Mine Is the Night_ A Novel - Liz Curtis Higgs [181]
Oh my dear Jack. Elisabeth gripped the letter, overcome by his kindness. Alas, she knew her mother well. Fiona would never leave the Highlands.
My place is here, Bess, among the friends and neighbors I have known all my life. You can be sure they will take care of me to the end of my days.
A great sadness welled up inside her. I wish I could see you, Mother. I wish I could tell you about the Almighty and all he has done for me. Would she never have the chance?
I shall look forward to your letters now that I am certain to receive them. I promise to write as oft as I can.
Elisabeth’s sorrow began to ease. She would write her mother every week. Nae, twice a week. All was not lost.
I will anticipate with great joy the news of your first child.
Your loving mother
My first child. Seeing it written in her mother’s familiar hand stirred hope anew in Elisabeth’s heart. Though she’d not borne a child for Donald, might the Lord still bless her womb? Please, Father. For Jack’s sake. Aye, and for her own. A braw wee lad. A bonny daughter.
Elisabeth slowly folded the letter, then looked up. “You are so generous, Jack. Offering my mother a place in your home.”
“Our home,” he reminded her.
“Just to be able to write her and know she is willing to write back.” She sighed, then drank in the fresh breeze, scented with dried leaves and ripe apples. “ ’Tis a beginning.”
“This day is all about beginnings.” He drew her to his side as they walked along the garden bed, Charbon leading the way, twitching his gray tail. “Our guests will not arrive until noontide,” Jack reminded her. “What say we enjoy this fine weather and discuss our plans for the future. Have you any improvements in mind for the household?”
Her smile returned. “I do.”
Eighty-One
In all the wedding cake,
hope is the sweetest of plums.
DOUGLAS JERROLD
ate afternoon sunshine poured through the freshly scrubbed windows of Bell Hill as Jack strode through the halls, stopping only to confer with the musicians, making very certain all was in readiness. Reverend Brown was waiting by the fireplace, and the two newest brides in the parish, Anne Dalgliesh and Marjory Gibson, were seated in the front row with their husbands. Now if he just had his own bride, the ceremony might begin.
He’d not spied Elisabeth since Sally had spirited her away. “Ye’ll see her in the drawing room at four o’ the clock but not afore,” she had told him. Rather firmly, for a maidservant.
Dickson came round the corner and immediately frowned. “Whatever have you done to your neckcloth, milord?”
“Nothing,” Jack insisted. At least not on purpose. He stood still while Dickson righted the thing but kept one eye on the broad, open stair where Elisabeth would descend.
“We’ve had no correspondence from Lord Mark in Edinburgh?” Jack inquired, expecting Dickson to shake his head, which he did. “And nothing from London?” Jack was not prone to worry, but until Elisabeth spoke her vows, His Majesty could still intervene. Should King George protest a marriage, any Church of Scotland minister, including Reverend Brown, would be required to honor his sovereign’s wishes, signed agreement or no.
Is there any impediment to this marriage? Jack could not wait to get past those dreaded words.
“Milord,” Dickson murmured, “ ’tis your lady.”
Jack looked up just as Elisabeth started down the stair. Even with her wide hoops and full skirts, she moved effortlessly from one step to the next. Her dark hair was a crown, piled high on top of her head and studded with pearls. But it was her smile that captured him, pinning him in place until she reached his side.
“Lord Buchanan,” she said with a tilt of her chin, “I wonder if you might escort me to the drawing room.”
He smiled down at her. “With pleasure.”
Jack immediately noticed the scent of lavender wafting from her gown and the quickness of her step. “Madam is in a hurry,” he murmured.
Blushing, she tugged him closer. “I’ll not deny it.”
“I shall be waiting for you,” he assured her when they reached the door.