Once Upon a Christmas Past

by Regan Walker

  Hugh grinned. “Have you never heard of L’Engoulevent, the Nighthawk?”

  Will raised a brow. “You?”

  Hugh bowed. “À votre service.”

  “You are a famous hero, Ormond. A glass of my best cognac is definitely in order.”

  Hugh chuckled. “If it earns me some of your fine cognac, I accept the accolade.”

  Ailie arrived in the dining room just as luncheon was being served. A quick glance around the table told her Robbie had elected to remain in his room. He was still dizzy when he’d tried to stand so it was not beyond reason for him to take the noon meal in his chamber.

  Or, he might be hiding from her wrath.

  She darted a glance at Will, who returned her a slight nod, telling her he had matters in hand. Very well, she would trust him to deal with the Powell twins’ betrayal.

  From across the table, Nash gave her a look of regret. It was the first time they sat apart. She averted her gaze. He could hardly expect her to overlook his perfidy, engaging in a dangerous pursuit that might have brought those ruffians to their home or got both of them killed. As it was, Robbie lay wounded. And Kinloch, a hero to many Scots, might have been tossed into prison or worse.

  How could she love a government spy who had lied to her?

  As bowls of haddie stew were served, everyone set into their food, except for Nash, whose bowl was still full when the others were almost finished.

  Will set aside his spoon and sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. “It appears we have been harboring spies in our midst.”

  The announcement brought dead silence to the table and guilty expressions on most of the faces. The only one whose expression indicated surprise was Emily. Beneath her ebony brows her heather eyes were frowning.

  So the rest of them all knew.

  “I only learned today,” Will continued, “that my good friend, the Marquess of Ormond, has acted the spy for the Crown. In fact, Ormond is the stuff of legends, the one known as L’Engoulevent, the Nighthawk.”

  Emily gasped. “Oh, I just loved him! You, Hugh?”

  At Hugh’s nod, Emily beamed.

  Ailie did not know the name but her sister-in-law obviously did. Her worshipful gaze aimed at Hugh was a bit too much. Mary reached over and gave her husband a kiss on the cheek, obviously proud of whatever he had been doing as the Nighthawk.

  When the excitement over Hugh’s achievement died down, Will said, “And it seems the Powell brothers have all been, as Hugh puts it, ‘agents for the Crown’. Sir Martin earned his knighthood spying for the government in France, making use of his fluent French. Captain Nicholas Powell is famous for going against the notorious pirate Roberto Cofresi and besting him. And now, to bring you all to the current day, Nash and Robbie Powell have been spying for Lord Sidmouth in Arbroath before our very noses.”

  This drew frowns from all save Nash who lowered his gaze to his soup.

  “Do tell,” said Nick to his youngest brother. “Now that the family secret’s out, what have you two been up to?”

  Ailie watched as Nash raised his head and set his shoulders back as if bracing for a storm. “Sidmouth sent us north to Manchester in August to search out what he believed was a rebellion brewing among the factory workers. He was wrong, and I nearly lost my life in the bloodbath that followed.”

  “Dear Nash, do not speak of blood whilst we are eating,” put in Muriel. “’Tis bad form.”

  “Forgive me, Muriel.”

  “Good God,” said Martin. “Mother never told us.”

  “We asked her not to,” replied Nash.

  Emily turned to the countess. “Did you know they were all spies, Muriel?”

  “Having my own connections at Whitehall, I knew much of it. But even I was not aware the twins had accepted an assignment from Sidmouth. I consider that man beyond the pale. Never did trust him.”

  Hugh directed a disapproving look at Nash. “You should have confided in me, Nash, and in our host. William had a right to know. Look where your secret has led. Your own brother lies wounded.”

  As disgusted as she was, Ailie could not allow them to unjustly point all the blame at Nash. “It was Robbie who fired on Kinloch and the men with him, wasn’t it, Nash?”

  “Robbie only meant to warn them.”

  “Well, there is one good thing come of it,” said Muriel. With all eyes on her, the countess smiled, a very knowing smile, thought Ailie. “We’ll be able to tell you and your twin apart from now on. And a scar looks good on a rogue.”

  Muriel sat by the Yule log fire in one of the comfy velvet wing chairs she favored, a glass of Madeira on the small table next to her, as she finished another chapter in the Waverley novel she was reading.

  The Antiquary, set in the century past, took place in the fictional seaside town of Fairport, which she believed was actually Arbroath. She had come to this conclusion because it was an open secret in London that the author was Walter Scott even though the book had been published anonymously. Muriel knew that Scott had traveled to Arbroath more than once. As described in the book, the two places, including the ruined abbey, were too similar not to be the same.

  She was just thinking how appropriate her reading choice was in light of the discussion during luncheon when Aileen Stephen traipsed into the parlor and claimed the other wing chair.

  “Aileen, whatever has caused that despairing look on your lovely face?”

  “How can I not despair, Muriel, when the man I cared for betrayed my trust? Lurking about Arbroath, spying on a Scottish gentleman I respect, all the time hiding the truth from me.”

  “Ah, secrets,” said Muriel, shifting her gaze to the flames. Lifting her glass of Madeira, she sipped the rich wine, then quoted aloud a line from Walter Scott’s poem, Marmion. “Oh! What a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive!”

  “Exactly.”

  Muriel returned her gaze to the distraught young woman. “Come now, is there no room in your heart to forgive the young man and his brother? When I last saw Nash, he appeared most miserable.”

  Aileen pursed her lips and fiddled with her hands, clearly uncomfortable with the stand she had taken.

  Muriel fixed her gaze on Aileen. “I doubt Ormond and the elder Powell brothers confided all they were doing to the women who became their wives. As I recall, only Kit was married when her husband was acting the spy in Pentridge and he never told her. ’Tis worse in your case, of course, because Nash and his brother spied on one of your countrymen, a man you admire, with the intent to put him in prison. But didn’t Nash come to dislike the task he was given?”

  “Aye. I suppose he did, though he still went to town with Robbie to search out Kinloch.” Aileen suddenly jumped up from her chair. “Is there more of the Madeira?”

  Muriel smiled to herself. “Why, yes. Just there on the sideboard.”

  Aileen returned with a glass of the wine. “I will consider forgiving him, but whether I do or not, I have decided to accept your invitation to come to London. That is, if you will still have me.”

  “Oh yes, my dear. I would welcome your company in London. I dare say you would be quite the hit.”

  From where he reclined on his bed, Robbie looked out the window, watching tree branches whip about in the wind. The deep rumble of thunder and a crack of lightning shook the house, unmistakable signs a storm was battering the Forfarshire coast.

  Nash left his book and went to the window. “No one’s going anywhere in this.”

  “A good afternoon to stay inside,” Robbie agreed. “Now that our secret’s out, perhaps we should go down to dinner together. They aren’t likely to scourge us.” Unlike Nash, Ailie’s earlier visit had not discouraged Robbie. He was not even feeling badly for having lost his prey. Nash might well have been correct in his thinking; Kinloch was not a bad sort and putting him in prison would serve no purpose except to rile the Scots.

  Nash turned from the window. “We might be in for a verbal scourging. You would think so if you’d seen t
he scowl Ailie gave me when she arrived at luncheon.”

  “Worry not. I will speak our apology and the lass will forgive you. In my experience, they always do. Look at our brothers’ wives and all they have forgiven them. Love makes even the veriest harridan most amenable.”

  “You say that like one who has taken advantage.”

  Robbie slung his legs over the edge of his bed, preparing to rise. He paused as the room spun. “Many times, Brother. Many times.”

  “Shameless, that’s what you are.”

  “I’ll not deny it.” Robbie chuckled, or tried to, but his head pounded and the wound in his temple ached. He had refused more laudanum, hating the effect of the opiate, and sent Mr. Wilson away with his thanks when the physician had graciously braved the storm to check on his patient. “By the bye, did you know of Ormond’s exploits in France?”

  “Not until William revealed them. Just think, our new friend Hugh, the Marquess of Ormond, is an infamous hero of our time. I suppose he would have been knighted for his service in France, like our brother, Martin, if he weren’t already heir to a dukedom.”

  Thankful the room had stopped spinning, Robbie checked his bandage to make sure it would not fall into his eyes as he descended the stairs. “A baronet is far beneath a duke. Moreover, Ormond has the courtesy title of marquess to toss about. I like him all the more that he does not.”

  “I agree. William has no title at all, yet Hugh calls him his chum.”

  “Come on, Nash. Help me up. I want to go down to dinner, but I’ll need you to steady me else I’ll arrive at the bottom of the stairs face first.”

  With Nash beside him, Robbie entered the dining room to looks of concern from the ladies and shakes of the head from the men. He subsided into a chair across from Nick and Tara and took up his napkin.

  “You look like a soldier off the battlefield,” said Tara.

  Robbie intended to make light of his injury, not wishing to curry either condemnation or sympathy. After all, he had only himself to blame. “I rather think the bandage adds to my appeal, don’t you?”

  From Muriel, two seats away, came a muffled, “Humph.”

  “Oh, very well, yes,” Robbie admitted, “I grant you it’s a pathetic attempt to justify my altered appearance.” He picked up his spoon as the soup was served, a rich broth replete with carrots, turnips, peas and other vegetables, one of which was decidedly dark green, to which had been added barley and lamb. “A hearty soup for a stormy day and most welcome.”

  “’Tis a Scottish dish called hotch potch,” offered Ailie, who appeared too reserved to be her usual self. He assumed her dour countenance and her failure to greet Nash or him with her usual smile meant she had not yet forgiven them the morning’s revelations.

  “I like the soup,” he replied, “as I have all the Scottish dishes to which you have introduced us.” Then, addressing himself to William and Hugh, sitting at one end of the table, he changed the subject. “I know Nash and I have presumed upon your good graces in failing to tell you of our assignment from Lord Sidmouth, which,” he said, glancing at the others, “I assume you are all now aware of. We ask your humble pardon.”

  Nash nodded. “We do.”

  “If it matters,” added Robbie, “we failed in our mission. George Kinloch has safely sailed to France, just ahead of the storm.”

  Emily’s eyes darted to Robbie and Nash. “On behalf of my husband and our other guests, we accept your apology. Hugh has explained that you are not alone in being drafted by the Crown for special assignments, and that Lord Ormond and your brothers have also served in such a capacity.”

  “Even I spied for the Crown in France,” put in Mary.

  “Not with my blessing,” scolded Hugh.

  “We were not wed then, my love,” replied the fair-haired marchioness with a mischievous grin.

  Robbie knew his brothers’ wives were hoydens and apparently Lady Ormond followed in their footsteps.

  William took that moment to raise his wine glass. “We are glad Mr. Kinloch escaped our shores. There are enough so-called enemies of the Crown rotting in prison. There need not be another from Scotland joining them. So, with that in mind, I propose a toast to a new day and the celebration of the New Year that awaits us in Stonehaven, that is if the weather allows.”

  Everyone, save Ailie, raised their glass. “To a new day!”

  At the end of William’s toast, Muriel said, “Emily, per chance is the dark green matter floating in the soup kale?”

  To Robbie’s eternal gratitude, everyone laughed, bringing much-needed merriment to the otherwise somber session of confession and pardon. Alas, Nash would have much work ahead of him if he were to win forgiveness from the Mistress of the Setters.

  Emily indulged her friend. “No, dear Muriel, ’tis spinach.”

  “Ah,” breathed the countess, “I am much relieved.” With that, Muriel began to consume her soup.

  Robbie breathed a sigh of relief. At least one storm had passed.

  The storm beating against her window meant that Ailie would be denied her late night stroll to gaze at the stars. Instead, she retired to her chamber to sit by the fire and stare into the flames, contemplating her future. Her tartan shawl was draped over her nightclothes and Goodness and Mercy lay curled up at her feet, bringing her comfort after a disturbing day.

  Before William had wed Emily and Ailie had come to love her sister-in-law, she would never have considered an Englishman as a prospective husband. But now, in accepting Muriel’s invitation to come to London, she had placed the possibility squarely in her path.

  Despite her anger at Nash for failing to disclose his spying, she had not forgotten all she loved about him, his gentle touch, his humor, his passionate kisses, his approval of her ship design work that would forever be a part of her life, and his easy acceptance of life in Arbroath. When she thought of a future husband, his face was the only one that appeared in her mind. But could that ever be after what he had done? The others, even William and Emily, had been quick to forgive. Why was it so hard for Ailie?

  She reached down to scratch Goodness behind his ears. Content, he did not even stir. Getting to her feet, she went to her writing desk and took up her quill. Dipping it in the ink, she began to write.

  27 December

  How do I begin to speak of a day in which many secrets were revealed? Nash Powell is a government spy! Along with his brother, Robbie, he had planned to arrest George Kinloch, the laird from Dundee who spoke for all Scots in condemning the bloodbath at Manchester. Worse, Nash told me nothing of it. Yesterday, I saw the horror of it unfolding on the streets of Arbroath. I heard the pistols firing; I saw Robbie lying in a pool of blood; and I feared for his life.

  My dreams now make perfect sense. They warned me of men in taverns, where, like as not, Nash and Robbie acted the spies, and told me one of the twins would be shot. I have to confess I was glad Nash was not the one wounded, but I am furious with him for sharing his kisses while hiding his deception. And now I learn that his older brothers and Lord Ormond have all been spies for the Crown. So many secrets…

  I have told Muriel I will go to London with her. Perhaps I do need a diversion just now. Will I see Nash there? My heart breaks at the thought of losing him from my life, but forgiveness has not come easily. Yet the wise Countess of Claremont urges me to consider doing just that.

  Chapter 20

  29 December

  Two days later, Nash woke from a restless night still wondering if Ailie would ever forgive him. She had remained polite but distant since discovering he was Sidmouth’s spy. Forgiveness, he knew, was an important part of marriage. He had seen its soothing effect in his parents’ marriage and knew how much it had been required in the marriages of his two eldest brothers.

  If Ailie could not forgive him this deception which, to his mind, had been necessary and, to hers, a transgression, how could she forgive him in the future for others? After all, no man was perfect. Would she ever again be the woman he had held i
n his arms beneath the stars, the woman he wanted for his wife?

  Last evening at dinner, she had announced she was accepting Muriel’s invitation to come to London. Everyone, save him, seemed pleased. Nash imagined the reception she would receive with the favor of the Countess of Claremont. Every bachelor in the ton would be nipping at her heels, asking for her hand.

  Rising from his bed, he walked to the window, pleased to see the sun rising in a clear blue sky for the first time in days. Late yesterday, the storm had moved off to the west, but a sudden drop in temperature and a new snowfall had covered everything in white.

  Today they were to sail to Stonehaven.

  Adding a log to the fire, he turned to see Robbie, still asleep, his head no longer wrapped in linen. Now only a small white patch covered the ugly wound on his left temple. Robbie never complained but Nash had seen him wince when he changed the bandage, which Robbie now insisted on doing himself.

  Nash thought about their return to London, less than a week away. He felt as if he were coming to the end of an era. He had expected that he and Robbie would one day part ways. And it seemed that day would be soon. He would miss his twin, having only holidays to look forward to when they would gather together with their other brothers. But, for now, he would enjoy the rest of the holiday with him.

  “Time to rise, Brother. Today we are for Stonehaven.”

  Robbie groaned and opened his eyes, squinting at the bright light spilling into their chamber. “The sun is shining?”

  “Indeed, it is. Very pretty, too, on the new snow.”

  Throwing off the cover, Robbie slowly sat up. “I’m glad we’re to sail. I miss being on a ship.”

  “I as well.”

  They joined the others for breakfast and, once their valises were loaded on the Albatross, Captain Anderson welcomed them aboard.

  Nash followed William and Emily up the gangplank. At the top, the good captain saluted William and dipped his head to Emily. “Sir, Madam, ’tis a fine day to sail.”