he asked.

“Because of the things I need to do. Important things. I would ask you to accompany me, but I know you can’t leave the horses, and you being with me would complicate things.”

“What things?”

“Cameron . . .”

Cameron unfolded his arms and moved to the window. Out in the paddock Angelo was letting the horse he rode slowly canter, winding down from a gallop.

He felt her come up behind him then her soothing touch on his shoulder. “That night six years ago in your bedchamber,” she said in a soft voice. “When you tempted me so sorely, and I refused you . . .”

“I remember.” The horse was going well, Angelo riding as though he were one with the beast. “What about it?”

“I refused you because I wouldn’t betray John, my husband. And I won’t betray you now. I’ll come back, Cameron. I promise.”

Cameron turned and pulled her to him. They stood together, swaying in the sunshine. He felt Ainsley relax, relieved that he’d stopped fighting her. But Cameron was far from yielding.

“I don’t want you back because you feel obligated to me, love,” he said. “That’s the devil of wedding vows—they make you do things for a person you maybe should run away from. Come back to me because you want to, not because you think you ought to. Do you understand?”

Ainsley looked up at him, her eyes a mystery. “I think I do understand you, Cameron.”

Cameron heard more in the sentence than the bare words, but he couldn’t decide what. He kissed her, dissolving in her warmth, and then he let her go.

Angelo went with her. Cameron insisted. Cameron said that he trusted Ainsley but not whatever fools she might meet on her journey. A maid and a footman weren’t enough to guard her. Angelo, he knew, wouldn’t let a damn thing happen to her. So Angelo went, without argument.

Once they reached Windsor, Angelo left to join his family on their canal boat that wandered up and down the nearby Kennet and Avon Canal. Ainsley loaded Angelo with packages of food and clothing, toys for his nieces and nephews, and sent him off.

She found Windsor cold, damp, and sorrowful.

My dearest Cameron,


The queen is quite distraught and most days cannot walk on her own. She has expressed relief that I am here and relies on me most strongly.

I am happy I came, because the others of the household, while sad that the queen is grieving, did not have much love for Mr. Brown. They grow impatient with Her Majesty’s eulogizing and her talk of mausoleums and monuments to him. Their line of thinking is that Mr. Brown was only a servant, and one who got above himself at that. He deserves a proper burial, yes, but nothing more.

But they forget what a true friend Mr. Brown was to the queen after her husband’s death, when her heart broke, and she hid herself away from the world. It was Mr. Brown that got her to do her duty as queen again and gave her the will to continue. He should at least be remembered for that.

I doubt, despite vicious gossip, and despite those letters over which Mrs. Chase was delighted to blackmail her, that the queen and Mr. Brown were ever lovers. A couple can be quite intimate without sharing bodies—though you will likely not believe that, my Cam.

But it can be true. What I feel for you is highly intense, whether you are standing next to me or living a hundred miles away. I do not have to be touching you at all to experience what I feel.

The queen and I go out seldom, and I look longingly across the fields from my high window, wishing I were at Waterbury with you. Here lambs wander across green fields and crocuses sprout the colors of spring. I imagine that Waterbury must look much the same, all misty and soft.

Unhappily I do not see much of spring because I sit most of the time behind thickly draped windows with nothing to do but read to Her Majesty, or embroider, or perhaps play on the piano. At least I have time to work on the pillows I’m doing for our parlor, in very bright and cheerful colors. I enjoy picturing what they will look like in our house.

I will write as often as I can, but truth be told, I don’t have many moments to myself. The queen is in a very bad way and needs everyone who can be at her side.

But whenever I undo my buttons to ready myself for bed, I think of you. I imagine your fingers unfastening my gown, opening me like a Christmas parcel for your pleasure. I tingle even now as I think of it, and so I will close before I quite combust and burn the paper.

Please greet our household for me, and your trainers, and the lads at the stables, and the horses, and McNab. I so miss you all!

With my deepest love, my dearest husband,


Your,


Ainsley

“Now, my dear, I will speak to you about your unfortunate marriage to the Mackenzies.”

The queen must be feeling better, Ainsley thought, if she’s bringing up the topic of my elopement.