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“He’ll be wanting to please the mistress, so St Mary’s on the morrow seems fitting.”
“Aye, you are right. After all, if Emily were in London, she’d be attending the Anglican church service on Christmas Day.”
George Kinloch stood before the window in the largest of his rooms in Miss Grahame’s boarding house, staring at the stone buildings across the street, as drab as the sky above them. Behind him, the men’s voices faded as his thoughts turned to his family.
Were they getting ready to celebrate Christmas? Would they be in church tomorrow?
His last letter to Helen had been written from Edinburgh on the fifteenth of December, telling her he was leaving the country. If all went well, his next one would be sent from France, encouraging her to come and bring their girls. His sons would remain in Scotland to see to his affairs.
With only two days before his departure, plans were well advanced. Taking his father’s middle name as his surname, he would travel as Mr. Oliphant. His cousin Grant would arrive the night before they sailed, bringing with him a wig. George had agreed to wear it until they were free of Britain.
His conscience did not accuse him of any crime, but he would still be uneasy until they sailed. At least he’d be sailing to a country that had once welcomed him.
The angst he felt was that brought on by the distance that separated him from his loved ones about which he could do nothing.
As he turned to face the room, the voices resumed their normal volume.
Hamish was making inquiry of his brother Iain. “Ye followed ’im?”
“Aye, after he passed the boardin’ house, I slipped oot tae see where the mon went. He were the same one that were in the tavern, ye ken?”
“And?” Derek said. “What’d ye learn?”
“Not much. He crossed Shambles Bridge so I cum back.”
Hamish cuffed his brother on the side of the head. “Ye dolt. Ye should’ve followed ’im tae see where he went.”
Muriel was in her element at this time of year. The earl had always insisted on helping her decorate Claremont House, the impressive four-story edifice in London that he had purchased for her, which was still her home.
The moment the kissing bough dangled from the entry hall chandelier, he would sweep her into his arms and kiss her soundly. “We must christen it properly, my love.”
She remembered the tradition with great fondness. That they had never had children of their own was a source of deep sadness, particularly at Christmas, but the earl made up for it by inviting all their nieces, nephews and cousins for the holidays. It was one of those cousins who now had the title and lived in the family’s country estate.
Rhona bustled about Muriel’s chamber, folding her nightclothes and straightening the bed. “There’s a fine breakfast waiting fer ye this morning, my lady. Ye’ll need yer strength if ye want to participate in everything the mistress has planned.”
“I don’t wonder there will be much to do since Emily tells me she has been busy planning for Christmas for quite some time.”
“Aye, she has. Fer the now, the greenery sits in piles in nearly every room of the house just waiting to be hung. Three footmen stand ready to assist. Early this morning, the mistress went to the orangery to cut the flowers she wants fer the table. Even the kitchen’s to be decorated.”
“I’m certain Mrs. Platt won’t mind helping. She always decorates our kitchen at Claremont House with a great deal of aplomb.”
“Martha will be grateful. She has never done it afore and she has taken a liking to your Mrs. Platt.” The maid paused in her work and turned to face Muriel. “I fergot to tell ye the master has arranged for sleds so all of ye can slide down the snowiest hill.”
Muriel smiled to herself. “My charges will certainly look forward to that. They’re an adventurous lot.”
Rhona laughed. “Aye, my lady, and Mistress Ailie is surely one of them.”
In the dining room, Muriel wished everyone a good morning, noting, for the first time, Aileen was not sitting between the Powell twins.
Did this break from their happy threesome reflect some change in their relationship?
She took the seat adjacent to Emily and was about to ask for coffee when a footman approached and inquired if he might assist with her choices. “Thank you, my good man. Indeed, you may. Eggs and biscuits would serve. And some hot coffee post-haste.” The footman dipped his head, poured her coffee and went to the sideboard.
Muriel reached out to pat Emily’s hand. “How are you this Christmas Eve morning, my dear?”
Emily placed her other hand on her slightly rounded belly, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I am splendid, Muriel. This morning, I felt the baby quicken for the first time!”
From the other end of the table, William lifted his coffee in toast. “The bairn is a braw lad.”
