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“Thanks, I do try.” She hadn’t noticed his clothing when she had narrowly avoided colliding with him on the stairs. Now she could see his cinnamon-colored coat fit his shoulders to perfection. His cravat, like the other men’s, was white and simply tied.

“How about you, Ailie?” Will asked from the other end of the table.

She stopped eating and looked up with raised brows. She had been so occupied with thoughts of Nash, she had lost the thread of the conversation.

Will persisted. “Are you still glad you rejected the idea of a season when Father first proposed sending you to London?”

Embarrassed that all their guests should know of it, Ailie nevertheless admitted the reason she had declined. “I could not imagine the haut ton accepting a Scot in their midst.”

Loud protests sounded around the table.

“Now there you would be wrong,” the countess stated emphatically. Everyone quieted, leaning in to hear what Muriel had to say. “You would be a novelty, Aileen, and there is nothing the aristocracy likes so much as a novelty. That said, you have no need for a season.” The countess fixed her eyes on Ailie, who expected the silver-haired woman to peer at her through her quizzing glass at any moment.

The focus of everyone’s attention, Ailie fought the urge to squirm.

“I can take you under my wing and show you all around London,” the countess continued. “Of course, you would have to allow me to remake you in the image of the débutante with silk and satin gowns and your hair done up in curls, perhaps with a feather or two.” Muriel’s mouth twitched up, hinting at a smile. “At my side, no one would challenge your right to enter London Society. And I daresay the young men would follow you around like puppies.”

Ailie felt Nash stiffen at her side. She wasn’t sure she wanted men, especially English men, following her about like puppies.

Robbie suddenly appeared at the door as handsome as his twin and wearing his usual grin. “Indeed, they would. Good morning all,” he greeted them, receiving nods from the men before striding to the side table.

“What say you to Muriel’s offer?” asked Emily. Ailie could see by her eager expression, her sister-in-law approved of the idea.

All eyes on her, Ailie felt her cheeks flood with heat. Did she want to do such an outrageous thing? Go to London to be surrounded by the English? It was what her parents would want but Ailie had always preferred to stay in Scotland immersed in building ships.

“The Countess of Claremont is known by all of London to be a grand lady,” Hugh encouraged. “And much loved, I might add. Her parties are the hit of the season.”

“There’s not a person of worth who would risk missing one of her balls,” put in Martin. “The countess can be a formidable ally or, should one cross her, a formidable enemy. None would dare offend her or anyone in her favor.”

Ailie considered the elegant older woman with new eyes. “Truly?”

“They exaggerate, my dear,” said Muriel, “but I do not. You have only to ask Emily, whom I tutored along. The invitation is yours to accept.”

From across the table, Emily set down her teacup and gave Ailie an encouraging smile.

Her breakfast forgotten, Ailie asked, “Might I think on it?”

Will winked at the countess. “I suspect Muriel will give you until she sails for London to decide.”

Ailie shifted her gaze to the countess at the end of the table.

Muriel smiled. “Just so.”

Robbie had observed Nash’s reaction to the countess’ prediction that men would follow Ailie Stephen about London. A beautiful redhead gowned in silk and satin would be most welcome, at least by the men. The slight Scots brogue in her voice would make her unique among the young women on the marriage mart. As the guest of The Grand Countess, men would be intrigued.

He understood why Nash did not want Ailie going to London. Robbie wasn’t at all certain he liked the idea of the lass being paraded about in front of the ravenous rogues, even though, at times, he acted the rogue himself.

Here in Scotland, Ailie was a rare jewel, ripe for wooing yet isolated. In London, escorted through rooms crowded with bachelors seeking a wife, the competition for her hand would be fierce.

Though it mattered little to him and, he was certain it mattered not at all to Nash, as the only daughter of a shipbuilding magnate, Ailie Stephen would have a good dowry. She’d be one of The Golden Girls, as Robbie thought of them, the daughters of rich gentry who came not with lands, but with large portions.

Faced with a choice of a simpering ingénue just out of the schoolroom or an intelligent woman of uncommon beauty and wealth, the men looking for wives would consider Miss Aileen Stephen a most delectable choice. To Robbie’s mind, she was too great a prize to be offered up to the swains in London.

He brought his plate to the table and took the only available seat across from Nash. He winked at Ailie. “I recommend staying in Scotland.”

At his words, Nash visibly relaxed.

“’Sides,” Robbie tossed in, “Almack’s serves up tepid lemonade and weak tea. You’d not like it.”