Mine Is the Night A Novel - By Liz Curtis Higgs Page 0,144

prepared to tap on it, announcing her presence. But when she peered into the room, she discovered Lord Jack was sound asleep. Seated in his favorite chair by the fire, he’d propped his feet on a cushioned footstool with a plaid draped across his long legs. She waited while her eyes adjusted to the meager firelight, then moved across the study, grateful for thick carpet to muffle her steps.

Then she heard a loud purring. Charbon jumped down from Lord Jack’s chair and padded toward her, greeting her with a plaintive meow.

“Hush,” she whispered, scratching his head, which only made him purr louder. She scooped him up and held him close, hoping he’d not give her away until she’d done as her mother-in-law had instructed. Present yourself to him. She carried Charbon into the hallway and, with a whispered apology, left him there, quietly shutting the door behind her.

With the curtains closed, not even the waning moon shed its light on the scene before her as she tiptoed to his lordship’s side. Surely he would hear the loud beating of her heart or catch a whiff of her perfumed soap or feel the warmth of her presence and so awaken. But his breathing was steady, and his rugged features relaxed. She smiled down at him, secretly glad she’d found him sleeping. Even in repose, his physical strength was evident.

Elisabeth eased to the floor, spreading her elegant gown round her in a circle of silk, then rested her head on the large footstool. She’d wait until he roused. Surely it would not be much longer. Whatever the hour, and no matter the consequences, she was determined to speak the truth.

Seventy

The calm, majestic presence of the Night,

As of the one I love.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

ack vaguely heard the first chime of the mantel clock, as if from a distance. Two. Three. His limbs were too heavy to lift, and so he remained in his chair, not stirring, still counting. Five. Six. What had he been reading that he’d drifted off so quickly? Eight. Nine. Perhaps his need for sleep had more to do with the feasting. And the dancing. Eleven. Twelve.

Midnight, then. Later than he’d expected.

In the darkened study he felt the weight of something beside his feet. Charbon, no doubt, curled up on his footstool. Jack lifted his head to see the creature, then froze.

A woman. At his feet. Not moving, not speaking.

His heart began to thud in his chest. Who was she? Not Elisabeth, for this woman’s gown was pale, colorless. And Elisabeth had never worn so flowery a scent.

“Who are you?” he finally asked, his voice rough from sleep. Or from fear.

“ ’Tis Bess, milord.”

He abruptly sat up, exhaling in relief. “Madam! What sort of mischief are you up to, sneaking into my study at night?” To think, he’d supposed her some shameless lass among his Michaelmas guests come to tempt him at this gloomy hour.

Instead it was his own dear Elisabeth, seeking his company.

“Do forgive me for startling you,” she said softly. “I wished to speak with you. Alone.” When she rose to her knees, he could see her gown more clearly, as bits of gold caught the firelight. An exquisite costume, the sort only someone of means could afford.

Jack cast aside his plaid blanket and stood, lifting her up as well. “Come, let me have a look at you.” He turned her toward the fire, then lit a candle, holding it aloft. His plainly garbed dressmaker was gone. In her place stood a vision in lavender. “Is it yours, this fine gown?”

“Aye.” She glanced down, smoothing the wrinkles from her skirts. “Since I’ve not worn it in a twelvemonth, I was afraid it might no longer fit.”

Oh, it fits, dear lady. To perfection. He averted his gaze, yanking his wayward thoughts in line. “Forgive me for asking, Bess, but … what has become of your mourning clothes?”

She lifted her chin. “I am no longer in mourning for my late husband. That is what I came to tell you.”

Only then did he notice the door to the hallway was closed. “What of your mother-in-law?” he asked, feeling a certain uneasiness. “Does she know about this …, eh, decision of yours?”

A slight smile. “ ’Twas her idea.”

He let that rather astounding fact take root. “So Mrs. Kerr will not mind if you enter into …, well, a courtship with someone? With … me?”

“Nae, she’ll not mind,” Bess assured him. “Reverend Brown has recently learned that you are a distant relative of