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.”