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She laughed. “You are from London, aye? Did you fight Boney in France?”

Nash had to handle the question carefully so as to say nothing of their spying. “Ah, yes. I am from London. My family owns Powell and Sons Shipping. We’re all involved in the business in one way or another. And our business supported the war.” Before she could ask in what manner they had served, he said, “My two older brothers, Nick and Martin, are masters of their own ships. On occasion, Robbie and I sail but, recently, we have been on the land side of the business. I do a bit of design work now and then.”

“You design ships?”

Detecting an interest on her part and, thinking to impress her, he said, “I do. Brigs, schooners, sloops. Should you come to London, it would be my pleasure to show them to you.”

“I see you are monopolizing our host’s delightful sister,” said Robbie, suddenly appearing at Nash’s elbow.

“The man in the brown tailcoat,” quipped Ailie. “You must be Robbie.”

Robbie gave Nash a look of feigned dismay. “You divulged our evening code?”

Nash had no intention of apologizing. “I did. The fair damsel required assistance and I was only too happy to provide it.”

On the far side of the room, the butler, a tall man with thinning brown hair, impeccably dressed in formal attire, appeared in the doorway. “Dinner is served,” he droned.

“That’s Lamont,” Ailie explained. “Our new butler from Aberdeen. Before he came, Mrs. Banks would just throw open the front door and welcome our guests. But William thought more help was needed what with Mrs. Banks being occupied with the new servants. I’ll be interested to see if William decides to keep Lamont once all of you return to London.”

Nash detected wry amusement in her eyes. “How does Mrs. Banks feel about it?”

“She’s not certain but, for the now, he is useful.”

Still conversing, the others ambled toward the open double doors.

Nash offered his arm to Ailie. So did Robbie. She accepted both with a smile. Arms linked together, the three of them set off for the dining room.

Ailie decided that Robbie’s charm could rival that of any Scot she knew. Nash was by no means less appealing than his twin, just more reserved. Robbie’s easy laughter appealed to her, but his flirtatious ways suggested he might not be constant. She had called him a rake and, upon reflection, she rather thought that had been a correct assessment. Still, he was a very charming rake.

Both dressed like gentlemen, fastidious in their attire and seemingly as at home in a drawing room as on the deck of a ship. And, since their arrival, both had flirted with her, which was not too surprising since she was the only unattached younger female.

Were they to change coats, she doubted she could tell them apart. In appearance at least, they were very alike and very British, their speech quite proper. Most of the men she knew spoke with a brogue, occasionally adding in a Doric expression of the Lowland Scots. Well, except for her father and brothers, gentry who had long engaged in business with London merchants. She had become used to Emily’s aristocratic speech, but having a house full of upper class English would be a new experience.

As the three of them entered the dining room, Ailie saw that Emily was seated at one end of the table with Lord Ormond and Captain Nick Powell on either side of her, and Will was at the other end between the dowager countess and Lady Ormond.

“A beautiful room,” Nash remarked.

“My brother had it refurbished when he added onto the house. The blue walls beneath a ceiling of white were Emily’s idea. I quite like them.”

When Ailie realized the twelve of them would require every chair, she thought perhaps Will had envisioned just such a dinner when he ordered the long mahogany table, now covered with white linen, Emily’s fine porcelain dishes and silver candlesticks.

The crystal chandelier hanging above the table, its candles causing the crystals to flicker as if lit from within, was a thing of beauty. “Will acquired the chandelier in Edinburgh.”

“It’s magnificent,” said Robbie. “French?”

“Aye.” Under the chandelier in the center of the table, Ailie recognized the arrangement of deep pink camellias as being from the orangery.

At Will’s insistence, Ailie took her place between the Powell twins, Muriel on their left and Nick Powell on their right. ’Twas no surprise her brother had placed her where she would be hemmed in by the only unmarried men at the table. Ailie was not opposed to marriage, but he would have to be an unusual man. One who loved her, yes, but one who would also allow her to pursue the work that was her passion.

Across from her, Martin Powell sat between his redheaded wife and Nick’s American wife, the honey-blonde Tara, the only other woman who wore her hair like Ailie, most of it left long.

Because of where Will had placed Ailie, a husband would dine next to his wife, not exactly the thing in aristocratic circles, but this was Arbroath. No one seemed to mind, certainly not the husband and wife, who were casting sheep’s eyes at each other.

To help her remember who was who, Ailie noted Martin was the only blue-eyed Powell brother. The eldest brother Nick, whose face had the rugged appearance of a man who’d spent years at sea, had amber eyes. But, to her mind, the most glorious of the brothers’ eyes were those of the two handsome twins, gold disks etched in brown and ringed in dark green, the color of Scotland’s moors on a sun-filled day.

Unfortunately, their eyes, like their faces, were identical. Bother that.

As the footmen served the carrot and orange soup, Kit must have become aware of Ailie’s watchful gaze. “’Tis our first holiday without our daughter since she was born a year and a half ago,” explained Kit. “We are enjoying the time together.”