Once Upon a Christmas Past

by Regan Walker

  Robbie entwined greenery around the candelabra on the dining room table and thought of his other Christmas holidays. About now, he would be sinking into a comfortable leather chair at his club, brandy in hand, with nothing more on his mind than a lady’s face and that evening’s card game. Instead, here he was in the frozen north decorating a table.

  Since Nash had claimed the only available lady in sight, Robbie would concentrate on their current assignment for Sidmouth. And, for that, he needed Nash.

  “I’m going to see if Emily has some velvet ribbon for bows,” said Ailie. “I think they would look nice on the chandelier.”

  As she flounced out of the room, taking the footman with her, Nash looked down at him from the ladder. “I don’t even want to think about tying bows on that hanging tower of crystal.”

  Robbie regarded his brother. “I expect you will if Ailie wishes it.”

  Nash breathed out a sigh Robbie took as significant. “You’re right, of course,”

  “By the bye, Brother, have you thought more on your reservations about our apprehending Kinloch? Might I hope for a change of mind?”

  Nash peered down from his perch. “I told you I would go, and I will. But as for a change of mind? Not a chance.”

  Chapter 16

  By late afternoon, tired from the sledding they had indulged in, Nash bathed and went to his chamber to dress for dinner. Boughs of holly now framed the mirror and fragrant pine branches circled the candlestick on the small table next to his bed. Appetizing smells of apples baking with cinnamon, spicy mince pie and plum pudding wafted through the air.

  “Christmas has definitely arrived at the Stephens’ house,” he said as donned his clothes.

  Robbie looked at him from the edge of his bed where he sat pulling on his newly shined boots. “It has indeed.”

  “There is something about Christmastide that brings new dishes to the table and new smells to my nose. They remind me of the season and home.”

  Robbie stood and reached for his jacket. “London awaits us. Do not be so captured by William’s lovely sister you forget all we have waiting for us once we complete our task for Lord Sidmouth.”

  Nash donned the clothing he had set out earlier. “I have not forgotten; I’ve been planning. In fact, I have been giving some thought to what we might tell Sidmouth should the Radical Laird slip through our fingers.”

  Robbie shot him a sharp glance. “Lord Sidmouth considers us to be better at our work than to let that happen.”

  “Does he? We delivered no revolutionaries to him in Manchester.”

  His attention fixed on the mirror, Robbie tied his cravat for the second time. “The Home Secretary well knows that bit of work got out of hand for no misstep of ours. Besides, after his soldiers plucked Henry Hunt from the speaker’s platform, there were no revolutionaries to be had.”

  Nash returned his brother the smile of a saint. “You make my point.”

  Late that afternoon, Muriel stood in the parlor admiring the greenery scattered about. “Oh, Muriel,” Emily said breathlessly, as she entered the parlor, “you have done a marvelous job here. It is beyond lovely! Why, it’s the equal of your decorations in London I have long admired!”

  Muriel was quite pleased with the way the large room had turned out. Every painting’s gilded frame was adorned with boughs of pine and holly. A garland of holly, ivy and rosemary, intertwined with white Christmas roses, spanned the length of the fireplace mantel and draped down each side. “It does look rather like Christmas, if I do say so myself.”

  “Oh yes, it does. The scent of all the greenery, the Yule log fire and the smell of wassail has quite put me in the mood.”

  William peeked his head in the doorway. “The kissing bough has just been hung in the entry hall. Want to partake in the historic event?”

  “Come,” urged Emily, taking her arm. “You must see it. William made the frame and Ailie and I filled it with greenery. No mistletoe, of course, but the holly, rosemary, and other evergreens make for a nice arrangement. We’ll just pretend there is mistletoe.”

  “Given your guests,” said Muriel, “I’m quite certain they need pretend nothing to make good use of the bough.”

  They stood in the entry admiring the green and red bough hanging from the chandelier.

  “The apples add a nice touch, don’t you think?” asked Emily.

  “I do,” said Muriel. “And the red velvet bows are just the right embellishment.”

  “Ailie thought to add them. They also grace the dining room chandelier, though I cannot imagine how she and the Powell twins managed to do it.”

  “They are very clever young men,” said Muriel. “I imagine they can accomplish most anything they set their minds to.”

  “The house has never looked so grand, Leannan,” said William. “You and Muriel and the other ladies are to be congratulated for bringing Christmas to Arbroath.” He pulled Emily under the bough and into his arms. “Let us be the first to christen the bough.”

  While William and Emily managed that, Muriel returned to the parlor where a footman was just ladling out the wassail. “I’ll have one of those, my good man.”

  Ailie had been late to dress for dinner. While she had not engaged in the sledding, she had helped Mrs. Banks and Emily put the finishing touches on the kitchen decorations. Unable to resist, she had snatched a piece of warm shortbread, cooling on the worktable and was just leaving the kitchen when Emily asked her to help finish the kissing bough. Only after that had she gone to her chamber to bathe.

  “’Tis an unusual gown Lady Emily had made fer ye,” said Rhona. “’Tis silk, no?”

  Ailie ran her hand down the front of the high-waisted gown, the silk a tartan of red, green and gold that rustled as she walked. She might not have chosen the particular plaid, but it went remarkably well with her hair. “Aye, ’tis silk. Perhaps I should wear my hair up tonight, it being Christmas Eve.”

  “’Twould be pretty that way.” Ailie took a seat and Rhona went to work, fashioning Ailie’s hair into a long looping knot on the back of her head. A few curls were left out to frame her face and dangle down her nape.

  When her maid had finished, Ailie stared into the mirror, seeing a remarkable change.

  “You’re a wonder, Rhona. I look positively… elegant.”

  “’Tis the truth, ye do. Just remember to take yer cloak should ye go out into the night air, or yer neck will freeze.”

  Ailie laughed. “That and the rest of me. Perhaps, I’ll confine any walks to the orangery.”

  When she entered the parlor, filled with their guests, Ailie was glad she had taken care with her appearance.

  “A lovely change,” said Emily, coming to her side. Her sister-in-law wore an ivory silk gown with a red shawl. Her ebony hair was curled around her face, a contrast to her alabaster skin. “I’m delighted the gown fits you so well.”

  Emily ushered her to the other ladies standing to one side as Ailie thanked her for the gown.

  “I will do a sketch of all the ladies,” remarked Kit, her dark red tresses the color of Ailie’s mother’s hair before it began turning gray. Ailie was surprised at Kit’s choice of gown, but the scarlet silk brocade was quite striking on her.

  Mary left Hugh’s arm to come to join them. “I have never seen silk tartan before. It’s exquisite on you, Ailie.” Dressed like a young queen, Mary’s gown had been fashioned from pale green satin to which had been added a gold sash. Her fair hair was sleeked back and confined to her crown.

  “You would pay me compliments,” Ailie said to the other women, “yet your gowns and hair are stunning.” Truly, Ailie was overwhelmed. Even the ladies in Aberdeen were not more elegantly attired than these.

  Tara, Ailie’s kindred spirit, had set her informal clothing aside to don a silk gown the same color as her blue-green eyes. “I see we are all dressed in similar fashion for the evening,” she remarked. “The maids must have been busy.”

  “I think it fitting we dress like this for
your English Christmas,” said Ailie, “but for Hogmanay, which you call New Year’s Eve, you need not dress so elegantly. If the weather cooperates, we’ll be in Stonehaven.”

  “Another adventure!” exclaimed Tara. “How exciting.”

  Muriel left the men standing at the fireplace to join Ailie and the other women. “Why, you ladies all look like you are attending one of my balls.”

  Emily gave Muriel’s gown a long perusal. “Are you certain you do not speak of yourself?”

  The women fixed their gazes on Muriel’s golden gown. The bodice was trimmed in jet beads and the golden overskirt ended in stylish Vandyke points trimmed in the same beads and black silk tassels. Around her neck, she wore her customary pearls, only wound double to fall higher. Circling her silver hair was a band of crystals and, soaring above all, a large ivory feather.

  “Oh, my,” said Mary. “You have quite outdone yourself, Countess.”

  “This?” Muriel looked down at her gown. “Pshaw. It’s at least ten years old though, as I recall, it was unique at the time. My dressmaker copied the gown from one of those dolls she managed to sneak out of Paris.”

  “It’s timeless,” remarked Kit, “as are you, dear Muriel.”

  “Humph,” Muriel murmured, but Ailie could tell she was pleased. Ailie only wished Grandfather Ramsay could be here to admire her.

  “Shall we join the men?” inquired Emily. “I do believe they are staring at us. Clustered together as we are, they might be reticent to approach, thinking we are engaged in some discussion fit only for feminine ears.”

  “Childbirth, you mean,” said Mary. “You are right. We’d best go rescue them.”

  With that, Ailie and Emily ventured forth to greet the men and the other ladies followed.

  Nash greeted Ailie with an approving smile, his hazel eyes sparkling. “You are lovely.” In his eyes, Ailie saw more than just the compliment and fought her rising flush.

  “I must agree with my brother,” said Robbie. “The Mistress of the Setters outshines all the ladies tonight.”

  She accepted a cup of wassail from a footman. “Why thank you, Robbie, but I have seen them and I know you lie.” She shifted her gaze from Robbie to Nash, taking in their identical attire. Both wore green velvet tailcoats, ivory waistcoats and black trousers. “Did you dress this way to confuse us all?”

  “’Tis a Christmas tradition,” said Nash, taking a drink of the cup he held. “We defy our family to try and tell us apart.”

  “When we intentionally ape each other, not just in our clothing but in our speech,” added Robbie, “few can do it.”

  Ailie was curious to know how alike the twins could appear. “What about your parents? Don’t they know their sons?”

  Robbie exchanged his empty glass for another brandy from a passing tray. “Eventually they come to it after a bit of conversation.”

  “Well, promise you will never try and confuse me. It would be most disconcerting.”

  The twins hesitated, exchanging a look, and then said together, “We promise.”

  The dinner that followed was a worthy feast. They ate the succulent roast venison with roast vegetables and potatoes while Will told stories of his first Christmas in London. He had celebrated the holiday with his chum, Ormond, who took him to his country home to meet his family.

  “We did a lot of riding as I recall,” said Hugh.

  “Aye, and a lot of eating and drinking,” added William. “If you think our home is large, Ailie, you should see the Duke of Albany’s estate in Ruislip outside of London.”

  “That’s my parents’ home,” explained Hugh. “Most of the time, Mary and I live in our townhouse in London.”

  Mary smiled at Ailie. “If you accept Muriel’s invitation, you must visit us in Mayfair. I will invite the ladies for tea.”

  “That is most kind of you.” Ailie snuck a glance at Nash, seeing an invitation in his eyes.

  For dessert, they had Will’s favorite, cranachan, a Scottish tradition their English guests had not sampled before.

  “Anything in it we should know about?” asked Hugh, his spoon suspended above the layered confection.

  “Not unless you are averse to toasted oatmeal, cream, honey, raspberries and a dash of brandy,” replied Ailie. “I assure you, no kale is hiding beneath the layers.”

  Everyone laughed and picked up their spoons.

  “Our cook bottled the raspberries herself last summer,” offered Emily.

  Will licked some of the honeyed confection from his bottom lip. “If you don’t want yours, Ormond, old chum, I’d be happy to take it from you.” He made as if to reach his spoon toward Hugh’s cranachan.

  Hugh raised his spoon like a sword poised to repel an attack. “You’re not getting mine ‘old chum’. I do believe I will like the dessert.”

  Many chuckles echoed around the table.

  “I like both the cranachan and the shortbread,” said Nash with a grin aimed at Ailie.

  Ailie tossed him a teasing glance. “I’m relieved we have finally found a Scottish dish or two you like.”

  When dinner was concluded, they retired as a group to the parlor for tea, port and brandy. Ailie played the songs on the pianoforte she had practiced for their guests: The Twelve Days of Christmas, While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks at Night and Joy to the World.

  Everyone gathered around to sing.

  Will’s strong tenor voice, at times, rose above the others. The Powell men sang with vigor, joining the ladies to make wonderful music, at times jolly and at other times reverent. Tara, it turned out, sang beautifully, so Ailie encouraged her to sing a solo from Joy to the World.

  When Ailie finished playing, the faces around her all bore smiles.

  As she rose from the bench, Mary encouraged her husband to take a turn at the pianoforte. “My husband is a remarkable talent,” said Mary. “His mother taught him to play as a boy.”

  Ailie went to stand with the others as Hugh agreed to play for them. Nash made room for her, taking her hand, hidden in the folds of her skirt.

  Hugh flipped the tails of his coat behind him and spread his long fingers over the keys. He began to play Handel’s Hallelujah chorus from the Messiah, filling the room with the glorious sounds. Ailie listened with rapt attention, transported by the spirited music.

  When Hugh’s fingers lifted from the keys, there was silence for a moment. Then everyone burst into applause, even their dour butler standing at the parlor door, praising, Ailie thought, not just Hugh’s considerable talent, but also the Messiah for whom Handel had written the piece.

  Christmas Day

  At dawn, Ailie padded downstairs and set out into the cold morning. Knowing it would be a busy day, she wanted to give the dogs a run before they were fed. Like the day before, gray clouds hung low overhead. She sniffed the air, recognizing the scent of snow on the wind.

  When she let Goodness and Mercy out of their kennel, they greeted her enthusiastically but were silent when normally they would have barked. They always acted that way just before a snowfall.

  Heading toward the dock, she spotted a lone figure in a greatcoat and top hat walking ahead of her. The setters bounded ahead, wagging their tails.

  “Ho! What have we here?” said Nash, bending to pet their dark heads. “A Happy Christmas to you, Goodness and Mercy.”

  “You’re up early,” said Ailie, coming up to him. She could not hide the joy she felt at seeing him. Beneath his hat, his cheeks were red from the cold. He’d wrapped a green woolen scarf around his neck. Even in the dull light, his green and gold eyes sparkled.

  “I thought to watch for the impending snow,” he said. “Want to join me?”

  “I would like that.” She turned to walk beside him.

  He offered his gloved hand and she took it. “In London, I like to watch it when it first comes down. I like the feel of snowflakes on my face.”

  Ailie inwardly smiled, seeing the small boy in him emerge as he turned his face to the sky expectantly.
>
  They walked down the hill, the dogs running ahead. A short ways on, he said, “I like this time of morning when all is still, though typically, I’d be looking for the sun to be rising over the sea.”

  A line from Burns came to her. “We two have paddled in the stream, from morning sun till dine; But seas between us broad have roared since days of long ago.”

  “Another of Burns’ poems?” he said, giving her a lopsided grin.

  “Aye, one that reminds me of us.”

  Nash’s brows drew together beneath the brim of his hat. “What seas roar between us, Ailie?”

  “The timeless ones between Scots and Sassenachs, I suppose. But I sense there is more I cannot see.”

  They had come halfway down the path and he paused, turning to face her. “Not between us, Ailie. Any distance between us can soon be erased by time together.” The chilled air around them grew heavy with the anticipated snow. “Do you worry about us?”

  She dropped her gaze, pondering what to say, then looked up. “You have not known me long enough to be aware of the Ramsay women’s second sight but, aye, I worry. My dreams speak a warning of danger.” She could not bring herself to tell him all that her dreams revealed.

  He pulled her close. “Ailie, see only what is in my eyes.” He took her head in his hands and kissed her. When their lips met, her heavy heart lifted.

  As he raised his head, she opened her eyes to meet his steady gaze. In the depths of his hazel eyes, she saw his longing, his desire and what might even be love.

  “Can you see my feelings for you?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then come.” He took her hand and pulled her along toward the dock just as the snow began to fall. “Let us not worry. Instead, let us celebrate Christmas by greeting the new snow together.”

  After a light breakfast, Nash again ventured into the gently falling snow, this time with Ailie and the others for the walk to Arbroath town and the Christmas service at St Mary’s.