Mine Is the Night (51 page)

Come Martinmas, when accounts were settled, the rent for this house would become Marjory’s responsibility. Until then she would make a home for Elisabeth, guarding her from the Rob MacPhersons of the world.

Wasn’t that what Donald would have wanted?

Marjory sank onto the upholstered chair, no longer sure what her late son expected of her. He’d played the part of the doting heir, all the while sullying their family’s name in the closes and wynds of Edinburgh. He’d also broken
his wife’s heart, reaching for other women who couldn’t hold a candle to her. Yet when he’d departed Edinburgh, Lord Donald had made one wish quite clear:
May I count on you to look after Elisabeth?

Marjory stared at the dying coals in the hearth.
What can I do for her, Lord? How may I see her well cared for?

The answer rose in her heart like the sun.
Let her marry Lord Buchanan now
.

“Aye,” she breathed into the quiet room.

What possible advantage could there be to waiting until January? Out of sheer necessity young widows often remarried mere months after losing their husbands. Such haste was frowned upon only in the very highest levels of society. And hadn’t Saint Paul himself said of widows, “Let them marry”?

“Then let them marry,” Marjory said aloud. There were no impediments she could think of. Lord Buchanan was rich and surely desirous of a family. Elisabeth was beautiful and in need of a husband.

The only thing required was a proposal. Gentleman that he was, Lord Buchanan would never cut short Elisabeth’s time of mourning. But
she
could.

And stop Rosalind Murray in her tracks.

Marjory couldn’t bear to sit, so eager was she to spill out her plans. She darted to the window, then the hearth, then the door. Might she seek out her daughter-in-law returning from the stables? Nae, such details could never be discussed on the street. No one must know until the deed was done, lest Lord Buchanan refuse Elisabeth.

Marjory blanched at the very idea.
Nae, nae, he loves her
. She was certain of it.

Moments later when Elisabeth crossed the threshold, Marjory practically dragged her to a chair beside the dining table and plunked her down without ceremony.

“Now then, Bess,” she said, sitting across from her, “it is time you found a home of your own.”

Elisabeth looked round. “But this is our home.”

“More than a home,” Marjory said firmly. “A husband.”

Her eyes widened. “Whatever do you mean? I cannot think of marriage when I am in mourning—”

“Listen to me, Bess.” Marjory clasped her daughter-in-law’s hands in hers. “You have more than honored my son’s memory these many months.”

“Aye, but, Marjory—”

“We must look to your future now. God has surely brought Lord Buchanan into your life for a reason.”

“Lord Buchanan?” Elisabeth tried to stand, but Marjory held her in place. “Dearest, he has not asked for my hand—”

“Only because he wishes to honor the rules of society.”

Elisabeth shook her head. “I believe he means to honor you.”

“Well, then.” Marjory released her and sat back, triumphant. “If
I
am the only impediment, you have my permission to marry as soon as ever the banns may be read in the kirk three Sabbaths in a row.”

Elisabeth shook her head, disbelief written across her features. “How can I tell Lord Buchanan such a thing without seeming presumptuous? The man has never even mentioned marriage.”

Marjory couldn’t keep from smiling. “That is why
you
must be the one to broach the subject.”

lisabeth stared at her mother-in-law, trying to grasp what she was suggesting. “You want me to
propose
to Lord Buchanan?”

“At the very least, present yourself to him,” Marjory said, her hazel eyes aglow. “Let him know of your willingness to end your time of mourning. He will not move forward until you do.”

Move forward
. Elisabeth looked down at her plain black dress. Was she ready to drape herself in blues and greens, reds and purples, telling the world she no longer mourned the man she’d once loved with all her heart?

Oh, my Donald, if only I might ask you
.

But her husband was gone. Her heart alone held the answer.

Elisabeth met Marjory’s gaze and prayed for the right words to say. “You must know how I cherish the memory of your son,” she told her, wanting to dispel any doubt in her mother-in-law’s mind.

Marjory touched her cheek. “I do, Bess.”

“And yet you are willing to let me go?”

“How can I not? You’ve been so very faithful. To Donald and to me.” Marjory’s lower lip began to tremble. “I cannot imagine the last year without you by my side.”

“Nor can I.” Elisabeth leaned forward and gathered her mother-in-law in her arms. “Whatever happens, I will see you well cared for, dear Marjory.”

“I know, I know …” The rest of her words were muffled against Elisabeth’s shoulder.

After a quiet, tender moment, they eased apart. “There’s something I’ve not told you,” Marjory confessed. “It is about Lord Buchanan.”

Elisabeth’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh?”

“According to Reverend Brown, his lordship is a distant relative on Lord John’s side of the family.”

Elisabeth let the words sink in. “Lord Buchanan is our kinsman?”

“Not by blood,” Marjory assured her, “but certainly by marriage, however long ago. Because of that slender tie, Reverend Brown thought we might prevail upon his lordship to provide a small income for us. But I’d hoped for more than mere silver.” She stood and moved to the hearth. “I asked the reverend to keep this discovery to himself. Even Lord Buchanan may not yet be aware of it.”

Elisabeth watched her measure the tea leaves, then pour hot water into a crockery pot. “You’ve had your eye on him from the first, haven’t you?”

Marjory smiled. “Not for myself, of course. My heart has been engaged elsewhere for some time. But for you, aye.” She rejoined her at the oval table, bearing a wooden tray with cups and spoons, honey and milk, and the steaming pot with its fragrant brew. “I’ve given this some thought, Bess, and have decided the very best time to approach his lordship is tomorrow night after the Michaelmas feast at Bell Hill.”

Overcome, Elisabeth sank back against her chair. “So soon?”

“Remember the words of Shakespeare,” Marjory cautioned her. “Delays have dangerous ends.” She stirred honey into her tea, frowning. “What if Rob MacPherson leaped from the ship before it sailed and is even now bound for Selkirk? Or what if Lord Buchanan decides Rosalind Murray would make a fine wife, especially since she is free to marry him at once?”

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.”

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 a jaunty step.
One and two and three
.

When he entered the drawing room, Elisabeth turned before he said her name. “There you are, Lord Jack.” She smiled, curtsied, and stole his heart, all in a trice. “The Dalglieshes will be along shortly.”

Even now he did not have Elisabeth to himself. Marjory and Gibson were standing with her, the women neatly if soberly attired in black, and Gibson wearing a proper coat and waistcoat. Borrowed from his employer perhaps. “You look very well, Gibson,” Jack told him, though Marjory was the one who beamed at the compliment.

Elisabeth appeared to be hiding something behind her back. “If you’ll
excuse me, I must speak briefly with Mrs. Pringle,” she said, then swept round him such that he could not see what she held in her hands. “I’ll not be a moment, milord.”

How very mysterious
. Though he did not care for surprises, this one held some promise.

“Will you have your monthly supper tomorrow eve?” Marjory inquired. “Or shall your Michaelmas celebration suffice for September?”

“Mrs. Tudhope would serve my head on a platter if I required large banquets two nights in a row,” he admitted, “though I shall make it up to the household at Yuletide.”

When Elisabeth returned, her cheeks were flush with color. “You are wanted in the entrance hall, milord. The Chisholms of Broadmeadows have arrived.”