Mine Is the Night A Novel - By Liz Curtis Higgs Page 0,112

since leaving Selkirk. Nae, another woman had occupied his mind from dawn until dusk and into his dreams.

Soon, Bess. Saturday next, Lord willing.

Fifty-Three

O woman! thou knowest the hour

when the goodman of the house will return.

WASHINGTON IRVING

lisabeth had just stitched in place the last hook on a maidservant’s gown when Mrs. Pringle tapped on the open workroom door. “A post for you, Mrs. Kerr.”

“Delivered here? How very odd.” Elisabeth put aside her finished gown, then studied the postmark with some trepidation. Edinburgh. Who in the capital knew she was employed at Bell Hill?

The moment she saw the signature, her fears vanished. “ ’Tis from the admiral,” she said, smiling down at his bold hand.

To Mrs. Elisabeth Kerr

Bell Hill, Selkirkshire

Wednesday, 20 August 1746

My dear Mrs. Kerr,

She paused at the word dear, wondering what it might signify, then pressed on, convincing herself the salutation was nothing more than a polite gesture. His lordship might just as easily have written “My dear Mrs. Pringle.”

Your Highlands were quite as beautiful as you described them, the stark contours of the landscape softened by occasional wooded areas of Scotch pine. The weather was exceedingly fine, except for two days of rain, and our host made us warmly welcome. Nonetheless, our hunting party will be returning to Selkirk sooner than expected, at my request.

Elisabeth’s breath caught. Are you ill, milord? Or simply restless? She dared not entertain the thought that he missed her company, though she certainly longed to see him.

Look for us to arrive late in the afternoon on Saturday the twenty-third, if all goes according to plan. I am posting this from Edinburgh, hoping it might arrive ahead of us, lest we catch the household unprepared.

“He is to arrive in a few hours,” Elisabeth declared, trying not to let her anticipation show.

Mrs. Pringle hastened to the door, calling over her shoulder, “I must tell Roberts and Mrs. Tudhope at once.”

Left alone, Elisabeth traced his signature with her fingertip. Three times the size of the other lines of text, with a decidedly forward slant, each letter was clearly drawn rather than a violent slash of ink across the page. Here was a man with nothing to hide.

Below it a brief postscript left her even more anxious for his return.

I delivered the letter to your mother as requested. She sent me home with one for you as well. I will have much to share when we see each other.

Whatever he had found in Braemar, she would know by day’s end. Some comfort, that.

Elisabeth read his letter again, tucked it in her sewing basket, then gazed down at Charbon curled up at her feet. “Your master will soon appear,” she told the cat, scratching him behind the ears as she looked toward the window, left open to welcome the cool morning air.

Hurry home, milord.

One hour dragged by, then two, then four. Her dinner tray came and went, untouched. Focusing instead on her work, she’d begun measuring Kate, the stillroom maid, glad for the distraction the charming lass provided.

“I’ve niver had a new gown,” Kate confided, keeping her posture straight even as her gaze lighted on the sleeping cat, the wool rug, the new chairs. “Clever bit o’ business, that,” she said, nodding at the candle-stool. “Ye’ve a richt cozy place, Mrs. Kerr. Leuks like his lordship has taken a fancy to ye.”

Elisabeth pretended not to hear her as she busily stretched the measuring tape from waist to hem, then recorded the figure with chalk and slate. When Kate moved on to another topic—all the lads she’d danced with at the Saint Lawrence Fair—Elisabeth finished her task without further questions. Had the whole household come to the same conclusion regarding Lord Buchanan?

When Sally appeared with her afternoon tea tray, her countenance beamed like the sun. “His lordship is hame!” She put down the tray with a noisy clatter, then took off with Kate close on her heels.

Elisabeth watched them go, uncertain of what was expected of her. Would the household line up at the door to formally greet him, as they had when he last returned from a journey? And if so, would she be expected to join them? “Better done than not,” she told Charbon, then quickly attended to face, hands, and hair before hurrying out the door and up the stair, the gray cat darting ahead.

Admit it, Bess. You cannot wait to see him.

The truth of it made her heart quicken and her steps along with it.

Bell Hill’s staff was indeed standing on either side of the front