Page 77

“Do you like them? Nash and Robbie had the devil of a time getting them up there.”

Robbie remembered the bow-tying effort. Before it was done, he and Nash had uttered their complete repertoire of oaths. But, for the Mistress of the Setters, no task was too difficult.

When the roasted goose—of the pink-footed variety—was served, there were many “Oohs” and “Aahs”. Four birds, roasted to perfection, arrived on silver platters, and were carried to the sideboard where two footmen began carving.

Robbie’s mouth watered. Reconnaissance always gave him an appetite.

Across the table, Nick’s gaze fixed on the roast goose set before him, a goose surrounded by slices neatly carved. “William, your cook has made our geese a glory to behold.”

“Even better to eat,” said William. “But I believe it is Muriel’s cook, Mrs. Platt, who is responsible for much of this dinner. Am I correct, Leannan?”

“Mrs. Platt and Martha worked together on our feast. I have asked them to come to us when dessert is served so that we may properly thank them.”

“An excellent idea,” said William. “And now that you each have a glass of champagne in front of you, let’s all toast to a Happy Christmas.”

Robbie raised his glass along with the others. “Happy Christmas!”

When they had lifted their glasses to the babe, the marquess interjected yet another toast. “Let us drink to the new bairn Emily and William are expecting next spring!” When they had drunk to that, Hugh added, “And to our host and hostesses for a most memorable holiday in Scotland!”

Robbie raised his glass with the others and Muriel proclaimed, “Hear, hear!”

For the moment, Robbie wouldn’t think of Lord Sidmouth.

Oyster stuffing, carrots glazed in orange sauce, asparagus and a winter salad of lamb’s lettuce, watercress and mustard greens accompanied the roast goose. Robbie was in heaven.

“A splendid Christmas feast, Emily,” pronounced The Grand Countess. “As fine as any I ever had in London.”

Murmurs of agreement echoed around the table.

“I could become accustomed to this,” said Ailie.

It occurred to Robbie that if she went to London with Muriel, she might be there for next Christmas. Robbie had been reluctant to give up the game, but it was now apparent Nash had serious intentions toward the girl.

Lacking Nash’s proclivity for plants, Robbie had not yet been to see the orangery, so he had to ask, “Did you grow all these vegetables and salad greens in the orangery?”

“All save the apples surrounding the roast geese,” replied Emily. “Those, Captain Anderson brought me from London.”

“Emily’s a wonder with growing things,” put in Ailie. “You should pay the orangery a visit, Robbie. You will be astounded.”

“’Twas the first place I went the morning after we arrived,” said Nash, now working on a second helping of roast goose.

Robbie thought his twin too self-satisfied in his pursuit of plants and Ailie Stephen for that matter. After all, Robbie had interests, though his tended more toward the dangerous variety, like racing down Rotten Row or bare-knuckle boxing at Jackson’s.

While not needed on this trip, Robbie also possessed decent navigational skills. If Ailie designed ships, he could sail them, assuring they would arrive at their destination. “I would be happy to have a tour of the orangery if you were to escort me, Ailie.” So there, dear Brother.

Nash frowned into his carrots. Muriel looked at Robbie askance, raising one of her silver brows. He ignored them both.

“I’d be pleased to show it to you,” offered Ailie.

“I have a sketch of it if you’d like to see it,” put in Kit. “By the bye, Emily, the stuffing is quite tasty.” Then to Muriel, “Do you think Mrs. Platt might share her recipe?”

“She’d be flattered you asked,” returned the countess. “It is a family recipe of which she is quite proud.”

At that moment, in walked Mrs. Platt and the Stephens’ dark-haired cook with Christmas pudding, mince pies and English gingerbread cake. Robbie’s eyes followed the parade of desserts; he was quite fond of gingerbread.

“Oh, what lovely desserts!” exclaimed Mary. “Where shall I find the room?”

“I fear we shall manage all too well,” said Muriel, eyeing the confections.