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“I’m sorry you were denied a proper wedding celebration,” he added. “I’d hoped we’d have time to invite some of your friends up from London.”
“I don’t really have any friends I’d want to invite. If you want to know the truth, I simply don’t have many friends. Not true ones, anyway, except for Edie and Alec, and they’d already left town.”
The Gilbrides had departed Glasgow a few days ago to return home to Blairgal Castle.
“Not even old schoolgirl friends?” he asked, surprised.
She tilted her head to give him a quizzical smile. “Surely you noticed during your time in London that I didn’t have many female friends.”
“I assumed none of them could get near you, given the pack of suitors that always surrounded you.”
“The reality is considerably less flattering, I’m afraid. I generally wasn’t that interested in spending time with other girls my age, since all we ever seemed to talk about were clothes and potential suitors.” She shook her head. “I was obviously spending my time with the wrong people. It’s no wonder I didn’t have many real friends.”
“It sounds rather lonely.”
“At the time I put it down to boredom with the usual round of social inanities. That’s why I liked you so much when we first met. Aside from that poetic, brooding persona of yours, you trulylistenedto me, instead of treating me as a possession to be acquired or a challenge to be won.” She flashed him a quick smile. “Even better, I could be rude and you never seemed to mind.”
“That’s because I was even ruder, a standard requirement for a poetic, brooding persona. Compared to me, you were a rank amateur.”
She laughed. “I suppose that’s true. I always felt like I could be myself when I was with you.”
“That’s because we both knew you were never going to marry me. It meant you could say whatever you wanted with little regard for the consequences.”
He instantly regretted his blunt words. “Sorry, love. I didn’t mean—”
She cut him off with an impatient jerk of the head. “You’re not wrong, which was more a reflection on me than it was on you. I used to be a terrible snob. I suppose I still am, so you shouldn’t even bother trying to deny it.”
They lapsed into a rather awkward silence. Ainsley stared into the fire, a slight frown creasing her brow, while Royal pondered what would happen when they finally retired for the night.
Just ask her what she wants.
“Ainsley—”
“I still cannot believe your middle name is Lancelot,” she said, interrupting him. “I was quite stunned to hear it during the marriage ceremony. Who chose it?”
He studied her brittle smile. “Do you really wish to know, or are you simply coming up with idle conversation because you’re nervous?”
Her smile went charmingly sideways. “Is it that obvious?”
He tapped a gentle finger to her cheek. “It’s perfectly understandable. But remember the promise I made to you in the park?”
“That you’ll never push me to do anything I don’t want to do?”
“Yes, so there’s no need to be nervous, is there?”
“Well, but I would still like to know who came up with such a fanciful name. And since wearesupposed to be celebrating, I’d like a bit more brandy, if I may.”
While he went to replenish her glass, Ainsley wandered over to the wall of windows overlooking the loch. She pressed her hand to a pane and appeared to intently study the night-shrouded landscape.
“So?” she asked when he came to stand beside her.
“My mother named me. She had a romantic soul and loved the old Arthurian tales. I’m sure my exceedingly Scottish father was appalled, but he adored her, so Royal Lancelot Kendrick it was.”
“Your older brothers must have teased you about it.”
“Logan tried. But after a salutary thrashing from Nick, he desisted.”
“Then I will be sure never to call you Lancelot in the earl’s presence.”
