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Chapter 16
By late afternoon, tired from the sledding they had indulged in, Nash bathed and went to his chamber to dress for dinner. Boughs of holly now framed the mirror and fragrant pine branches circled the candlestick on the small table next to his bed. Appetizing smells of apples baking with cinnamon, spicy mince pie and plum pudding wafted through the air.
“Christmas has definitely arrived at the Stephens’ house,” he said as donned his clothes.
Robbie looked at him from the edge of his bed where he sat pulling on his newly shined boots. “It has indeed.”
“There is something about Christmastide that brings new dishes to the table and new smells to my nose. They remind me of the season and home.”
Robbie stood and reached for his jacket. “London awaits us. Do not be so captured by William’s lovely sister you forget all we have waiting for us once we complete our task for Lord Sidmouth.”
Nash donned the clothing he had set out earlier. “I have not forgotten; I’ve been planning. In fact, I have been giving some thought to what we might tell Sidmouth should the Radical Laird slip through our fingers.”
Robbie shot him a sharp glance. “Lord Sidmouth considers us to be better at our work than to let that happen.”
“Does he? We delivered no revolutionaries to him in Manchester.”
His attention fixed on the mirror, Robbie tied his cravat for the second time. “The Home Secretary well knows that bit of work got out of hand for no misstep of ours. Besides, after his soldiers plucked Henry Hunt from the speaker’s platform, there were no revolutionaries to be had.”
Nash returned his brother the smile of a saint. “You make my point.”
Late that afternoon, Muriel stood in the parlor admiring the greenery scattered about. “Oh, Muriel,” Emily said breathlessly, as she entered the parlor, “you have done a marvelous job here. It is beyond lovely! Why, it’s the equal of your decorations in London I have long admired!”
Muriel was quite pleased with the way the large room had turned out. Every painting’s gilded frame was adorned with boughs of pine and holly. A garland of holly, ivy and rosemary, intertwined with white Christmas roses, spanned the length of the fireplace mantel and draped down each side. “It does look rather like Christmas, if I do say so myself.”
“Oh yes, it does. The scent of all the greenery, the Yule log fire and the smell of wassail has quite put me in the mood.”
William peeked his head in the doorway. “The kissing bough has just been hung in the entry hall. Want to partake in the historic event?”
“Come,” urged Emily, taking her arm. “You must see it. William made the frame and Ailie and I filled it with greenery. No mistletoe, of course, but the holly, rosemary, and other evergreens make for a nice arrangement. We’ll just pretend there is mistletoe.”
“Given your guests,” said Muriel, “I’m quite certain they need pretend nothing to make good use of the bough.”
They stood in the entry admiring the green and red bough hanging from the chandelier.
“The apples add a nice touch, don’t you think?” asked Emily.
“I do,” said Muriel. “And the red velvet bows are just the right embellishment.”
“Ailie thought to add them. They also grace the dining room chandelier, though I cannot imagine how she and the Powell twins managed to do it.”
“They are very clever young men,” said Muriel. “I imagine they can accomplish most anything they set their minds to.”
“The house has never looked so grand, Leannan,” said William. “You and Muriel and the other ladies are to be congratulated for bringing Christmas to Arbroath.” He pulled Emily under the bough and into his arms. “Let us be the first to christen the bough.”
While William and Emily managed that, Muriel returned to the parlor where a footman was just ladling out the wassail. “I’ll have one of those, my good man.”
Ailie had been late to dress for dinner. While she had not engaged in the sledding, she had helped Mrs. Banks and Emily put the finishing touches on the kitchen decorations. Unable to resist, she had snatched a piece of warm shortbread, cooling on the worktable and was just leaving the kitchen when Emily asked her to help finish the kissing bough. Only after that had she gone to her chamber to bathe.
“’Tis an unusual gown Lady Emily had made fer ye,” said Rhona. “’Tis silk, no?”
Ailie ran her hand down the front of the high-waisted gown, the silk a tartan of red, green and gold that rustled as she walked. She might not have chosen the particular plaid, but it went remarkably well with her hair. “Aye, ’tis silk. Perhaps I should wear my hair up tonight, it being Christmas Eve.”
“’Twould be pretty that way.” Ailie took a seat and Rhona went to work, fashioning Ailie’s hair into a long looping knot on the back of her head. A few curls were left out to frame her face and dangle down her nape.
When her maid had finished, Ailie stared into the mirror, seeing a remarkable change.
“You’re a wonder, Rhona. I look positively… elegant.”
