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When no footman emerged to take his horse, Royal sighed. He swung his bad leg up over the saddle, grimacing as he made a sliding dismount, putting most of his weight onto his good leg. Thankfully, Demetrius was used to his awkward antics by now, so he did little but shake his bridle, impatient for watering and a feed.
Royal patted his neck. “I know, old fellow, we’ll get you squared away soon enough.”
Noting the absence of posts to tie up his horse, he dropped the reins to the ground. Demetrius was too well behaved to bolt.
He stalked up to the door and knocked, then peered up at the windows on the first floor. Several long seconds passed before a curtain twitched at one of the windows. He waited another few minutes, then once more thudded his fist on the blasted door. This time, he heard the faint echo of his knock.
Unfortunately, it failed to produce any additional proof of life.
He rubbed his forehead. Were Ainsley and her aunt no longer in residence? Was it possible she’d returned to London? She’d said in her last letter that she wouldn’t travel south before June, but she could be impulsive that way, and it was possible she’d decided to defy her father’s orders and return home early.
Or maybe she’d even changed her mind about Cringlewood and decided to marry the blighter. That seemed unlikely, given her apparent animosity toward the marquess. But she wouldn’t be the first woman to change her mind about a man, especially one who was rich, titled, and handsome.
And able-bodied.
Royal closed his eyes and pulled in a few deep breaths, trying to ease the tight feeling in his chest at the thought of Ainsley as another man’s wife. A loud whicker brought him back to himself, and he turned to find Demetrius regarding him with what he swore was equine sympathy.
“I hear you,” he said, returning to pick up the reins. “I’ll never find out the truth if I keep standing about like a pinhead. Let’s see if anyone’s around back.”
They walked around the west-facing wing to find a well-maintained set of stables and two smaller outbuildings. There was also a large kitchen garden, tidily kept and showing evidence of spring planting. Beyond the boxes of vegetables and herbs were ornamental gardens and a lawn that ran down to the loch. The flower garden and the lawns, however, looked poorly tended. In fact, some of the sheep had wandered over from the pasture and were calmly wreaking havoc in the flowerbeds. Royal couldn’t help wincing at the wreckage. Perhaps Lady Margaret had been forced to economize, spending only on those things that supported the estate.
Or perhaps she was as barmy as everyone said and didn’t give a damn about appearances.
One of the stable’s double doors opened and out clomped a stooped-shouldered man dressed in breeches and a smock. His boots were so deplorable it was as if he’d been mucking out the Augean stables. He looked seventy if he was a day but stomped over with a fair degree of energy, even if the scowl on his face suggested he suffered from the rheumatics.
“Here, now. Who are ye to be sneakin’ aboot like a cutpurse?” he barked. “Her ladyship weren’t expectin’ no visitors. Be on yer way, or I’ll be forced to fetch me pistol and have at ye.”
Since there was no pistol in sight, it wasn’t much of a threat. But Royal gave the old fellow full marks for effort. “Your precautions, while laudable, are entirely unnecessary. While I may not be expected, I’m sure Lady Margaret will see me.”
“Then why didn’t ye say that?”
“I just did,” Royal said.
“Bloody nob with yer breaktooth words,” the old man muttered. “I doubt her ladyship will be wantin’ to see the likes of you.”
At least she was home. “I’m a friend of Lady Ainsley Matthews, whoisexpecting me.”
It was an out and out lie, but he had no intention of leaving until he was sure she was safe. His instincts were now practically screaming at him.
His wizened nemesis gaped at him. “Ye know Lady Ainsley is here?”
Royal frowned. “Of course I do. It’s not exactly a secret, is it?”
“Who are ye, if ye don’t mind me askin’?”
“Royal Kendrick. I’ve ridden up from Castle Kinglas to call on Lady Ainsley and her aunt.”
The old man snorted. “One of the Kendrick lads, eh? That explains it.”
Royal wasn’t sure exactly what it explained, but he suspected that the twins’ wild reputation might have made it to this little corner of the Highlands. Still, he fancied that his interrogator’s hostility abated a jot.
“And who do I have the privilege of addressing?” Royal asked with exaggerated politeness.
“Darrow, stable master and coachman to her ladyship. And groom,” he added in a disgruntled tone. “When young Willy is off on errands.”
Lady Margaret must be verging on destitution if she could only employ one decrepit coachman and one groom.
Darrow’s expression suddenly switched to one of professional interest. “That’s a fine piece of horseflesh ye have there.”
