Page 103 of A Secret Scottish Christmas

Chapter 23

New Year’s Day

The day was fair but the wind off the sea biting as Muriel waved goodbye to Angus from the deck of the Albatross. Behind her, the ship’s crew was preparing to set sail. Aileen and her new husband waved to the man who Muriel now called friend.

“He will miss you, I think,” said Aileen.

“And I him. Do bring your grandfather to London for a visit, won’t you?”

“I will at least suggest it,” she replied, “but Grandfather’s life is here on Scotland’s coast with his fishermen friends and his business. Still, for you, he might come.” A moment ago the young woman had been radiantly happy from her wedding night, but now she was wistful at having to say goodbye to her grandfather.

For herself, Muriel hated partings and always felt melancholy when they were forced upon her. There had been too many in her life. She had only to turn around and someone was departing, if not this life then England. She did not envy Aileen being the wife of a man who went to sea, but she would have the other Powell wives for company when that happened.

The pale winter sun hung low in the sky when the Albatross docked in Arbroath that afternoon. Muriel had come up on deck to see the butler Lamont, his head held high, Mrs. Platt, smiling broadly, and the housekeeper Mrs. Banks waiting to meet the ship. The three servants stood at the edge of the dock, Aileen’s watchful setters sitting patiently at their feet.

William and Emily descended the gangplank first with Muriel just behind them on the arm of Robbie Powell. The setters rose and whimpered until their mistress, just behind Muriel, affectionately greeted them.

As the others filed off the ship, Muriel turned to Aileen. “Will you take the dogs to London?”

Aileen exchanged a glance with her husband before answering. “Aye. Nash has agreed Goodness and Mercy may come as long as Captain Anderson doesn’t mind their presence on the Albatross.”

Nash glanced at his bride and then faced Muriel. “Can’t you picture us walking the setters in Hyde Park?”

Muriel could well imagine the sight. “A fine-looking young couple and their dashing black setters? Why, I expect all of London will speak of it.”

“And every man will envy my brother,” said Robbie, “including me.”

Nash’s face bore a victor’s smug smile.

Muriel looked at Robbie askance. “Just remember, Robbie Powell, you are next.”

Nash made a noise that Muriel could only describe as a snort, but Aileen smiled. “I look forward to seeing the rogue fall. Already I like my future sister-in-law.”

“I wonder who she’ll be,” said Nash, turning to his brother. “Perhaps Muriel will find you some quiet, biddable girl for you to charm.”

“I shall be looking, you can be certain of it,” said Muriel, “but I do not promise biddable.” She glanced again at the brooch Nash had given his bride, pinned to Aileen’s cloak. “I do love that brooch, Aileen. Your new husband has excellent taste.”

“Aye, he does, doesn’t he?” Aileen gave her husband of one day a look that spoke of their wedding night. “I would expect you to admire it, Muriel. Nash told me the stone is a Madeira citrine.”

“No wonder it caught my eye,” Though many years past her own wedding, Muriel felt a blush coming on as she remembered her first night with the Earl of Claremont, the first time she had glimpsed the pearls he gave her.

They strolled up to the estate and William invited them into the parlor where drinks awaited them. “Since you sail tomorrow, we’ll have an early dinner tonight.”

Muriel was glad for the Madeira that fortified her for the sad parting she knew was coming. While she would be glad to see her friends in London, she would miss her dear friend Emily and the new friends she had made in Scotland. But what wonderful new memories she had.

William came to her side. “Have you quite enjoyed yourself these past weeks, Muriel?”

“Indeed, I have.” She sipped her Madeira. “Can’t recall a holiday I have enjoyed so much in years. You and Emily have been wonderful hosts.”

“And, of course, there was Angus,” said Robbie, tossing her a smirk.

“Shameless rogue,” said Muriel.

Once she had rested and Rhona helped her pack for the sail to London, Muriel went downstairs early, hoping to see Emily before dinner. In the parlor, she found Kit sitting on one of the sofas setting her sketchbooks on the table in front of her, Muriel’s charges gathered around the artist.

Her dark red hair neatly tied back at her nape, a pencil resting over one ear, Kit looked up when Muriel entered. “Oh good, you’re here. Come sit next to me.”

Muriel took the seat next to Kit and everyone pulled up a chair around the table. Emily claimed the other end of the sofa, William sitting on the arm above her.