Mine Is the Night_ A Novel - Liz Curtis Higgs [155]
Elisabeth didn’t like the sound of either one of them, the second especially. “What have you in mind, Marjory?”
Her mother-in-law’s response was swift and decisive. “When the festivities are drawing to a close, slip down the stair to your workroom and bathe from head to toe, using my lavender soap. Brush your hair until it shines and place Annie’s silver comb where it will show to best advantage. Then dress in the lavender gown my son bought for you—”
Elisabeth gasped. “Marjory, I couldn’t!”
“Aye, you could,” she insisted. “Lord Buchanan has never seen you wearing anything but black. ’Tis time he viewed you as a beautiful and marriageable young lady. Not as a poor widow who sews dresses for his servants.”
Elisabeth glanced toward her leather trunk, picturing the folded gown inside. “ ’Twill need to be aired and ironed …”
“Easily managed,” Marjory promised. “Gibson and I will wrap your gown in a sheet, lay it out in a cart, and deliver it to your workroom tomorrow, such that none will be the wiser.”
In spite of her qualms, Elisabeth smiled. “You really have thought of everything.”
“The hour matters most of all,” Marjory told her. “Long after supper, when his lordship is well sated and his guests have departed for home, you must speak with him in private.”
Elisabeth’s eyes widened. “You cannot mean in his bedchamber?”
Marjory paused, as if considering it, then agreed, “Nae, ’twould not be proper. But you must approach him in a secluded spot where you are not likely to be interrupted.”
Elisabeth knew the very place. “His study,” she said. “Sally once told me Lord Buchanan often ends his evenings seated by the fire.”
Marjory sipped her tea in silence. “Aye,” she finally said. “Once you’re certain he’s alone, quietly enter the room and present yourself to him. A deep curtsy and your lovely gown will speak volumes. Once he understands you are no longer in mourning, he will surely propose marriage in short order.”
Can it be as simple as that? Elisabeth pressed a hand to her fluttery stomach, imagining what she might say, what he might do, how things would end.
Do I want this? ’Twas the greater question. Better a peaceful widow than a heartbroken wife. Yet Lord Jack was surely different than Donald or Rob. He’d never gazed at other women in her presence, let alone seduced them. Nor had he raised his voice against her, let alone his hand.
If he welcomed her proposal, they might soon be married. But if he misunderstood her, if he refused her, if he preferred Rosalind Murray, with her title and her wealth.
Elisabeth’s courage began to falter. “Oh, Marjory, are you certain?”
“I am,” she answered without hesitation. “With Rosalind in the wings, we cannot wait until January.”
Elisabeth nodded, finally convinced as well. “I shall follow your instructions to the letter.”
“And may God bless you for it.” Marjory glanced at the window, hearing voices on the street below. “Until then, not a word to anyone, Bess.”
Sixty-Eight
Oh, thou art fairer than the evening air,
Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE
ack stood at the edge of his rose garden, smiling up at the twilit sky, waiting.
Behind him in the dining room, Mrs. Pringle was giving orders. He could hear her firm, steady voice floating through the open windows, putting everyone and everything in its place. By the time his first guests appeared in the entrance hall, Bell Hill would be ready to welcome them.
“She’s here, milord.”
Jack turned with a grateful nod, then strode past the footman, hoping he might have a moment alone with her in the drawing room. He’d not seen her since yesterday morning at kirk, when she’d promised him a Michaelmas surprise. Of course, his own surprise for her would come when the musicians struck the first note.
Jack swept through the open doors with