Mine Is the Night A Novel - By Liz Curtis Higgs Page 0,68
born in Castleton of Braemar in Aberdeenshire,” she began, “the only daughter of Fiona and James Ferguson, a weaver.”
“And what of your Highland family now?”
“My father is dead, and so is my brother, Simon. My mother has … remarried.” Elisabeth hoped he would not require further details. Even speaking of Ben Cromar made her ill.
Instead, his lordship changed the subject. “Roberts said you came to Selkirk from Edinburgh.”
“From the age of eight-and-ten I was educated in the capital and worked as a seamstress for a tailor in the Lawnmarket.”
Lord Buchanan leaned back in his chair. “Might he provide a character for you?”
“Angus MacPherson is dead, milord. And so, I fear, is his son.” She looked down for a moment, composing herself.
“You buried your husband as well,” the admiral said.
“Alas, I never saw his grave. He was killed in battle. At Falkirk in January.”
Lord Buchanan straightened, his expression more alert. “Your husband was a soldier? And a Highlander as well?”
Elisabeth hesitated but only for a moment. Speak honestly. “He was a soldier, aye. But a Lowlander. ’Tis why my mother-in-law returned home to Selkirk.”
He gazed at her more intently. “And you came with her even though the Borderland is not your home?”
“She is the only family I have now.” Elisabeth spread her hands, searching for the right words. “As it happens, we share more than our name. We both trust the same God.”
He slowly rose, never taking his eyes off her. “Madam, everything else you have told me cannot hold a candle to that.”
Elisabeth looked up to meet his gaze. “Should you wish to read them, I have written characters from Michael Dalgliesh, a tailor in Selkirk, and from Reverend Brown.”
“Leave them with Mrs. Pringle if you like, though I’ve no need to see them.”
Elisabeth’s heart sank. Was he not interested in her services after all? “Milord, I truly need this position,” she pleaded.
His gaze did not waver. “And I need a dressmaker.”
Does he mean … Elisabeth moistened her lips, suddenly gone dry. Am I to be …
“Heaven knows,” he continued, “I brought enough cloth from London to dress half the county. At the moment I’d be satisfied to have all my maidservants arrayed as finely as my housekeeper.” When Mrs. Pringle bristled, he quickly amended his words. “Well, not quite so finely. Perhaps a simpler design might be best for the others. Shall we say … eighteen gowns in all, Mrs. Pringle?”
“That will do,” the housekeeper replied, looking smug.
Elisabeth eyed both of them, wanting to be very sure she understood. “Then … I am … engaged?”
“Most certainly,” Lord Buchanan said. “What say you to six months in my employ? From now ’til Saint Andrew’s Day?”
The thirtieth of November. She nodded, uncertain if she could speak. God bless this man. Her future, as well as Marjory’s, was secure—at least for the balance of the year. “However can I thank you?”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he protested, “for you’ll be working very hard.” He began to pace before the massive mantelpiece, hands clasped behind his back. “Tell me, is it a long distance for you to travel each day?”
“Not so far. Two miles on foot.”
He spun round. “You walk to Bell Hill?” When she assured him she did, he suggested, “Perhaps you might prefer to take up residence here.”
Elisabeth balked. She could not entertain the idea, not even for a moment. “Forgive me, milord, but I’ve promised not only to provide for my mother-in-law but also to care for her. I cannot leave her side, nor would I choose to.”
“Admirable,” he said, though something did not appear to sit well with him.
Elisabeth exchanged glances with Mrs. Pringle. Might she know what was on his mind?
Finally he said, “If you insist on walking here from Selkirk, then I would ask you to be cautious, traveling only by the light of day and with other women whenever possible. Even here at Bell Hill, see that you remain in the company of my maidservants.”
Elisabeth agreed, if only to appease him. “Is there something in particular that concerns you?”
He rubbed his chin, where a shadow of a beard was starting to show. “Although Roberts and Hyslop have chosen their men with virtue in mind, you are a widow, a Highlander, and a beauty. Some men might view such attributes as license to., eh, overstep their bounds, since you have no male relatives to defend your honor.”
Her cheeks warmed at the bluntness of his language. “As you wish, milord.”