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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 women 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.

Through the open doorway, Muriel heard the front door open. The group of young people rushed inside, brushing snow from their coats and laughing as they bemoaned the effort required to haul the log into the shipyard.

A few minutes later, William strode through the doorway and approached Emily. “We found a good one, Leannan,” he said, kissing her forehead.

The look in Emily’s heather eyes suggested pride in her husband’s achievement in bringing home the Yule log for his English wife.

William greeted Muriel and then dropped his gaze to the book in Emily’s lap. “Did you read all afternoon?”

“No, only a short while. After I showed Muriel around the orangery, we had a lovely English tea.”

Amid much laughter, the others flowed into the parlor. Muriel rose from her chair to allow them access to the fire. Emily, too, got to her feet to stand next to William.