you, Bess.”
She gave a faint shrug. “Nothing of importance.”
Marjory looked at her. “Now ’tis my turn to speak the truth: you miss Lord Buchanan.”
“Ah … well …” Color stained her cheeks. “Bell Hill isn’t the same without its owner.”
“And you are not the same without your master.” Marjory patted her hand, at a loss for what else to say. She could not in good conscience encourage their growing friendship and risk dishonoring Donald’s memory. Nor could she deny the admiral’s many fine qualities. Very fine, in fact. Exceptional.
A conundrum, to be sure.
They’d reached the town gate, flung open to all who approached from the southeast. Elisabeth released her but not before kissing her cheek. “ ’Twas kind of you to keep me company.”
Marjory confessed, “I have little else to offer you now but hot meals and a listening ear.”
“ ’Tis enough.” With a faint smile Elisabeth turned and lifted her hand in farewell.
Fifty-One
Who loves
Believes the impossible.
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING
s her daughter-in-law crossed the small footbridge heading east, Marjory started for home, putting aside any thoughts of men or marriage in favor of more pressing concerns: breakfast, dinner, and supper. She touched her pocket to be certain she had a coin or two, then made a mental list of what she needed from the market. Cheese, butter, eggs, and milk. Aye, that she could afford.
Weaving between handcarts and pedestrians moving down Kirk Wynd, Marjory slowed as she neared the manse, hoping to catch a glimpse of Gibson through the window. She felt like a lovesick schoolgirl but eyed the house nonetheless, noting the open curtains, the single candle, and the signs of life withindoors.
Certain she had spied his black livery, Marjory paused at the window and smiled, her nose nearly touching the glass. Good morn, dear Gibson.
But it was Reverend Brown, dressed in black, who turned and met her gaze.
Startled, she fell back a step. What must the minister think of her, peering into people’s houses?
A moment later he was standing in the doorway, waving her inside. “Come, Mrs. Kerr. I have been meaning to speak with you.”
Marjory slipped by him as she entered the manse, feeling awkward and ashamed. Gibson, alas, was nowhere in sight. She took the offered seat by the window, keenly aware of how foolish she must have looked tarrying on the other side of the glass.
“Forgive me for intruding,” she began, not knowing how else to phrase it.
“Not at all,” he said gruffly, taking the chair opposite hers. “If you were looking for Gibson, I sent him on an errand, for I cannot bear to venture out during the fair.” He leaned forward, his eyes as sharp as any owl’s. “In the meantime I’ve news of Lord Buchanan that should be of interest to you.”
Her thoughts flew immediately to Elisabeth. “Oh?”
“In truth, his lordship may not be aware of the fact I’m about to share, though I shall inform him at the first opportunity.”
Marjory inched forward on her chair, her curiosity mounting. “And that fact is?”
“Admiral Lord Jack Buchanan is distantly related to Lord John Kerr.”
Marjory swallowed. “To … my late husband?”
“Aye. While reviewing our oldest parish records at the request of the presbytery, I stumbled upon the names Buchanan and Kerr in a marriage entry from the late sixteenth century. To call his lordship your distant cousin would be stretching the truth, but your ancient kinsman he most certainly is.”
“News indeed,” she breathed, trying to grasp what such a connection might mean for her family.
“Madam, I hardly need mention your dire financial needs. Once he is informed of your common ancestry, Lord Buchanan may be moved to …, eh, provide for you and your daughter-in-law.”
“I see.” Marjory pretended to pluck a bit of dust from her black skirts while she searched her conscience. He was a generous man, Lord Buchanan, and would no doubt do his part. But there was more at stake than mere silver or gold. Oh, Bess. Would such provision please you? Or embarrass you? Marjory knew the answer.
She lifted her head. “I wonder, Reverend Brown, if you might delay mentioning this to his lordship.”
He frowned. “But you are the one who’ll benefit. Can you afford to wait?”
“Aye,” Marjory said, “for a few months at least.” Elisabeth was promised employment at Bell Hill through Saint Andrew’s Day. If they could somehow make ends meet until then, neither Lord Buchanan nor Elisabeth would be thrust into a difficult situation. And who knew where their friendship might lead someday? “ ’Tis best left unspoken,” Marjory