Mine Is the Night_ A Novel - Liz Curtis Higgs [140]
By the time Elisabeth reached the dining room, she was breathless, not from exertion, but from anticipation. “Milord,” she said, offering him a low curtsy, if only to calm herself. She was soon seated facing a window overlooking Bell Hill’s gardens, then was served a glass of claret, which she politely declined.
“None for me either,” Lord Jack told the footman, then settled into his chair at the head of the table, the carved wooden back arching above him at a regal height. “ ’Tis the middle of the day, and I would have my wits about me.”
“As would I,” she agreed.
They smiled at each other across the table while dishes came and went in a steady flow. He told her stories of his years on the Centurion. Of tumultuous seas and fearsome storms. Of torn sails and lost trade winds.
“Were you ever frightened, milord?”
He paused, his water glass halfway to his lips. “If I say nae, I’ll appear proud. If I say yes, a coward.” Lord Jack took a long sip, then admitted, “Aye, there was a moment when I feared our ship might founder on the shoals near Tinion. But God is faithful and came to our rescue with a stout wind that pushed us out to sea.” He put down his empty water glass, swiftly replenished by a silent footman. “What frightens you, Mrs. Kerr? Not poverty, it seems. Nor hard work.”
“Nae.” She dabbed at her mouth, unable to eat another bite. “As the Buik says, I have learned to be content.”
He nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You’ve too many friends to ever fear loneliness.”
“Friends, aye,” she said softly.
“What of Mr. MacPherson?”
His question caught her off guard. “Milord?”
“Is he a trustworthy man, this Highland tailor? For I must say, if there is anyone or anything you seem afraid of, ’tis him.”
Afraid of Rob? She shook her head. “He would never hurt me. As for trusting him.” She paused, not wishing to cast doubt unfairly. “In all our dealings in Edinburgh, he always honored his promises.”
By the look on his face, Lord Jack saw through her careful wording, but he did not press the matter. “Are you quite sated?” he asked, eying her dessert plate, where only a smudge of lemon cream remained.
She smiled. “I’ll not need supper, if that’s what you mean.”
“Nor will I,” he admitted, “though it seems I’ll have guests at my table this eve.”
Elisabeth waited, hoping he might say something about Rosalind Murray. That he abhorred her, that he adored her—anything to put the subject to rest. On second thought, Elisabeth did not want to hear the latter. Nae, she did not.
When she started to rise, the admiral quickly did the same. “A fine meal, milord,” she told him.
He offered her a courtly bow. “With even finer company.”
Only then did she happen to gaze out the window and notice an abrupt change in the weather. Low, gray clouds were scuttling across the heavens, and a sharp wind lashed the tree branches against the outer walls of the house.
“We’ll have rain before nightfall,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “Let me have the carriage brought round for you at six o’ the clock.”
Elisabeth hesitated, tempted by his generosity, yet not wanting to give the household more fodder for their gossip. “Nae,” she said at last, “for ’tis an easy walk and all downhill.”
“You are certain, Mrs. Kerr?”
She stole another glance out the window. “Aye.”
Sixty-One
My day is closed!
the gloom of night is come!
JOANNA BAILLIE
efore the kirk bell tolled the hour of six, Elisabeth flew out the servants’ entrance, anxious to reach home. The skies were black with clouds, the sun had all but disappeared below the horizon, and the temperature had plummeted since she’d left Halliwell’s Close that morning. A storm was coming hard and fast from the west.
Why had she refused his lordship’s kind offer of a coach? Too late now, for she did not care to interrupt him with the Murrays expected. Rain was merely water, she reminded herself.
Elisabeth hastened across the lawn, clutching her hat in one hand and her sewing basket in the other. She’d promised to alter one of Anne’s gowns that evening