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Ailie shook her head. “Really, Nash, ’tis just haddie stew.”

“Is that the smoked fish you eat at breakfast?” he asked, appalled.

Muriel, sitting beside Emily, narrowed her eyes on her bowl. “Are those pieces of green I detect by any chance kale?”

William laughed. “No kale. Shallot tops.”

Muriel dipped her spoon into the fish stew. “I am greatly relieved.”

Robbie, obviously proud of his just finished bowl, urged Nash on. “Try it. It’s very good. We might have to take some of the smoked haddock back to London. You know how Mother loves to dabble in Father’s galley and it would keep well at sea.”

“In Baltimore,” said Tara, “we would call this fish chowder, but our fish would not be smoked and we’d add salt pork and parsley, sweet marjoram, savory and thyme. I agree with Robbie, Nick. It’s good. We should take some back to London, too.”

Nash, thinking himself quite brave, brought the spoon to his mouth and tasted, surprised to find he liked the salty fish combined with the sweet milk, potatoes and shallots. “Actually, I find it rather tasty, perfect for warming one’s insides on a cold day.” He smiled at Ailie. “You see? I can learn to like your food.”

For some odd reason, that caused Ailie to blush, which made the freckles scattered over her nose stand out. He thought the effect quite charming.

Across the table, Muriel made a noise that sounded suspiciously like “Humph”.

After luncheon, they retired to the parlor to sample Mrs. Platt’s wassail. Nash had a fondness for the drink that tasted of apples, cinnamon and cloves. It reminded him that Christmas was a little less than a week away.

Remembering Robbie’s admonition, he thought perhaps he should go to town but, later, when the temperature dropped, he decided against it. Thus, he was in the parlor with the others, gathered for dinner, when the unexpected visitor arrived.