by Regan Walker
Martin was the only one of Robbie’s brothers who had the blue eyes of their mother. He had met his wife Kit, the daughter of an earl, in an exclusive brothel, a meeting they claimed stemmed from a misunderstanding. Martin refused to discuss the affair, but Robbie had been in enough brothels to wonder what a lady like Kit would be doing there.
Since they were all close, unless in public, they addressed each other by their Christian names, except for Hugh, Lord Ormond, who had always been addressed by his courtesy title, or so Robbie had been told. Like the Powell men, Ormond had accepted special assignments from the Crown. And, if the tales were true, his wife, the rebellious Lady Mary Campbell had done a bit of spying herself in France.
Joining the young wives in their twenties was the Countess of Claremont, sitting to the captain’s right, her feathers floating above her head like exotic plumage on a rare bird, so tall they threatened to brush the cabin’s overhead beams. The flickering light from the lanterns only added to the illusion. Robbie had to admit she struck an elegant figure with her long strands of pearls over her silver brocade gown adorned with much lace.
The sobriquet The Grand Countess came instantly to mind.
Lady Claremont dropped her gaze briefly to the uneaten kale on her plate, a flicker of distaste crossing her face, then raised her eyes to the captain. “How is my dear friend Emily, Captain? I miss her greatly. It’s been half a year since that husband of hers brought her to London for a visit.”
“You will have to ask her, my lady,” replied the captain. “But from all appearances, she is thriving. They are expecting their first child in the spring.”
“Oh my! That is good news,” said the countess. “I shall have to scold her for failing to tell me.”
“Something to celebrate,” chimed in Ormond, raising his glass of claret in toast. “I expect my friend Stephen has several bottles of champagne chilling in the snow even now.”
The steward entered the cabin just then followed by two other men. At the captain’s nod, they began gathering up the plates and used tableware. From the relieved expressions on the faces of his fellow passengers, Robbie was not the only one glad to see the kale disappear.
A short while later, the steward returned carrying a large steamed pudding. The sweet scent of oranges wafted through the air amid exclamations of delight.
Robbie’s mouth watered.
Kit, accepted a slice of pudding. “That smells wonderful.”
“I love orange pudding,” said Tara, taking a bite and groaning with pleasure.
“The fruit comes from Lady Emily’s orangery in Arbroath,” stated the captain. Looking around the table, his face set in a stony expression, he added, “As did the kale.”
Robbie fought a grin.
Nash cleared his throat. “Ah… Captain, I am interested in orangeries and what can be grown in them. Has Mr. Stephen been long at it?”
Robbie was unsurprised at Nash’s question. He would be the one to try and smooth an awkward moment, especially if he could do so while inquiring about a subject of genuine interest.
“Nay,” returned the captain. “He built the orangery for the mistress when he added to the house. He shipped in mature orange trees from his father’s orangery in Aberdeen so she would have fruit this winter. She also has a vegetable garden and flowers in pots and is experimenting with growing pineapples.”
“I’ve read about growing pineapples in orangeries,” offered Mary. Then to her husband, “I’d like to grow them at our country house. It would give me something to do, darling, while you are training that new crop of thoroughbreds. What say you to an orangery?”
“Our two boys do not keep you sufficiently occupied?” Ormond teased with a decidedly wicked grin. “Perhaps we should have another.”
Mary swatted him on the shoulder. “Silly man. When I’m not teaching the boys to ride their ponies, think how much fun they will have in the winter months puttering in the orangery.”
Ormond kissed his wife’s cheek. “Very well, my love, you shall have one.”
Robbie had seen the two tease each other before and admired the affection between them. But marriages like those of his two older brothers and the Ormonds were not the usual.
“There’s more pudding, Captain, should anyone want some,” offered the steward.
Nick held up his fork. “Over here, if you will.”
The steward hastened to comply.
“Here, too,” said Martin, catching the steward’s eye.
Robbie met Nash’s gaze. Both asked at the same time, “Brandy?”
The stern captain bestowed upon them a rare smile. “Aye, good French brandy. Mr. Stephen insists upon it.”
Once the steward had poured the brandy, the conversation settled into the current topic on everyone’s mind… politics.
Ormond leaned forward. “What’s the mood in Scotland, Captain?”
“In Arbroath, ’tis quiet enough, but just south in Dundee and to the west in Glasgow there has been great discontent on the part of the weavers.”
“The massacre in Manchester has not helped the situation,” muttered Nash.
The captain nodded gravely. “’Tis stirred everyone up.”
“And the Six Acts Lord Sidmouth has just introduced will make matters worse,” Robbie tossed in.
Captain Anderson drew his dark brows together. “Six Acts?”
Robbie realized the news of the new legislation must not have reached Scotland and, from the looks on the faces of his brothers and their wives, some in London were not yet aware.
His fellow dinner companions turned to Robbie with expectant gazes, so he explained what he had read that morning in the Times.
“I don’t see how that will help,” said Martin.
The captain shook his head. “The government taxes a poor man’s bread yet denies him a vote in Parliament. Even the Duke of Hamilton, Lord Lieutenant of Lanarkshire, which includes Glasgow, has spoken against the unfairness to the weavers.”
Mary glanced at her husband. “It helps when a person of station advocates for justice.”
“Well,” said Ormond, running a hand through his dark hair, “I grant you there would certainly be less discontent if all who are excluded from voting were to be exempted from the payment of taxes.”
“An unusual suggestion for a member of the nobility,” Nick interjected. “But fair.”
“As a Whig, I support reform,” said Ormond, “but the great beast of government can be difficult to turn. My father, the Duke of Albany, is trying in the Lords.”
Mary gave her husband an encouraging smile.
“Obviously, the English government has not changed since the days America and England parted ways,” put in Tara, the look in her eyes intense. “We had the same problem.”
Nick patted his wife’s hand. “America is her own country now, sweetheart.”
“Thank God,” murmured Tara.
Martin leaned toward the captain. “Kit and I lived through the rebellion in the Midlands two years ago. I hope that does not happen to you in Scotland.”
“Em…” The captain stared into his brandy as if unsure of what to say. “It might. There’s been a wee bit of rioting in Paisley, put down by the cavalry. And last month in Dundee, south of Arbroath, George Kinloch, a respected man of the gentry, gave a stirring speech to ten thousand Scots, condemning the blood spilled in Manchester and urging reform.”
Martin’s brows rose. “Ten thousand, you say?”
“Aye. And the crowd listened, too. Still, for that wee speech, Kinloch is to be tried for sedition. I hear the poor man is now on the run.”
Robbie met his brother’s gaze across the table.
Kinloch, the very man we’ve been sent to Scotland to find.
Chapter 3
Arbroath, Scotland, 18 December
“Wait for me!” Ailie shouted, running to catch up with Emily who was trailing William as he strode toward the ship that had just arrived from London.
Emily paused
and turned back. “You need not run. I’m happy to wait.” In her blue woolen gown and MacTavish red and blue tartan pulled over her black hair, Emily looked more like a Scot than an English aristocrat. Only her proper English speech gave her away.
Ailie preferred to wear the Ramsay blue tartan of her mother’s clan, but the Stephens were a sept of Clan MacTavish and William always wore that clan’s red plaid, as did his new wife.
Slipping her arm through her sister-in-law’s, Ailie strolled with Emily toward the dock, leaning in to say, “I wouldn’t dare meet our guests from England without you.”
Behind them, the sun had dipped low in the sky even though it was still afternoon. Winter days were short, cold and windy. While there had been no new snow, much of what remained on the ground and roofs from the last storm had not melted. The frigid wind out of the west made Ailie shiver.
“You must be anxious to see your friends,” said Ailie.
“I am, especially Muriel and the Ormonds. The others I have yet to meet. Won’t it be wonderful to have company for my first Christmas in Arbroath?” Her heather-colored eyes glistened. “I’ve not told Muriel of my good news.”
They reached the dock just as the crew began lowering the gangplank. The passengers stood at the rail, a few waving to her brother.
Even from a distance, Ailie could see the women’s fine coats, stylish hair and hats marked them women of quality. The older woman, whom she assumed to be the dowager countess, wore a hat with grand feathers.
Londoners, the lot of them.
“William says the Powells are in the shipping business,” she said to Emily. “I do hope you aren’t bored with all the talk of ships.”
“Oh, do not worry about me, Ailie. I will be happy to visit with Muriel and hear the news from London. Besides, Lady Ormond and the other two wives are mothers of young children. I will enjoy hearing about their experiences.”
Ailie squeezed Emily’s arm and smiled at the woman she had come to consider a sister. “You’ll have your own bairn in the spring.”
They arrived at the gangplank and took their place beside Will.
Now that she was closer, Ailie studied the men and women standing at the rail. All the men had dark hair, making her think of the man she had seen in her dream. All were tall. Two appeared identical except for their clothes. Two of the women had blonde hair; the other was a redhead, whose hair color was somewhere between Ailie’s ginger and Will’s auburn.
The countess stood next to Captain Anderson, her age and feathers setting her apart from the other women. She pulled a white handkerchief from her reticule, flicking her wrist to swish the white cloth in the breeze.
“Oh, look!” exclaimed Emily. “Muriel is waving to me.”
Captain Anderson descended the gangplank first, leading the countess. One of the tall dark-haired men followed, holding the hand of a pretty woman with fair hair confined in a knot at her nape beneath a small hat set at a jaunty angle.
Will offered his hand to the shipmaster. “Welcome back, Dougal. A good trip?”
“Aye, sir.” Always polite, Captain Anderson tipped his cap to Ailie and Emily.
While Will spoke briefly with the captain, Emily greeted the countess and the tall dark-haired man and his beautiful wife, bestowing a huge grin upon the three of them. “Welcome to Scotland.” Then she brushed the countess’ cheek with a kiss. “Muriel, it is so good to see you.”
“Too long is what it is,” admonished Lady Claremont. “Took my venturing to this land of snow and ice to see this place where you live.”
“Well, it’s time you came,” said Emily, hugging Lady Ormond and offering her hand to Lord Ormond, who bowed over it. All quite proper, Ailie noted. Rusty from disuse, she wondered how she would cope with all the bowing and formal address.
Not wishing them to think ill of her, she smiled at the attractive couple and the countess.
“Allow me to introduce my sister-in-law,” said Emily, “Miss Aileen Stephen.”
The countess reached for a small round glass hanging from a chain around her neck and peered through it at Ailie, examining her as if inspecting a bolt of new silk. Trying not to be put off by the odd gesture, Ailie returned the countess a small curtsey. “’Tis good to meet you, Lady Claremont. I have heard much about you from Emily.”
“Humph,” muttered the countess. “Don’t believe half of it.” She let her glass drop. “I can see you bear watching, pretty thing that you are. Unwed, Emily wrote me.”
“Oh my,” said Emily. “Muriel has you in her sights!”
Ailie felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. She had no wish to be of special concern to the matchmaking countess.
The captain left Will and returned to the gangplank to see his other passengers off the ship. She could tell from the way they descended the gangplank the Powells and their wives were as at home on a ship as she was.
Will turned his attention to the Ormonds and Lady Claremont. “I see my wife has welcomed you.” Drawing Emily close, he said, “’Tis time we met our other guests, Leannan.”
Ailie’s heart was in her throat as she took her place beside Emily and William, prepared to meet the Powell brothers and their wives. Edinburgh was home to a fair number of English and she had been there many times, but she had never entertained them in her home. Emily didn’t count. She was English, aye, but she was also family.
Wrapping his arms around his greatcoat to hold in his body’s heat, Nash waited with Robbie on the deck, watching the Ormonds and Lady Claremont embrace their friends in happy reunion.
In front of him lay a snow-covered shipyard with three ships tied up at the dock. Beyond the ships were several large buildings he assumed were the shops. The name “William Stephen and Sons” in tall blue letters stretched across the sign on the building directly ahead of him, suggested it was the company’s headquarters. In the distance on the small hill, a sprawling estate was set against trees, smoke curling up from its many chimneys.
Nash had been told William Stephen was a successful shipbuilder, supplying the government and merchants with schooners and brigs. Here was the proof.
Robbie leaned in close. “I assume the tall man with the auburn hair is William and the woman with black hair next to him is his wife, Lady Emily, but who is that beauty with the fiery red hair standing next to Lady Emily?”
The girl had caught Nash’s eye, too, her flame-colored hair blowing free from her blue plaid shawl draped loosely over her head. “She might be William’s sister,” he surmised. “I see a resemblance.” Taller than William’s wife and slender, the young woman had a proud look about her. He wondered if she resented so many English descending upon her to celebrate Christmas.
Their eldest brother Nick crossed the deck to where Nash stood with Robbie. “Time to meet our hosts.”
Nick returned to his wife and guided Tara toward the opening in the rail where the gangplank stood waiting. Martin and Kit fell into step behind them.
Tucking his woolen scarf up around his neck, Nash shared a glance with Robbie. “Let’s hope the brandy they serve is warm.”
Robbie grinned. “I’ll pour.”
At the end of the gangway, Nash waited behind his older brothers and their wives until it was his and Robbie’s turn to meet their host. With Robbie at his side, he shook William Stephen’s hand and bowed to Stephen’s wife Emily.
Nash was the first to arrive in front of the redhead Emily had introduced as William’s sister Aileen. She was more than a little attractive. Her copper-colored hair framed fair skin and eyes that were deep pools of cinnamon, sparks shining from their depths. She had a stubborn chin, but any thought of her being a troublesome lass ended when he glimpsed the sprinkling of freckles on her upturned nose. Finding his voice, he doffed his hat. “Miss Stephen, I’m pleased to meet you.”
“And I,” Robbie said, bumping Nash as he tipped his hat, his smile wide. “Are all women in Scotland so… beautiful?”
Nash wanted to kick his brother when the girl
raised her brows and turned her head to her sister-in-law. Growing up around the shipbuilding industry and rough men, she had probably heard such flattery many times before. He was certain the impression left by Robbie’s words was not what he had intended.
Emily smiled. “Of course not, Mr. Powell. Ailie is special.”
Robbie glanced at the girl, an avid gleam in his eye. “I can see that.”
“I’m not speaking only about her appearance,” said Emily. “But you will discover for yourself my meaning during your stay with us.”
Nash and his twin had often competed as children and, once they were in their twenties, the competition had expanded to include women. Their methods might vary but they shared the same goal of winning the ladies’ affections. Now in their thirties, the rivalry could, at times, be intense.
William slipped his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Shall we return to the house and the fire, Leannan?”
“Oh yes, let’s. There’s just enough time for our guests to have a warm brandy or a cup of hot tea and get settled in their bedchambers before we are called to dinner.”
Nash shot Robbie a satisfied smile at the thought of a warm brandy, then watched with dismay as the lovely Aileen Stephen flounced off with Lord Ormond and his wife, leaving Nash and Robbie to fall into step behind the others as they trudged up the path to the great house above the shipyard.
Halfway there, William turned to address them. “While we share a warm drink in the parlor, the servants will see your chests to your chambers. No need to change for dinner unless you wish it. In Arbroath, we often dine informally.”
Ailie stood in the entry hall, waiting for Emily to descend the stairs having just returned from seeing her friend settled.
“Is the countess pleased with her bedchamber?”
“Oh yes, Muriel is quite content. I told her a cup of hot tea and shortbread would soon be delivered.”
Earlier, the other guests had warmed themselves in the parlor and then followed Will and their housekeeper, Mrs. Banks, up the stairs to their bedchambers. The time spent in the parlor had allowed Ailie to get a better look at the twin Powell brothers. She was now certain one of them was the man from her dream.
