Mine Is the Night_ A Novel - Liz Curtis Higgs [110]
Jack paused halfway down the steps, a question nagging at him. When he had good or bad news to report, why was Elisabeth Kerr the first person who came to mind? The answer was patently obvious: she was always the first person who came to mind, from the moment he lifted his head each morning until his last waking thought at night.
A moment later Jack strolled through the door of her workroom, waving his letter like an eager schoolboy on his first outing. “I am soon bound for Braemar,” he told her. “With any luck I’ll bring home a brace of red grouse.”
She looked up, Charbon curled at her feet. “Is that so, milord?”
Jack saw at once she was troubled, though by what he could not imagine. He claimed the empty chair beside her, drawing it as near as he dared. “What is it, Bess?”
“No doubt you’ve forgotten, but Braemar is my home.”
He frowned. “I thought it was Castleton …” Well done, Jack. As if Scotland had only one castle town.
“Castleton of Braemar,” she said. “I wonder if you might …” She paused. “If you might deliver a letter to my mother. Unless ’tis an inconvenience. I write her almost every month and know the cost of my posts must be a burden to her.”
“ ’Twill be my pleasure,” he said, glad for any chance to serve her.
“I do wonder if ’tis wise to travel north,” she said, “with the Duke of Cumberland still menacing the Highlands.”
“The king’s son has no quarrel with me,” Jack assured her. “In any case, I will have a gun in hand and Dickson by my side. We are to lodge with Sir John and his manservant at the Mar estate, owned by a Mr. Duff.”
“William Duff.” She sighed pensively. “I suppose you’ll be safe enough there.”
Any thoughts of red grouse or fresh salmon vanished when he realized she was concerned for his welfare. Emboldened, he took her hand. “You can be sure I’ll return in one piece.”
“One can never be certain of such things,” she said. “I thought my husband would return from war, and he did not.”
Lord Donald Kerr. In all their many discussions, they’d shared few words about the man who’d loved her, married her, then left her a widow. Did she love him still? Would she mourn him always? Is there hope for me? That was the question Jack most wanted to ask but could not.
“What might you tell me about Lord Donald?” he inquired at last, letting her decide how much, or how little, to reveal about her marriage.
She did not withdraw her hand, though her tone grew cooler. “My husband was everything a gentleman should be. Well read, well traveled, well educated, well mannered. He was also one thing a gentleman should never be.”
Jack waited, his heart thudding in his chest. What is it, Bess? He sorted through his memories of their conversations. Perhaps she’d hinted at this before. Was Donald Kerr a drunkard? A gambler? A liar? A coward? Thinking to put her at ease, Jack assured her, “Whatever his weakness, I will not think less of the man. Nor of you for marrying him.”
She turned her head away as her limp hand slipped from his grasp. “My husband was unfaithful to me. Repeatedly.”
Jack stared at her, certain he’d misunderstood. “You do not mean he—”
“Aye.”
He shook his head, trying to make sense of it. “It is not possible,” he finally said. “No gentleman with you by his side would ever look anywhere else.”
“Nonetheless, he did, milord.” Elisabeth rose, casting aside her sewing. “He confessed as much to me, both in person and on paper. And I met one of his … women. I can assure you, ’tis more than possible.” She moved to the hearth, then stood with her back to him, her shoulders bent from the weight of her burden.
Go to her, Jack. Do something, say something.