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“I’ll let my foreman know,” Will offered. “He’d be delighted to tell you about the schooner the lads are building.”

Kit leaned forward. “While Martin is hunting the geese, I plan to have some time with Emily and Lady Claremont and do some sketches.”

“Sketches?” asked Will.

“My wife is an accomplished artist,” Martin offered, a look of pride in his blue eyes.

“She is,” agreed Tara. “My sister-in-law’s ability to capture the personality behind the face is uncanny.”

“In that case, my dear,” said Muriel, speaking for the others, “we humbly submit our faces to your inspired sketchbook.” No one objected.

Will turned to Mary. “Have you decided what you’d like to do?”

The elegant young blonde paused to consider. Ailie couldn’t help but admire her beauty, like the Greek heroine, Helen of Troy, in the flesh. “Well,” she began, “as long as Hugh is going geese hunting, I’d like to visit the stables. Hugh tells me you have a fondness for horses.”

“Certainly,” said Will. “And you can ride if you like. My groom would be happy to accompany you.”

Mary smiled. “That sounds just the thing.”

Will turned to the countess. “Now, how about you, Muriel? I don’t suppose you want to join the hunt?”

Muriel grimaced. “Absolutely deplore all that blood.” Then, with a twinkle in her eye, “But I’m happy to eat the roast goose! As for the morrow, nothing would please me more than a leisurely breakfast and some time with my friend, Emily, and Kit if she would join us.” To Emily, she said, “We should check with Mrs. Pratt and your cook about the plans for Christmas dinner. I don’t believe my cook has ever roasted a pink-footed goose.”

“A good idea,” said Emily, casting a glance at Ailie. “When Ailie and I left them earlier, Mrs. Platt and Martha were getting along famously. But it is wise to ask what the two of them have decided about the menus. We may encounter some disagreements there.”

With dinner concluded, Will suggested they retire as a group to the library. Typically, the women would leave the men to their port and brandy and take tea in the parlor. “But for tonight,” he told them, “Let’s get to know each other better.”

Ailie did not disagree, for she was coming to enjoy their English guests.

In the library, Robbie accepted a glass of cognac and watched with amusement as his twin brother stared in rapture at the tall wooden shelves lining the walls filled with leather-bound books. The smell of leather and wood, to which was added the faint scent of birch burning in the fireplace, would delight a man such as Nash, who was always looking for a comfortable nest where he could get lost in his books.

“This room is Nash’s idea of Heaven,” Robbie remarked to Ailie who had accompanied them into the room with the other guests.

“Mine, too,” she replied with a smile directed at Nash. Robbie silently admonished himself. He would have to be careful not to throw too many bones to his twin or he would soon lose the girl’s affection to his brother.

Several members of their company had gathered to admire the painting that hung above the fireplace. It depicted a statuesque auburn-haired woman in a flowing amber gown. Robbie was struck by the serene expression on her face.

“Our mother,” William informed the others when they inquired.

“A beautiful woman,” Nash said, turning to look at Ailie. “I note the resemblance.”

Robbie had to credit Nash for claiming early ground with the girl. Nash’s compliment had caused the girl to blush, roses suffusing her cheeks. Indeed, Ailie Stephen looked very much like her mother, save the older woman’s hair was darker and the artist had not included any freckles he could see.

“A kind thing to say, Mr. Powell, and I thank you.” Ailie dropped her gaze, bid them a good eve and went to join the women sitting on one of the blue leather settees.

Robbie watched the girl walk away, intrigued. “My congratulations, Brother, you have managed to stake the first claim.”

Nash merely shrugged.

In the center of the room, a mahogany table surrounded by six chairs provided a place for study. Robbie envisioned it spread with maps. Nash’s passion was his books, but Robbie loved maps and nautical charts.

“I expect I will find you here often,” he said to Nash.

Nash sipped his brandy. “Only the shipyard and orangery hold more interest for me. Well, and the Mistress of the Setters, as you call Ailie.”

Robbie didn’t miss the wistful look that appeared on Nash’s face at the mention of the redhead’s name. On the occasions they had competed for the affection of London ladies, Robbie could not recall seeing that look.

Opposite the fireplace on the other side of the room, a painting of a ship in a sculpted gold frame drew Nash away from Robbie’s side. Interested, Robbie followed.