Underneath The Mistletoe Collection. Marguerite Kaye

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      Ainsley smiled to herself as she read this missive. Many of Madame Hera’s correspondents complained of boredom, though none had suggested this novel answer. ‘Take charge,’ Ainsley wrote, ‘of your children, of your housework, of your life!’ She put the pen down, frowning. Mrs A’s husband was doing exactly what was expected of him. More, in fact, than many could or would. Mrs A’s friends might well even envy her. If Mrs A were to dismiss the nanny, or take over the housework, her husband would most likely be insulted. Or offended.

      Ainsley looked at the clock. It was gone two. Innes had left before breakfast this morning, and she had not seen him since. Was he avoiding her? In the days since he had agreed to hold the Rescinding ceremony, he had continued with his visits to various farms and tenants, his poring over documents late into the night. True, she too had been very busy—too busy, in fact, to have any time to devote to anything else, but still, the niggling feeling that she was being pushed to one side would not go away.

      With a sigh of frustration, Ainsley pushed Madame Hera’s half-finished letter to one side and picked up the heavy bunch of castle keys from the desk, intending to consult the tome she had now christened the Drummond Self-Help Manual in the library once more, before taking another look at the Great Hall. Outside, as ever, it was blowy. There were several fishing boats in the bay. She paused to drink in her favourite view and spotted a figure down on the pier. Black coat with long skirts birling in the breeze. Long boots. All the Strone Bridge men wore trews and fishing jumpers or short tweed jackets. Tucking the keys into her pocket beside the notebook and pencil she had brought, Ainsley began to pick her way carefully down the steep path.

      * * *

      The tide was far enough out for Innes to have clambered down underneath the pier when she arrived. ‘What on earth are you doing?’ she asked, peering through one of the planks down at him.

      ‘I was inspecting the struts,’ he said, looking up at her, ‘but now that you’re here, there’s a much nicer view.’

      ‘Innes!’ Scandalised, laughing, she clutched her skirts tightly around her.

      Laughing, he appeared a few moments later on the beach, climbing up the ancient wooden supports of the pier fluidly. ‘Do you always match your garters to your gown?’

      ‘What kind of question is that?’

      ‘One you needn’t answer if you don’t want to, I’m happy to imagine.’ Innes picked a long strand of seaweed from the skirts of his coat and threw it on to the beach. ‘I’m going to have this thing rebuilt.’

      ‘Of course you are! I wonder you didn’t think of it before.’

      ‘Couldn’t see the wood for the trees,’ Innes said wryly. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a pencil and a bit of paper with you?’

      Ainsley delved into her pocket and pulled out the notebook and pencil. ‘Here, I was on my way to the castle when I saw you.’

      ‘How are the arrangements progressing?’

      She was about to launch into a stream of detail, but stopped herself, giving Innes a dismissive shrug instead. ‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ she said.

      He had been scribbling something in her notebook, but he looked up at the change in her tone. ‘I thought you wanted to take this on—have you changed your mind?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Is it too much? Do you need help?’

      ‘No, I told you, there’s nothing for you to worry about. It’s not your problem.’

      Frowning, Innes stuck her pencil behind his ear. ‘Aye, that was it. It’s not your problem. I remember now, that’s what set you off before.’

      ‘I don’t know what you’re implying, but...’

      ‘Actually, it’s what you’re implying, Ainsley,’ he exclaimed. ‘I’m not shutting you out deliberately. I thought we were dividing and conquering, not just dividing, for heaven’s sake. Once and for all, I’m not the man you married, so stop judging me as if I am.’

      She wrapped her arms tightly around herself. ‘I know you’re not.’

      ‘Then what are you accusing me of?’

      ‘Nothing.’ She bit her lip. ‘You don’t talk to me. You don’t value my opinion.’

      ‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong. Do you know what I was doing this morning? No, of course you don’t, for I didn’t tell you—and before you berate me for that, I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure he’d come.’

      ‘Who?’

      ‘Eoin.’

      Her latent anger left her. Ainsley smiled. ‘You’ve spoken to Eoin?’

      ‘I have. I met him at the chapel.’

      ‘And?’

      Innes laughed nervously. ‘And it was difficult.’

      He was clearly uncomfortable. If she did not press him, he would leave it at that. She was pleased, no, more than pleased, that he had taken her advice, though it would most likely result in her further exclusion from matters of the lands. ‘Has Eoin agreed to help you?’ Ainsley asked carefully.

      ‘He has.’

      Innes СКАЧАТЬ