Page 13

Lifting her small blue tartan shawl from the bed where Rhona had laid it, she draped it over her shoulders. With a wave to her maid, she left her chamber, more excited than she had been in months.

Nash counted nine men and women gathered in the spacious parlor when he and Robbie entered. Sadly missing was the redheaded sister of their host.

Two footmen glided among the guests offering them drinks, as the conversations became lively. In one corner, Lady Claremont held court with their hostess and Martin’s wife, Kit.

A footman approached with a tray of drinks. The choice of brandy was an easy one for both he and Robbie.

Nash sipped the fine cognac and glanced about the room. The walls were papered in gold above cream-colored wainscoting. Persian carpets in deep shades of red and blue were strewn about the dark wooden plank floors. Two wing chairs upholstered in gold velvet flanked a huge stone fireplace in which burned a well-tended fire. In addition to other chairs and occasional tables set around the perimeter of the room, there were two sofas and a low oval table between them.

Above the fireplace hung a tall gold-framed mirror lighted by candle sconces on each side.

The elegantly appointed parlor was as fine as any in London, but with a touch of the Scots’ preference for a more comfortable room, where a man could bring his hunting dogs and his guns as well as his guests.

Still, it wasn’t the Scottish drawing room he had expected.

There were no mounted elk heads, no crossed swords and no family crests. Instead, the walls held an array of what appeared to be family portraits. Nash made a mental note to ask Ailie who they were.

In one corner, there was a polished mahogany pianoforte. He wondered if Emily played. William Stephen had attended Cambridge and then married the widow of a knight, who was also the daughter of an earl. Perhaps the room had been decorated with Emily in mind.

“As subtly as I can,” said Robbie, glancing at their host, who was speaking with Ormond, “I’m going to ask William what he knows of the town and the political views of its citizens.”

“All right. And, while you’re at it, I’ll greet our hostess. I want to ask Emily about her orangery.”

Robbie returned him an incredulous look. “Don’t tell me you’re still fascinated by her pineapples?”

“And why not? ’Tis an achievement to grow them in Scotland, particularly in winter. Really, Robbie, you should read more.” Determined to learn what he could, Nash left his brother and strode off to speak with their hostess.

“You must visit the orangery,” Emily encouraged him when Nash told her of his interest in horticulture. “After breakfast would be a good time; if there is sun, the light then is most favorable.”

Nash thanked her and meandered among his brothers and their wives, who seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Despite William’s words they need not change for dinner, their host had declined to follow his own advice, donning a black velvet coat with gold buttons and trousers in a red, blue and black plaid.

When Nash remarked on them, William looked down at his trousers. “We Scots call them trews. And this,” he said, pointing to the woolen cloth of his trews, “is the MacTavish tartan, the Stephens’ clan.”

Sensing someone had entered the parlor, Nash shifted his gaze to glimpse the woman he’d been waiting for. Ailie stood just inside the doorway, the light from the candles dancing in the shimmering waves of her copper-colored hair.

She glanced from one end of the room to the other and accepted a glass of sherry from a footman before saying to no one in particular, “I trust I’m not late.”

Nash walked the short distance to meet her. “Not at all,” he said, thinking she had made a splendid entrance in her blue gown and tartan wrap. “Now everyone is here and we are an even dozen.”

She sipped her sherry, looking up at him from beneath long dark lashes. Her eyes were the same golden color as the liquid in her glass. “Which Powell twin might you be?”

He smiled. “Nash.” Trying not to drown in her stunning eyes, he said, “Just remember I’m the one with the green tailcoat. Robbie is wearing brown.”

“Well, that will help, at least for tonight, but whatever shall I do after that?”

“You have only to ask and I will tell you.” Her sweet scent wafted to his nostrils, making him want to draw her close, to imprint upon her lips a memory that would endure forever, to give her something to distinguish him from his twin apart from tiresome explanations. Instead, he let out a remorseful sigh and resorted to small talk. “Have you always lived in Arbroath?”

“Nay. William and I are from Aberdeen where our father Alexander Stephen and our two younger brothers rule over a shipbuilding enterprise larger than William’s. I came here five years ago to join William when he returned from France.”

“Your brother fought in France?”

“Aye, and was taken prisoner. We were relieved to get him back in one piece with only a few minor wounds.” She took a sip of her sherry. He stared at her lips and her upturned nose sprinkled with freckles. He had never seen a more winsome creature.

“How about you?” she asked, bringing his gaze back to her eyes.

“Me?” He blinked, trying to think what she could mean.