The Many Sins of Lord Cameron
Page 87

Ainsley stifled surprise. Patrick rarely criticized anyone, even obliquely, and especially not the Queen of England.
Patrick shrugged. “Bless her, she’s Hanoverian. Not even a Stuart. I rather agree with Hart Mackenzie that Scotland should be independent, although I’m skeptical at his chances to put it that way.”
Ainsley looked at her brother, her heart full. “Then you forgive me? Or at least understand?”
“I told you, there’s nothing to forgive. You followed your heart, and this time, you were wise enough to make the choice with your head as well. I would like to meet Lord Cameron before I fully make up my mind, but I trust you.” Patrick let out his breath. “Now, what the devil is this crime you want me to help you commit?”
“Not a crime. Merely a little deception.”
Before Patrick could answer, Angelo came out on deck, followed by a diminutive woman dressed in soot black, her head covered with a scarf. She peered from the deck to Patrick and Ainsley with vibrant eyes.
“Well?” she said in a loud, heavily accented voice. “Why are they just standing there? Help them on you lazy louts!”
The man with the pipe sprang to his feet and vaulted over the side to pick up Ainsley’s valise.
“My lady,” Angelo said, teeth flashing in a grin. “And sir. My mother.”
The woman reached for Ainsley as Ainsley stepped across to the deck. “Welcome, my dear. Goodness, your hair is very yellow. It ain’t dyed, is it?”
Patrick gave her a shocked look. “It’s pure Scottish gold, madam.”
“Humph, I thought Scottish gold was whiskey.” Her look softened for Ainsley. “You’re quite beautiful, my dear. His lordship has come to his senses at last, I see. Now you come over here and sit down with me. I’ve made a nice space for you to settle while you watch the world float by.”
Patrick stuffed his handkerchief into his pocket as he followed Ainsley and the woman across the deck. The Romany with the pipe carried Ainsley’s and Patrick’s valises below, and Angelo cast off the ropes.
“I hope it doesn’t rock too much,” Patrick said as he sat down, the children eyeing him with curiosity. “You know how deucedly sick I get on boats.”
When Ainsley’s coach stopped, a week later, at Waterbury Grange in Berkshire, the carriage door was wrenched open for her by none other than Hart Mackenzie.
“Your Grace,” Ainsley said in surprise as Hart reached in and swung her to the ground. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking after the family.” The duke nodded at Patrick, who remained in the coach clutching his hat. “Where’s Angelo?”
“Following,” Ainsley said. “Where’s Cam?”
“Snarling at all and sundry.” Hart fixed Ainsley with a sharp stare. “You haven’t written him. Not lately.”
Ainsley reached for her valise. “I couldn’t. First, I’ve been living on a canal boat, and we never stopped near enough to a village where I could mail a letter. Second, I have a surprise for Cameron, and I knew I’d never contain myself if I wrote him. My pen would betray me.”
Hart clearly didn’t believe the last part, but he led her to the house without further admonishment. Patrick, assisted by a footman, climbed down and followed, and servants swarmed to the coach to unload their baggage.
Ainsley broke away from Hart when they reached the house and its wide front hall.
“Cam,” she shouted, dropping her valise. “I’m home.”
She heard a squeal as Isabella ran out of the parlor, arms outstretched. Isabella was nicely round with her pregnancy, so soft to hug. Mac came from the parlor after her, and Beth, also pleased and plump, hurried down the stairs with Ian and Daniel.
Daniel swept Ainsley into a strong hug. “I knew you’d come back. Didn’t I say so? Dad!” he bellowed up the stairs as he set Ainsley on her feet. “It’s Ainsley!”
“He knows, lad.” Mac laughed. “I think the whole county knows.”
Cameron clattered in through the back passage, the entrance he used when returning from the stables, and everyone went silent.
Cameron halted on the flagstones when he saw Ainsley, his boots and riding breeches splattered with mud. It was all Ainsley could do not to rush to him, her tall, strong horseman with the topaz eyes.
“Hello, Cam,” she said.
Cameron’s scarred cheek moved, but the rest of him remained still.
“I’ve brought my brother with me. Cam, this is Patrick McBride.”
Patrick made a little bow. “How do you do, your lordship?”
Cameron dragged his gaze to Patrick, made a stiff, polite nod, then moved right back to Ainsley.
Hart laid his hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “Mr. McBride, why don’t we wet your throat with a little Mackenzie malt?”
Patrick brightened and followed Hart into the parlor, where Hart pointedly closed the doors. The others began to fade up the stairs or outside, Beth taking Ian’s arm and walking him out the front.
Only Daniel remained, stubbornly, by the foot of the stairs. “Don’t say anything stupid, Dad.”
“Daniel,” Cameron said.
“Stay all you like, Danny.” Ainsley removed her hat and tossed it to a table, then fished inside her valise and removed some papers. “I do apologize, Cameron, for taking so long to come home. But Lord Pierson is a bloody stubborn man. He took some convincing. Patrick did remarkably well, I thought. He ought to have gone on the stage.”