Once Upon a Christmas Past

by Regan Walker

  In the other wing chair, sat Martin’s wife Kit busy drawing. To be precise, she was sketching him. She had told Robbie he must submit since his older brothers had been quick to give their consent.

  “I drew Emily and the countess before you arrived in the parlor. It’s my thought to sketch everyone before we return to London and give the sketches to William and Emily as a remembrance of our visit.”

  “A thoughtful gift,” said Robbie. Considering Kit’s talent, known to everyone in the family, it was an exceptional gift.

  Her pencil made faint scratching noises as she worked, her blue eyes darting between the sketchbook and him.

  “You have an interesting face, Robbie.”

  “You have guessed right.”

  “I did not guess.” Her upturned nose rose a bit higher. “You must remember, I have observed you and Nash on other occasions, enough to be pretty certain it was you. There is much more to you than appears at first glance. Your face speaks to me of your own character, different than Nash’s.”

  “But Nash and I are just alike,” he protested, hoping Martin’s talented wife did not see too much. “Even our mother has trouble telling us apart.”

  “Perhaps under some circumstances, I, too, would have difficulty.” She paused to incline her head while carefully regarding him, then resumed her sketching. “An artist notices small differences others might miss. I often see people as animals.”

  “Do you?”

  “For example, I see you as a playful otter, while Nash, to me, is the silent jungle cat, more dangerous than he might appear at first.”

  “Perhaps beneath the otter is a lion.”

  She laughed. “Oh yes, I see that, too.”

  Robbie hoped others did not observe all his sister-in-law saw. He and Nash staked their lives upon the fact people could not tell them apart.

  An aged hand rested on his shoulder. Robbie looked up to see the silver-haired Lady Claremont, peering at him through her quizzing glass. On her face was a sober expression. He felt like an insect under a magnifying glass.

  She straightened, dropping her glass. “You do wear a mask, young man. A charming one, I grant you, but still a mask.”

  “See?” said Kit. “I am not the only one who sees the otter before the lion.”

  Robbie held his tongue, afraid anything he might say would speak of hidden truths.

  “Mark my words,” the countess went on, “I know your type well. You will be snatched from your bachelor state in the wink of an eye.” Then she gave out a “Humph” and muttered, “A rogue seldom sees his fate coming.”

  He grinned and tried to make light of it. “Who am I to argue with The Grand Countess?”

  She patted him on the shoulder. “Very wise, Mr. Powell.”

  “Would you care to sit down? I would happily give you my chair.”

  “No, thank you. I am tired of sitting.” Her head swiveled toward the door. Robbie’s gaze followed. “Ah, the mighty hunters return,” she announced.

  Kit set her sketchbook and pencils on the table where her glass of sherry rested and stood. “I’ll finish this later.”

  Robbie got to his feet to welcome the hunters back. They came toward the fireplace, reaching their hands toward the flames. “How was it?” he asked Ormond.

  Hugh rubbed his hands together. “Cold enough to freeze fire.”

  “Not for a Scot,” replied William, looking askance at his friend. “I can see the comforts of London have made you soft.”

  “We shall see about that, my friend,” Hugh tossed back. “Our time together has only begun.”

  Kit kissed Martin on his cheek. “Welcome home.”

  “I missed you, Kitten.” He drew her into his arms. “You’re warm.”

  Robbie watched the pair for a moment and then turned to see Mary embracing her husband. ’Twas not surprising Hugh had fallen for her.

  Tara appeared in front of their oldest brother Nick and planted a kiss on his lips.

  Robbie envied Hugh and his brothers their wives. Sharing common pursuits with a woman as well as a bed appealed but, even more, he envied them the loyalty and affection their wives showed them. Perhaps it was time he considered marrying. The countess might have the right of it. Perhaps his fate was already before him. Could the alluring Mistress of the Setters be a candidate for his wife?

  “You smell of pond, Husband,” Tara chided Nick as she nuzzled his neck. “Did you bag many birds?”

  “Dozens, my love,” he replied, slipping his arm around her waist.

  William draped his arm over Emily’s shoulder. “We’ve enough for soups, stews and roast goose aplenty.”

  “Now I’m jealous,” said Tara, her blue-green eyes solemn beneath her frown. “I should have borrowed a stable boy’s breeches and tagged along.”

  Robbie chuckled remembering his sisters-in-law knew how to shoot. And this particular one had donned breeches many times to climb the rigging of Nick’s ship. Their two young sons would surely grow up to be ship captains. With parents like that, how could they not?

  A footman entered the room and poured brandy for the returning hunters, asking if the countess wanted another glass of sherry.

  “That would be lovely, my good man,” she replied.

  Seeing a movement in the doorway, Robbie lifted his gaze just as Nash appeared with Ailie. His twin had a strange look on his face, as if his mind were elsewhere, and Ailie’s cheeks were flushed. Was it the cold or something else? Robbie wondered what had transpired between them to produce such a result.

  He crossed the room to meet them. “You two missed the noon meal. The soup was delicious.”

  Ailie smiled. “Did you like it?”

  Robbie smiled back at the lovely girl. It was impossible to do otherwise. “I did.”

  “Ailie and I had a late breakfast together,” interjected Nash, “before she gave me a tour of the shipyard.”

  “Your brother refused to try the smoked haddies,” she told Robbie.

  Nash shrugged.

  “His loss, I fear.” Robbie sensed a familiarity between the two he had not observed before. Dismayed to realize his trip into town had set him back in the race to win the affections of the lovely Aileen Stephen, he vowed to make up for it when he had an opportunity.

  With Emily by his side, William came to join them, pausing in front of Nash. “What did you think of the shipyard?”

  The look on Nash’s face spoke of his admiration. “’Tis a busy place.”

  “We’ll be even busier once spring is here,” said William.

  Nash gave Robbie a pointed look. “You should find time to tour the shops. William has a fine enterprise here.”

  “Coming from one of the Powells, that’s a high compliment,” said William. “Did Ailie show you her drawings of the Ossian?”

  “She did and I am more impressed than ever.”

  William smiled at his sister. “I thought you might be.” Scanning the assembled group, he said, “If we are to find the Yule log before we lose the light, we should leave now. The sledge will hold six and the rest can ride.”

  The men finished their brandy as William asked, “How many are going?”

  When Nash said, “Me,” Robbie followed suit.

  Ailie and Tara both said they were going.

  Hugh exchanged a look with his wife. “Mary and I would like to ride.”

  Martin drew his wife close. “Kit and I will stay here by the fire. I shall regale my wife with tales of my hunting prowess. By the bye, Ailie, your setters are marvelous retrievers.”

  Ailie smiled. “Thanks, but ’tis Will who deserves your praise. He trained them to hunt.”

  “I, too, will remain,” said the countess. “I have yet to see Emily’s orangery.”

  Emily kissed William on his cheek. “Enjoy yourself. I will escort Muriel to see my plants and trees. Since I imagine you and the hunters will be famished, I’ll ask Martha to have dinner ready when you return.”

  “William brought meat pies
to the geese shoot to tide us over,” said Nick. No wonder Nick had not mentioned being hungry. Every member of the Powell family knew that their eldest brother took his meals seriously.

  “I would not let them starve,” Will assured his wife. “Now, if I have it right, Hugh and Mary will ride, and the rest of us going will take the sledge. When we return, the bathhouse off the kitchen is at the disposal of the men needing to bathe. For the women, just let the upstairs maids know and a bath can be brought to your chamber.”

  Robbie and the rest of them accepted their coats and cloaks from the waiting footmen.

  “Then let us away,” said William, striding toward the front door.

  Robbie kept his eye on Ailie Stephen. Though he would have enjoyed a ride on one of William’s fine horses, he had intentionally not asked to do so, intending instead to sit beside the Mistress of the Setters in the sledge. But as they headed toward the sledge, it became clear that Nash, still beside her, had the same idea.

  Chapter 7

  Ailie loved gliding over the snow in the open carriage, the sound of the harness bells echoing through the woods.

  The wind blowing off the snow was cold on her face, but Will had given them lap blankets to keep their legs warm. The rest of her was wedged between the broad-shouldered bodies of Nash and Robbie Powell. The seating arrangement had been suggested by Will when he climbed up to the driver’s seat to join the groom, leaving Nick and Tara a seat of their own, facing Ailie and the Powell twins.

  At least she was warm but, in truth, the nearness of the handsome Powell brothers was disconcerting, particularly after her time spent with Nash in the shipyard. She had to remind herself they were only here on holiday and would sail to London in a matter of weeks.

  Maintaining a calm appearance, she focused her attention on Nick and Tara in front of her.

  Tara took in the three of them and smiled. “Is William your only sibling?” she asked Ailie.

  “I have two other brothers in Aberdeen, but I am the only daughter.”

  “It’s the same with me,” said Tara, apparently happy to encounter one like herself.

  “That is how my wife came to crew like one of my men,” said Nick. “She went to sea with her father and brothers after her mother died. She’s a monkey in the rigging.”

  Tara tossed her husband an impudent look just before the sledge hit a bump and the groom made a sharp turn, jostling them like raw peas in a pan.

  “I have never had the pleasure of traveling this way through the woods,” said Robbie, pressing his leg into hers on the sudden turn. With a wink at her, he added, “I shall have to do so more often.”

  Ailie could have sworn Nash rolled his eyes, as he slipped his arm over the top of the seat in what she took as a proprietary gesture. She felt like a mouse between two cats. At least they had not changed clothes from the morning so she could tell them apart.

  “In Maryland,” Tara informed them, “sleigh rides in the countryside are a tradition. The bells the horses wear are a part of the sounds of our Christmas.”

  Riding behind the sledge, dark-haired Hugh and his fair wife Mary laughed. When the road was wide enough, they came alongside, adding to the conversation.

  Mary had told Ailie the pair of black horses pulling the sledge reminded her of the Friesian she kept at the family estate. “We don’t have room for Midnight in London but we often visit Hugh’s parents so they can see the boys, and I ride him there.”

  After traveling for a while, Will had the groom stop in a wooded area where there was a stand of mature birch trees, the bark partially covered by snow. “Will’s been scouting the best trees for the Yule log,” Ailie explained.

  Nick and Tara alighted from the sledge first. Nash climbed down and helped Ailie to the ground, Robbie right behind her.

  They all gathered around Will, who pointed to the trees behind him. “There are some good choices for your Yule log behind me, but to save a lot of labor, I’ve spotted a few we can root out of the ground where they fell. The older ones are better for burning, too, the more knotted the better.” The groom handed Will a rope. “We’ve brought a sled to haul the log back when you’ve found the one you want.”

  With that, Will released them to hunt for the log.

  Ailie gazed into the forest. The carpet of snow made the woods appear lighter. She surveyed the birch trees within easy range, almost certain her brother had identified a log he liked. But Will would not deprive their guests of having a hand in selecting the one that would burn during the celebration of the English Christmastide.

  Plunging into the woods, Nash cried, “Come on, Ailie, let’s find a good one.”

  “Not without me,” said Robbie, taking her elbow and urging her forward.

  Though it was low in the sky, the sun had not yet set as they entered the woods, their boots crunching on the ice-crusted snow.

  A snowy owl, disturbed by the invaders, launched from its perch. Their English guests gasped as the huge bird with its five-foot wingspan flew over their heads.

  “Never seen one of those before,” remarked Nick.

  “Magnificent bird,” said Nash. “I’ve read about snowy owls.”

  When the owl had gone, Hugh leaned up against the thick trunk of one birch, crossing his arms over his chest. Fixing his eyes on Will, he grinned. “Are you certain you don’t want to cut down this one?”

  Before Will could respond, Mary pelted her husband with a snowball.

  Hugh’s searching gaze found her, a teasing smile on her face. Looking highly offended, he said, “We’ll see about that!” Ailie could tell by his expression as he reached for the snow he was not offended at all, but excited. Forming his own snowball, he launched it into the air to hit Mary’s back just as she turned to run.

  The fight was on.

  Ailie joined up with Tara, who led the ladies in a battle of great proportions as snow flew all around them. “We shall bury you in snow,” Tara shouted to the men.

  Nick tossed a snowball, hitting his wife’s head, thankfully covered with the hood of her cloak. “Not likely!”

  Ailie threw a snowball at one twin and then the other. Everyone was so covered in snow she couldn’t tell one Powell twin from the other. She, too, was covered in white, panting for the effort at returning the many snowballs aimed at her. It was great fun.

  After a blizzard of snowballs whizzing everywhere, Will called a halt to their battle. “My hands are frozen. Time to hunt the log before ’tis full dark.” At his instruction, the groom lit torches and handed them to the men. “These will help,” offered Will.

  It wasn’t long before a shout of “Over here” had them all moving toward a fallen log of considerable girth.

  Will gave the log an assessing look. “Well, now. It just might fit the fireplace if we use this end.” He pointed to the end where the huge log narrowed. “We’ll know more once we haul it back and dry it out in the shop.”

  By the time the men had towed the log to the sled, lifted it into place and tied the sled to the back of the sledge, the sun had set and it was beginning to snow.

  “Everyone in!” shouted Will.

  Mary and Hugh remounted their horses and, once again, rode beside the fully loaded sledge the groom had turned around to head back.

  Will held a torch to help guide their way, slower now for the huge log they towed.

  “I have not had so much fun in a long while,” said Nick, sitting across from Ailie and the Powell twins.

  “Only because some of your well-aimed snowballs hit me,” teased Tara.

  On Ailie’s right, Robbie swept his hand toward the woods. “Here in Scotland, one can forget the work left undone, the crush of London’s crowds and the obligations awaiting us. I quite needed this.”

  Ailie glanced at the silent Nash, his forehead furrowed, and wondered, which of those things Robbie had mentioned had caused him to frown.

  From her perch in the parlor, Muriel watched the snow falling outside, worrying about the young men and wom
en who had ventured into the woods and not yet returned. She had begun to think of them as her charges, just as she had Emily years ago.

  The ones who were wed concerned her less, but the Powell twins and the Stephen girl were old enough to be wed and have children of their own. A situation she would soon remedy if she could. A few weeks might be sufficient. She had done it in less time with others.

  Surely the young Aileen Stephen could choose between the two Powell brothers. Muriel was not unmindful of the way the two men had looked at the girl. No, a match was definitely possible.

  She smiled with warm affection at Emily sitting across from her in the wing chair and remembered Christmastide a year ago when she had introduced the tall auburn-haired Scottish shipbuilder from Arbroath to her friend. It had been love for him from the start, or nearly so, but Emily had required some convincing.

  Now, Muriel’s dear friend sat reading on a cold winter’s night in the far northwest of Scotland, expecting her first child.

  Muriel’s only regret was that Emily had ended up so far from London. At least she was happy, which had been Muriel’s intent when she first conceived the match.

  After their visit to the orangery, she and Emily had claimed the two wing chairs on either side of the fire and enjoyed their tea. When the last of Mrs. Platt’s teacakes had been eaten, Emily had taken up her book.

  Muriel stared out the window across the room, watching the snow that had begun to fall. Her mind drifted back to the past, her fingers playing with the long strand of pearls.

  Of all the matches she had made, perhaps her own was the best. Like Robbie Powell, the Earl of Claremont had been a very charming man, and though she would confess it to only a few, he’d had a reputation as a rogue. Now that he was gone, she missed him terribly.

  As for the Powell twins, they might appear the same, but she was certain they were very different men. Nash, the quieter one, had a dry sense of humor. He might appreciate the fiercely independent Aileen Stephen, who could benefit from a man who would make her laugh. But then, she might also find humor in the teasing of Nash’s brother, Robbie. Muriel had no doubt the rogue could be brought up to scratch.