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There’d been nothing comical about her behavior last January in Glasgow. Her changeable, even erratic emotions now finally made perfect sense. It was clear to him that much of her conduct had been generated by fear of scandal and fear of what Cringlewood would do if he discovered her pregnancy.
Lady Margaret finally gave over her tetchy mood. “I know my household must seem rather ridiculous to you, Mr. Kendrick, but there is a method to our madness.”
“Not ridiculous or mad in the least, my lady,” he said. “Just a wee bit unusual.”
“‘Ridiculous’ does rather fit the bill,” Ainsley said, struggling to reach for the teapot.
“Here, let me,” Royal said, jumping up too quickly for his protesting thigh.
Ainsley frowned. “Be careful of your leg. I’m sure your ride today wasn’t good for it.”
“My leg is fine, pet,” he said as he prepared her cup.
“Iamgoing to hire you,” Lady Margaret said with approval. “After all, there’s nothing like a handsome footman in livery to cheer up the ladies, eh? That’s why I hired Hector all those years ago.” She winked at Ainsley. “It wasn’t for his skill in polishing the silver, I assure you.”
Ainsley pressed a finger to her lips. Royal couldn’t tell if she was amused or horrified.
“Sadly, my lady, I must draw the line at prancing about in livery,” he said, trying not to think about who exactly polished what, back in Hector’s better days.
“Ah, well,” said Lady Margaret, “I suppose you wouldn’t look any better in livery than you do in that kilt, so I’ll just have to be grateful for small favors.”
Royal made a mental note to avoid spending any time alone with the old girl.
“Speaking of additional help,” he said, determined to change the subject, “I’m assuming you have such a small staff in order to protect Ainsley’s privacy. You’ve pulled it off exceedingly well. I heard not a word of gossip in the village, and I did ask questions.”
“And I am determined to keep it that way. Do you understand?” Lady Margaret asked.
“You have my word that Ainsley’s secret is safe with me.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” she replied. “I’d be most distressed to order Hector to shoot you and toss your body into the loch.”
The notion of Hector lurking about with an old flintlock was rather alarming. “I don’t imagine my family would be too happy about it either.”
“She’s joking,” Ainsley said. “But it hasn’t been easy. Not for any of us.”
“Did you let some of the servants go? Surely, you’re not always this short staffed.”
Ainsley shrugged. “Yes, we are, actually. Betty, Cook, and Hector take care of the house, and there’s old Ben and Willy in the stables. Others come in from the village as needed.”
“Could never abide legions of servants tromping around my house,” the old woman said. “Or guests, for that matter. All they do is eat their fool heads off, natter like idiots, and cause a great deal of fuss and bother.”
Royal arched an eyebrow at Ainsley. “Underhill Manor seems perfect for your needs.”
“Thank God,” she said. “I would have been sunk without Aunt Margaret and Underhill to safeguard me from . . . well, you know.”
Whenever Royal thought of the marquess, he wanted to punch something—preferably Cringlewood’s rotten face.
“I wondered why you wouldn’t stay in Glasgow for Nick and Victoria’s wedding celebration,” he said. “It seemed odd at the time.”
“I wanted to be there,” she said. “But I was beginning to gain too much weight.”
He’d noticed she was plumper as soon as he first laid eyes on her in the Glasgow Assembly Rooms in December. She’d carried it well—and still carried it well—but he’d had no idea of the cause. No one had, except possibly Victoria, and she’d never breathed a word.
“When did you know you were . . .” He waved a vague hand in the direction of her stomach.
Ainsley blushed. “Well, um . . .”
Lady Margaret rolled her eyes. “It is beyond me why the young people today are so missish. When I was young, we didn’t mince words on such matters. Ainsley became pregnant at the end of August.”
