by Regan Walker
Through the open doorway, Muriel heard the front door open. The group of young people rushed inside, brushing snow from their coats and laughing as they bemoaned the effort required to haul the log into the shipyard.
A few minutes later, William strode through the doorway and approached Emily. “We found a good one, Leannan,” he said, kissing her forehead.
The look in Emily’s heather eyes suggested pride in her husband’s achievement in bringing home the Yule log for his English wife.
William greeted Muriel and then dropped his gaze to the book in Emily’s lap. “Did you read all afternoon?”
“No, only a short while. After I showed Muriel around the orangery, we had a lovely English tea.”
Amid much laughter, the others flowed into the parlor. Muriel rose from her chair to allow them access to the fire. Emily, too, got to her feet to stand next to William.
First to reach them was Hugh. She still thought of him as Ormond, having known him by that name since he was a youth. His parents, the Duke and Duchess of Albany, were among her closest friends. “Muriel, you will be gratified to learn we have secured a birch log of sufficient size to burn for days.”
“Yule logs are one tradition I approve of,” she told him.
“This fire is delightful,” remarked Hugh’s wife Mary as she reached her palms toward the flames. “My fingers were frozen around the reins of my horse by the time we got back.”
William said to Muriel and Emily, “We left the log in the shop where the stoves will dry it out. By Christmas Eve, it will be stripped and ready to drag into the house.”
“Oh, good,” said Nick, the eldest Powell brother, bringing his wife Tara with him to warm themselves by the fire. “Another chance to heave a load. ’Tis more work than hauling up one of my anchors.”
Tara poked him in the ribs, which earned her a kiss on her nose. “The exercise will do you much good.”
“I thought I got enough exercise chasing you around our chamber,” Nick teased.
Muriel had scant experience with Americans, but she rather thought this young woman had been just what the arrogant Captain Nicholas Powell had needed. Tara would not let him get away with anything.
“I’m surrounded by rogues,” Muriel muttered.
“Did someone call for me?” asked Robbie in a cheery tone as he stepped up to the group, joined by his twin and Aileen Stephen.
“You’re not the only one of your kind among our guests,” said Aileen. “What about your twin brother?”
Muriel observed the two brothers exchanging a glance that spoke of shared pursuits. Was she wrong in thinking the two men were so very different? She had just begun to ponder how she might sort them out when Aileen spoke up. “You must see the Yule log, Muriel. ’Tis enormous.”
“All in good time, my dear. Doubtless I shall be here to welcome it into the parlor.”
“Did anyone think to gather greenery?” asked Emily of the group now gathered in front of the fire.
“Sorry, no,” said William. “When it began to snow, I thought we had better return. There is always tomorrow.”
Emily gave him a look of approval. “It was wise not to tarry in the woods. Not with the way the snow is coming down.”
Muriel looked out the window, frosted around the edges. The snow descended like a white curtain.
A footman swept into the room carrying a tray of small mugs.
Aileen lifted one from the tray. “Hot cider, anyone?”
Chapter 8
20 December
Nash slipped out of bed, immediately noticing the warmth of the bedchamber. His eyes darted toward the crackling fire. Some worthy servant had stirred the fire banked the night before, bless him.
In the bed next to his, Robbie slept on.
Crossing the room to the window facing the back of the house, he wiped the steam from the glass and gazed out at the snow-covered landscape. Shafts of light from the rising sun glistened in the branches of the snow-laden evergreen trees. He stared contentedly at the magical scene, so far from the hurried pace of London, and felt his soul take a deep breath.
Suddenly, across his vision streaked the two black setters, leaping to stay above the snow. Laughter sounded as a snowball flew toward the dogs that barked loudly when the snowball found its target. Nash turned his head to glimpse their intrepid mistress in a man’s breeches, boots and jacket, a blue tartan scarf around her neck.
She stood on a rock rising above the snow, her bright red hair hanging to her shoulders. Had he not seen Tara wearing breeches on Nick’s ship, he might have been surprised, but the bold decision to wear a man’s clothing seemed consistent with Ailie’s character. She wore them very well, her long shapely legs catching his eye.
The dogs barked as they dashed toward her, creating furrows in the snow with their bodies. When they reached Ailie, they tried to jump onto the rock but only sank deeper, their muzzles coated with snowflakes.
She laughed all the harder, bending over, hands on her knees.
Nash could not recall the last time he’d engaged in such lighthearted frivolity. He envied Ailie’s playmates the fun they were having with their mistress.
The sight of her copper hair and her beautiful laughing face brought an excitement to the day as he anticipated seeing her again. Perhaps he would ask her to go with him in search of greenery this morning. He could put off the trip to Arbroath’s taverns till the afternoon, or possibly postpone the Crown’s business until tomorrow. Surely he and Robbie had time.
Last night, Nash had learned of Robbie’s trip to the town and the altercation in one of the taverns. Robbie had an excellent memory, which made him especially good at cards. From his one visit to Arbroath, he’d drawn a detailed plan of the town, including the harbor, the main streets, the taverns and the ships tied up at the quay. The detail of the streets and tavern names had been very fine, requiring them to don their spectacles to capture it all.
From his brother’s drawing, it became clear there were more taverns to investigate than they had time. “We’ll have to get lucky if we’re to find Kinloch,” he had told Robbie. “And we’ve a ship’s passenger list to confirm.” If Kinloch were in Arbroath, as they believed he was, he would inevitably come to town to while away the hours with his fellow rebels as he waited for the ship to sail. What else had he to occupy his time?
It made sense the man from Dundee would have booked cabins on the Panmure if his destination, like Captain Gower’s, was France. After all, there Kinloch would find his views welcomed.
All the pieces fit.
Nash watched Ailie frolicking in the snow with her dogs, thinking of how his own views had changed since Manchester. After the poverty and despair he had witnessed, he had begun to question whether those advocating reform were the radicals the government claimed them to be.
Sidmouth feared a revolution like the one that had forever changed France: the loss of the monarchy, the murder of nobility and radicals taking over the government. That he was prepared—with the support of the prince regent—to do violence to prevent such an outcome had been well demonstrated.
Two years before, their brother Martin had been in Derbyshire to witness the violent end of the uprising there. And Nash had not forgotten the madness in Manchester that had almost claimed his life.
A gentleman Scot who could draw ten thousand to his cause had to be dealt with or so Sidmouth had told them when he ordered them north. Nash had hesitated, but Robbie did not. In the end, Nash had decided to go to Scotland, for he would not let his brother undertake such a task alone. Robbie relied upon him as a designer of plans.
Ailie and her dogs suddenly disappeared from his view. Not wishing to delay, he turned to face Robbie, still abed. “The day is upon us, Brother.”
Robbie stirred, groaned and rolled over, turning his back to Nash.
“Very well. I shall see you whenever you manage to rise.”
Eager to see Ailie, Nash slipped on his coat and left the chamber.
He reached the top of the stairs just as she was ascending, her head down, her man’s clothing covered with snow. Anticipating the inevitable collision, he reached out and held her arms to steady her lest she lose her footing.
“Oh!” She started, lifting her eyes to him.
He gave her a grin that would have done Robbie proud. “Is this what the stylish young Scottish miss is wearing this winter?”
Hand over her heart, she said, “Really, Robbie, you scared me to death.”
“It’s Nash you have nearly sent flying in your haste, but I shall forgive you the error. Have you had breakfast yet?”
She paused to study his face for a moment. “Oh, sorry, Nash. No, I’ve not eaten. I was hoping to change before anyone saw me. The snow’s too thick for me to exercise the dogs wearing skirts.”
“Personally, I like you clothed in this manner.” He dropped his hands from her arms to look down at her close-fitting breeches. “Tara would call you a kindred spirit.”
Her face was close to his as she looked up at him from the stair below. Her freckles, scattered over her nose like fairy dust, caused him to lean in. It would be so easy to bend his head and kiss her. He wondered if he should attempt it, but he never got the chance.
She climbed the last stair and walked past him, then looked back. “Wait for me and I will join you for breakfast.” Laughing, she added, “Save me some haddies.”
“The whole plate,” he replied with a smirk.
He watched her as she made her way to her chamber, her long hair hanging down her back like a waterfall of molten copper. A beauty, indeed, with a spirit to match her red hair. A woman he wouldn’t mind waking up to for the rest of his life.
As he descended the stairs he decided he must find a way to distinguish himself from his twin, else she would continue to get them confused. He wanted her to see him for the man he was, to recognize him at first sight. More, he wanted her to believe he was the man who could win her heart. A kiss might do it, confirming for them both what lay between them.
In his plans, he would find a way.
Rising with the sun, Ailie had thought to avoid being seen by their English guests. It would have to be Nash she encountered, who she had mistakenly believed to be Robbie only because of that impertinent grin he’d given her. Once she had looked deeply into his hazel eyes and felt the effect of his presence, the force of his gaze, she recognized him.
She enjoyed the company of both twins, but only Nash turned her legs to jelly. When he’d placed his hands on her arms to keep her from falling, she had felt his strength anchoring her to the stair. With any other man, she would have brushed away his hands, but she had not wanted him to let go of her. Perhaps that is why she had told him about her dream of the Ossian. It had seemed perfectly natural to share with him what she had shared with no other.
In her chamber, Rhona was waiting for her. “Good day, Mistress. Did ye enjoy yer morning walk?”
“More like a romp. Goodness and Mercy are especially frisky this morning with the new snow. I ran them till they were panting from navigating the deep drifts. They lie fagged out in the kitchen.”
Rhona chuckled and helped her peel off the soaked clothes. “Ye do more for those dogs than ye would a man.”
Ailie toweled off her damp skin in front of the fire and put on a clean shift and corset, showing her back to her maid. “Oh, I don’t know about that. You have yet to see what I would do for a man I loved.”
Rhona pulled the laces tight. “Ye’re right in that, Mistress. Will ye be going outside again this morning?”
“To gather greens with the whole lot of them, I expect. I look forward to seeing the house decorated for the season and smelling Martha’s shortbread.” In truth, Ailie loved this time of year. Spending it with Nash Powell, his brothers and their wives and their friends had turned out to be more than a little diverting. She was actually enjoying herself.
“Shall ye wear the bottle green woolen gown?” Rhona asked, sorting through Ailie’s gowns.
“Aye, and the dark green cloak.” Rhona slipped the gown over her head and fastened the buttons.
“How is the countess?” Ailie inquired, taking a seat at her dressing table, aghast to see her hair had become tangled from the morning’s activity.
Rhona patiently combed through the tangles. “She is verra well. I am coming to like her and her ways. She can sound cross sometimes, but I think ’tis just an act.”
“I thought the same. I am glad she decided to come. Emily is so happy to have her here.”
Rhona gathered Ailie’s hair and tied it at her nape with a ribbon. “If you do not require more, I’ll be off to tend her.”
“Go.”
When Rhona quit the chamber, Ailie took out her quill and ink and jotted a short note in her diary.
20 December
I am to meet Nash Powell (the twin I took to the shipyard) for breakfast, so this will be short. The snow that fell last night is so deep I fear none of the workers will make it into the shipyard today. However, Goodness and Mercy are pleased and enjoyed their morning romp. As for the rest of us, we’ve plenty of food in the larder and the Yule log has been acquired so ’twill be a day of gathering greenery to decorate the house and perhaps card games in the parlor. Emily says Mrs. Platt will make wassail.
She decided not to record in her diary her growing attraction for Nash Powell. Besides, she had yet to determine if he was the man in her dream. It could be either Nash or his twin brother. And why had she seen a tavern? None of their guests had yet to go to Arbroath town. Could it have been a scene in London?
By the time she got to the dining room, it was filled with their guests. She paused in the doorway, listening. At one end of the table, Muriel was opining on the importance of a London season for a young lady.
The countess garnered many arguments to the contrary, the most strident from Nick’s wife Tara, who had found her brief time in London’s social whirl disappointing.
Mary agreed, glad her season had been cut short by her trip to France where she’d fallen in love with the marquess who became her husband.
Emily and Kit sided with the countess, saying they enjoyed their time of parties, balls and dinners. “The year was all too short,” said Kit.
Ailie took a plate from the sideboard and added to it some haddies, eggs and girdle scones before taking the chair next to the Powell twin she thought had to be Nash. She was rewarded when he leaned in to whisper, “You clean up well, Mistress Stephen.”
“Thanks, I do try.” She hadn’t noticed his clothing when she had narrowly avoided colliding with him on the stairs. Now she could see his cinnamon-colored coat fit his shoulders to perfection. His cravat, like the other men’s, was white and simply tied.
“How about you, Ailie?” Will asked from the other end of the table.
She stopped eating and looked up with raised brows. She had been so occupied with thoughts of Nash, she had lost the thread of the conversation.
Will persisted. “Are you still glad you rejected the idea of a season when Father first proposed sending you to London?”
Embarrassed that all their guests should know of it, Ailie nevertheless admitted the reason she had declined. “I could not imagine the haut ton accepting a Scot in their midst.”
Loud protests sounded around the table.
“Now there you would be wrong,” the countess stated emphatically. Everyone quieted, leaning in to hear what Muriel had to say. “You would be a novelty, Aileen, and there is nothing the aristocracy likes so much as a novelty. That said, you have no need for a season.” The countess fixed her eyes on Ailie, who expected the silver-haired woman to peer at her through her quizzing glass at any moment.
The focus of everyone’s attention, Ailie fought the urge to squirm.
“I can take you under my wing and show you all around London,” the countess continued. “Of course, you would have to allow me to remake you in the image of the débutante with silk and satin gowns and your
hair done up in curls, perhaps with a feather or two.” Muriel’s mouth twitched up, hinting at a smile. “At my side, no one would challenge your right to enter London Society. And I daresay the young men would follow you around like puppies.”
Ailie felt Nash stiffen at her side. She wasn’t sure she wanted men, especially English men, following her about like puppies.
Robbie suddenly appeared at the door as handsome as his twin and wearing his usual grin. “Indeed, they would. Good morning all,” he greeted them, receiving nods from the men before striding to the side table.
“What say you to Muriel’s offer?” asked Emily. Ailie could see by her eager expression, her sister-in-law approved of the idea.
All eyes on her, Ailie felt her cheeks flood with heat. Did she want to do such an outrageous thing? Go to London to be surrounded by the English? It was what her parents would want but Ailie had always preferred to stay in Scotland immersed in building ships.
“The Countess of Claremont is known by all of London to be a grand lady,” Hugh encouraged. “And much loved, I might add. Her parties are the hit of the season.”
“There’s not a person of worth who would risk missing one of her balls,” put in Martin. “The countess can be a formidable ally or, should one cross her, a formidable enemy. None would dare offend her or anyone in her favor.”
Ailie considered the elegant older woman with new eyes. “Truly?”
“They exaggerate, my dear,” said Muriel, “but I do not. You have only to ask Emily, whom I tutored along. The invitation is yours to accept.”
From across the table, Emily set down her teacup and gave Ailie an encouraging smile.
Her breakfast forgotten, Ailie asked, “Might I think on it?”
Will winked at the countess. “I suspect Muriel will give you until she sails for London to decide.”