Page 2 of A Secret Scottish Christmas

Chapter 1

Arbroath, Forfarshire, Scotland

December 1819

Aileen Stephen drew her blue tartan shawl tightly around her, burying her cold fingers in the soft wool as she stared out the window, watching snow fall in great lumps on the shipyard. In her mind, she saw the face that had come to her in a dream the night before. A dark-haired man of handsome visage who seemed to see into her very soul.

A man she did not know.

The stove in the shipyard office warmed her backside, but the air next to the large window carried winter’s chill. “It’s snowing again, Will. Soon, the entire yard will be buried.”

As she watched, the snow covered the decks, rigging and masts of the schooners docked in front of the company’s offices, making them appear like fairy ships. Beyond the snow-covered schooners, the North Sea showed its drab face, like an old sailor’s, gray and sullen.

Behind her, she heard her brother scratching a line into his ledger. “Aye, no work outside today, but the lads are still working on the new schooner in the main shop and I’ve got others cutting sails. They’ll have the week before Hogmanay and the New Year to spend with their families, so they’ll not mind a bit of work before then. ’Sides, I’ve made sure the stove fires are stoked and fed with coal.”

She turned away from the window and reached her hands toward the heat from the office stove, her ginger hair falling over one shoulder. Opening the door of the stove, she added a log and breathed in the sweet smell of the burning birch. “When are your guests arriving from London?”

Will looked up from his ledger. “They may be English, Ailie, but they’re our guests and Emily’s friends, so do be kind to them.” He gave her one of his smiles that never failed to soften her ire. As older brothers went, he was more than tolerable.

“Haven’t I been practicing the songs to play for them?”

“Aye, you have. They will love the music. I want Emily’s first Christmas away from London to be a special time of celebration, one she will always remember.” He leaned back in his chair and began to chew the end of his cedar wood pencil, seeming to contemplate the unknowable as only Will could. In truth, Ailie loved her English sister-in-law of one year and would be happy to please her, for Emily had made Will content.

“So, when do they arrive?”

Will twisted his pencil. “That depends on the weather, of course. I sent the Albatross a week ago. Allowing for time to load and take on provisions, they should be leaving London about now.”

“Might I know who’s coming?”

Her brother set his pencil down, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. His mouth quirked up in a grin. “Muriel, Lady Claremont, Emily’s dearest friend. She’s an older dowager and quite respected in London Society.” He smiled as if remembering something. “Loves feathers and parties. You’ll like her.” Uncrossing his arms, he picked up his pencil. “I should probably warn you, though. Muriel dabbles in matchmaking. ’Twas the countess who picked me for Emily.”

Ailie considered the possibility of an aging English countess who dabbled in matchmaking being one of their guests. Lady Claremont would be hard pressed to find candidates for her efforts in Arbroath. Ailie’s younger brothers and unmarried cousins were all in Aberdeen, where her father and uncle ran the successful shipbuilding concern Alexander Stephen & Sons.

“Who is the countess bringing with her?” Someone for Ailie to talk to, she hoped.

“Ormond and his wife, Mary, of course.”

Ailie had never met Lord Ormond, one of her brother’s Cambridge friends, but Will had spoken often of him and his young wife, both English aristocrats. Emily, who knew the pair, reported they were great lovers of horseflesh and raised thoroughbreds for racing.

“The Ormonds attended our wedding in London last December. The marchioness is younger than you, yet she has already managed to give Ormond his heir and a spare.”

“Is that a hint?” Will didn’t need to tell her she had reached the age of twenty-four and was still unwed.

“Nay, Ailie. I know I sometimes tease you but if you desire to never wed, though Mother will be appalled, you will always have a home with Emily and me. It’s just that…”

“What?”

“I would see you find the happiness I have found with Emily. Kindred souls and all that.”

“’Tis rare, Will, especially for a woman who would not confine herself to the home.”

“I know, but at least our guests will provide some interesting conversation that should appeal. Ormond wrote to say he’s bringing his friends from Powell and Sons.” At her puzzled expression, he added, “It’s a London shipping company. Every man in the family is a shipmaster—and there are five of them.” Will waggled his chestnut brows. “Ormond thinks we’ll have much to talk about since the Powells buy ships and we build them.”

She chuckled. “That will make for interesting discourse.” Ailie’s whole world revolved around shipbuilding. It would always be her preference to speak of ships rather than London gossip or Scotland’s unhappy textile workers. She had just turned nineteen when Will returned from the war in France and urged her to leave Aberdeen to join him in his new venture in Arbroath.

She went back to her desk and picked up the drawing she’d been working on. “So, how many are coming?”

Her brother reached for the letter he had set aside. “According to Ormond, their children are spending Christmas with the grandparents. So, in addition to the Ormonds and the dowager countess, all four of the Powell brothers have accepted the invitation, the two who are married bringing their wives. Nine guests in all.”