Mine Is the Night A Novel - By Liz Curtis Higgs Page 0,136
surprise for you.”
Jack did not care for surprises. Well, except for the ones he sprang on others.
When he found a half-dozen maidservants waiting for him in Mr. Fowles’s drawing room on Wednesday, he was more than surprised. He was mortified.
Jack drew the dancing master aside. “I am not ready,” he insisted. “Furthermore, I thought our lessons were to be a secret.”
Mr. Fowles glanced at the bevy of wide-eyed lasses across the room. “You’re not known in this parish, milord. I told them you were a Frenchman who spoke no English. As long as you do not count aloud, they’ll be none the wiser.”
Jack had no choice but to join them in forming two lines and let the music begin. After each awkward misstep, each wrong turn, he thought of Elisabeth and tried harder. The maidservants were kind to him, guiding him through the precise movements of each dance, until by hour’s end he felt a flush of confidence. Might he manage it after all?
He rode the five miles home in record time, relishing the bright September weather. If Michaelmas were half so fair, the evening would be a success. Might you throw convention to the wind and dance with me, Bess? He could hardly wait to see her face. Of course, that was true on any occasion.
At three o’ the clock Jack found her workroom vacant. A finished gown hung on the wall, but there was no sign of Elisabeth. Even Charbon wasn’t curled up in his usual spot by the hearth.
Jack strode through the house, glancing here and there, not truly concerned. If Elisabeth was on his property, she was safe. Had he not made it clear to the entire household, and the menservants in particular, what he required of them?
“As a widow and a Highlander, Mrs. Kerr is particularly vulnerable,” he’d told them, then outlined the measures he wished them to take. Keep an eye on her by day. Bolt the exterior doors at night. Question any strangers who wander onto the property. Note who bothers her at kirk and at market. Listen for ill news on the wind. “She is never to feel imprisoned here, but I do wish her to feel secure.”
At the moment Jack simply wished to find her.
When he heard her voice floating down the stair from the upper hall, he took the steps two at a time. Rather noisily, it seemed, for she was looking his direction when he emerged into the hallway.
“Mrs. Kerr,” he said with a gallant bow. “And Mrs. Pringle. I can only assume you two are making plans for Michaelmas.”
“We are, milord.” Elisabeth held out a rough sketch of the drawing room. “With so many guests coming, I’m afraid your furniture will need to be relocated. I know you are not partial to dancing—”
“Oh, but there must be dancing,” he protested. “Isn’t that what Michaelmas Night is known for?”
Elisabeth smiled. “Among other things, milord.”
Friday’s dancing lesson was a revelation: Jack forgot to count yet still remembered all the steps. The following Monday he almost enjoyed himself. Almost. And on Wednesday next, Mr. Fowles broke into spontaneous applause.
“You are ready, milord. And with five days to spare.”
Jack paid the man his due and bade him farewell. Ready or not, Michaelmas was nigh upon them.
He returned home from Galashiels to find Bell Hill all but dismantled. The drawing room was reduced to long rows of seats and a vast expanse of bare floor. The dining room had more chairs than he could number at a cursory glance, with freshly polished silver displayed up and down the long table. Every maidservant had a dusting cloth in hand and every manservant a broom as they worked their way from room to room, cleaning a house that was already spotless.
“They mean to bless you,” Mrs. Pringle explained, a look of satisfaction on her face. Then she nodded toward his desk. “Two letters arrived in your absence, milord.”
He had only to look at the handwriting to know the correspondents. “Have Mrs. Kerr come to my study in a quarter hour.”
“Very good, sir.” His housekeeper almost smiled. “Aren’t you pleased I brought her to your study last May?”
“Aye, Mrs. Pringle.” Very pleased.
He was downing a cup of tea when Elisabeth appeared. She glanced over her shoulder, perhaps to make certain the door was ajar, then sat in front of his desk and folded her hands in her lap. “What is it, Lord Jack? You’ve a rather serious look on your face.”