Mine Is the Night_ A Novel - Liz Curtis Higgs [139]
“You were eight-and-ten when you married,” Elisabeth reminded her gently. “And Lord John was more than twenty years older than you.” She leaned across the table and clasped Marjory’s hand. “Of course, Gibson is far younger than that. Handsome, too, if you’ll not mind my saying so.”
A smile found its way to Marjory’s face. “He is fine looking. And kind. And attentive.”
Elisabeth wished she too might speak of the man who’d captured her heart. But Lord Jack was not a manservant; he was a peer of the realm, who deserved someone like Rosalind Murray. Even though he seldom mentioned her, Elisabeth had watched Lady Murray’s relentless campaign unfold all summer. What gentleman with eyes in his head could resist such a prize?
After the breakfast dishes were cleared Elisabeth left for Bell Hill and stopped by Walter Halliwell’s shop to deliver a plate of fresh ginger biscuits. “Mrs. Kerr made an extra dozen,” she told their landlord, “thinking you might enjoy them.”
“Most kind,” the wigmaker said, popping a small biscuit into his mouth. A moment later, still chewing, he asked, “Are ye bound for Bell Hill? Might I trouble ye to deliver a wig to his lordship?”
When he handed her a gentleman’s peruke wrapped in a cloth bag, Elisabeth had little choice but to take it. She had no objection to the errand, only to the rather personal nature of the item. Bidding the wigmaker farewell, she stepped out of his tidy shop and into the close that bore his name, hoping she might deliver the peruke to Roberts or Dickson and so avoid any embarrassment.
But it was not to be.
As she reached the gates leading to the mansion, Lord Jack trotted up on Janvier. Taking his morning ride, it seemed, without coat or hat, the full sleeves of his shirt ruffling in the breeze. “What have you there?” he asked, his gaze resting on her round bundle. “Balls of yarn to amuse my cat?”
“Nae, ’tis something for you,” she said, holding it up. “From Mr. Halliwell.”
“Ah.” He claimed the bag at once. “Shame on Walter for turning my talented dressmaker into an errand boy.” As Janvier pawed at the ground, clearly eager to stretch his legs, his lordship surprised her with an invitation. “Might you join me for dinner at two o’ the clock?”
“If it pleases you,” she said, thinking of someone who would not be at all pleased.
Even without a watch like Mrs. Pringle’s in her apron pocket, Elisabeth knew the dinner hour was approaching. The nearby kitchen was in a frenzy, with Mrs. Tudhope at the center of it.
’Tis time, Bess. She bathed her hands, prayed for a calm spirit, and started toward the stair, greeting everyone she passed, hoping to dispel any rumors.
It was not a sin to share a meal with her employer, she told herself. Footmen and maidservants would be in and out of the dining room from one course to the next. The two would never be alone. In an hour dinner would be over, and she could return to her sewing, her only regret a too-full stomach.
“Bess?” A whisper, nothing more.
She turned at the foot of the stair and discovered Rob moving toward her. “What is it?” she asked, certain he meant to speak of his letter, of his plans for the Americas.
His voice was low, yet his tone harsh, strident. “D’ye not ken what they’re saying, Bess? From one end o’ the hoose to the ither?”
“Please, Mr.—”
“They’re calling ye his leddy. D’ye ken my meaning?”
His mistress. She swallowed. “I do understand, but ’tis not true.”
He inched closer. “Can ye say there is naught atween ye? Nae luve at a’?”
Elisabeth straightened, meeting his gaze without apology. “Whatever may be in our hearts, you can be very sure our behavior has been utterly chaste. Lord Buchanan honors the Lord at all times, and I hope I do as well.” She took her skirts in hand, her thoughts halfway up the turnpike stair. “You must forgive me, but his lordship is expecting me this very moment.”
“We’ll speak o’ this again, Bess,” he said, more warning than assurance.
She fled up the steps, praying she was being honest with herself and with the Almighty. My thoughts are honorable, Lord, yet I do