irretrievable. So I said nothing and I did nothing and—and if John had not died, who knows what would have happened, but one thing is for certain, matters would not have miraculously cured themselves.’
‘You’re telling me that I’m dithering, and I’m making things worse.’
‘I’d have put it a little more tactfully, but yes.’
‘You’re right,’ he said with a sigh, ‘I know you are.’
She settled in the chair opposite him. He was staring into the fire, avoiding her gaze. ‘It is the not knowing,’ he admitted. ‘The ignorance. That’s the hardest bit. I’m so accustomed to knowing every aspect of my own business, to being the man people turn to when there’s a problem. As I said, if something went wrong with the pier, or the new road, I’d know what to do. Or I’d be certain of finding a solution. But here, when it comes to the essence of Strone Bridge, I’m—I’m ashamed. People ask me questions. They look to me for solutions. And I don’t have answers. It’s—it’s— Dammit, Ainsley, I feel like a wee laddie sometimes and I hate it.’
‘Did you imagine I would think less of you for admitting to all this?’
Innes rubbed his eyes. ‘I think less of myself, truth be told. I don’t know what to do, and I don’t see how you can possibly help, for you don’t know any more of the matter than I do. What’s more, though the Rescinding bought me a deal of goodwill, in some ways it’s made matters worse, for not only have I raised all sorts of expectations, I’ve had to write off a load of debt, and the poor, honest souls who have been paying their rent without fail are now resentful of the fact that defaulters have been let off the hook.’
‘Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘Nor I. How could we have?’
Ainsley wrinkled her brow. ‘I don’t suppose you could simply balance the books somehow by writing the other rents off in advance. But no, that wouldn’t really balance the books, would it? It would simply mean that you were in more debt.’
‘It’s not the money that’s the problem, but...’ Innes sat forward. ‘You mean I could give the tenants who are up to date a rent holiday to even matters up?’
‘Do you think it would work?’
‘It’s worth a try. Have you any other genius ideas in that clever wee head of yours?’
Ainsley tried not to feel too pleased. ‘It was hardly genius. In fact it was pretty obvious.’
‘So obvious it didn’t occur to me. Does that mean that you’re a genius or that I’m an idiot? And be careful how you answer that, mind,’ Innes said, grinning.
‘Thank you,’ Ainsley said with a prim smile. ‘I will opt for genius.’
* * *
Waking with a start to the distinctive sound of the heavy front door closing, Ainsley found herself alone. Innes’s pillow was cold. She lay for a while going over their conversation this evening. She wished she hadn’t lost her temper, but on the other hand, if she had not, she doubted she’d have found the courage to say some of those things to him. She had hurt him, but she had forced him to listen. Then when he had, she had been lucid. She had been articulate. She had not backed down.
She sat up to shake out her pillow, which seemed to be most uncomfortable tonight. And her nightgown, too, seemed to be determined to wrap itself around her legs. She had put it on because it had been laid out at the bottom of the bed, as it was every night. Almost every morning, it ended up on the floor. Some nights, she never even got so far as to wear it.
She pummelled at her pillow again, turning it over to find a cool spot. Where was Innes? Was he angry with her? He hadn’t seemed angry. He’d seemed defeated. He was a proud man. Self-made. Independent. All the things she admired about him were also the things that made him the kind of man who found failure impossible to take, and talking about failure even worse. And she had forced him into doing just that. Was he regretting it?
She padded over to the bedroom window, but it looked inland, and there was no sign of Innes, who had most likely headed down to the bay and the workings that would become the pier. Hoping he had more sense than to take a boat out, telling herself he was a grown man who could look after himself and was entitled to his privacy, Ainsley crawled back into bed and screwed her eyes tight.
But it was no good. In overcoming her own reticence, she couldn’t help thinking she had forced him to confront a very harsh reality without having any real solutions to offer. Maybe there simply weren’t any. She sat up, staring wide-eyed into the gloom of the bedchamber, thinking hard. They were neither of them very good at discussions. She was too busy looking for signs that she was being excluded to listen properly, and Innes was too determined not to discuss at all.
Pushing back the covers, Ainsley knelt upon the window seat, peering forlornly and pointlessly out at the empty landscape. Innes was so determined to solve every problem himself, and it wasn’t just because that was what he was used to. He’d admitted it himself, this very night, how small this place made him feel. ‘Like a wee laddie,’ he’d said. He was ashamed, that was what lay at the root of his inability to ask for help, yet he had not a thing to be ashamed of. There had to be a way to save this place without causing further hardship. There had to be.
Ainsley grabbed what she thought were a pair of stockings. Only as she pulled them on, she saw that they were in fact a pair of the thick woollen ones, which Innes had started to wear with his trews. Though he dressed more formally for dinner, he almost always wore trews and a jumper for his forays out on to the estate these days. Tying her boots around the stockings, she decided that one of those heavy jumpers would provide her with much better insulation against the night air than her own cloak, and pulled it over her head. It smelled of fresh air, and somehow distinctively of Innes. The sleeves were far too long, but they’d keep her hands warm, and the garment came almost to her knees. Smiling fleetingly as she pictured Felicity’s face should she ever see her in such an outfit, Ainsley quit the bedchamber and made her way outside.
* * *
She found Innes sitting down in the bay, watching the ebbing tide swirl and eddy around the huge timbers that were the beginnings of the new pier. ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Ainsley said, sitting down beside him on one of the thick planks that lay ready for use, and which had been brought on to the peninsula on an enormous barge that had caused a storm of interest in the village.
He put his arm around her and pulled her close. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, I am.’ Tempting as it was to simply leave it at that and give herself over to the simple comfort of his arm on her shoulders, her cheek on his chest, Ainsley sat up. ‘I do judge you, Innes. I am too much on the lookout for reasons to judge you to listen to what you’re telling me sometimes. I’m sorry.’
‘I forget,’ he said softly. ‘You seem so strong-willed, I forget that there was a time when you did not dare voice your opinions.’ He pushed her hair back from her face. ‘I know it’s not my business. I know you want only to forget, but—did he hurt you, Ainsley?’
‘No.’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘No. Not physically, if that’s what you mean.’
‘It’s what I mean.’
‘Then, no.’
‘Thank heavens. Not that I mean to belittle...’
