Mine Is the Night (34 page)

Nor can I
. “I should never have sent Tibbie away,” Marjory admitted, “nor judged her so harshly.”

“Then … mebbe ye can forgive me?” Roger Laidlaw shifted his weight. “ ’Twas a sickness, mem. Finally I am weel.” He pulled out a tattered handkerchief and blew his nose. “I canna believe it, but a guid woman
luves
me. Aye, and the guid Lord luves me, though I dinna deserve it.”

Marjory’s ire was gone, dissipating like smoke from a doused fire. “No one truly deserves his love and mercy.
I
certainly don’t.”

He sought her gaze in the quiet entrance hall. “Please, mem. I canna say I’m sorry enough.”

“Mr. Laidlaw, you don’t need—”

“But I do.” He pulled off his cap and bunched it in his hands. “Nae man wha behaved as I did should walk round thinking it doesna matter.”

Something about his confession prodded at a tender place she could not name. Roger Laidlaw spoke the truth: his lust for women was a sickness the Lord alone could heal. “If the Lord has forgiven you, Mr. Laidlaw, I must do the same.”

He was silent for a moment, then nodded. “I thank ye, mem.”

Marjory glanced at the drawing room. “Anne Kerr was wronged far more than I. Have you sought her pardon?”

“I meant to do so on the day I came to Halliwell’s Close, but …” His gaze followed hers across the hall. “Might ye help me?”

lisabeth turned toward the door as her mother-in-law ushered Roger Laidlaw into the drawing room, her tears gone and her demeanor surprisingly calm.

“Gentlemen, if you might give us a moment.” Marjory inclined her head toward the entrance hall. “Mr. Laidlaw has something to say to our cousin.”

“We cannot tarry much longer,” Lord Jack reminded her, then departed with Gibson, closing the door behind them.

The room fell silent, save the sound of the rain pelting the windows.

“Please, Bess,” Anne whispered, almost hiding behind her. “I don’t wish to speak with him.”

Elisabeth looked at the middle-aged man, his eyes downcast, his hat in his hands, and saw nothing to fear. But she was not Anne. “Marjory and I will not leave your side,” she promised, then slipped her arm round Anne’s waist and led her toward him, feeling the tension in her cousin’s body.

Marjory spoke first. “Mr. Laidlaw has confessed to me that he’s a changed man.”

A look of incredulity stole across Anne’s features. “And you believe him?”

“I do,” Marjory said. “When we are not so pressed for time, I shall tell you the whole of it. Until then, please hear him out, Cousin.” She nodded at the factor, who moved one step closer, his gaze fixed on Anne.

“Miss Kerr …” He rubbed a shaky hand across his mouth. “Whan Lord John died, I had nae richt to speak to ye as I did. To ask ye …, weel, to suggest that …”

“Enough.” Anne’s voice was rough edged. “I know exactly what you proposed to me, Mr. Laidlaw.”

“I ken ye do, mem.” He gripped his cap so tightly that Elisabeth feared the wool might never recover. “ ’Tis not the same man ye see standing here,” he said. “The Lord has done a guid wark in me.”

“Has he?” Anne did not hide her contempt. “I suppose that makes you a good man.”

“Och! I would niver say I am guid.” He lowered his gaze. “What I did was wrong, Miss Kerr, and I am verra sorry for it. Ye need not forgive me just because I ask. But I do ask.”

He looked at each woman in turn, seeking absolution.

Marjory nodded. Anne frowned.

But Elisabeth did not see dark-haired Mr. Laidlaw. She saw fair-haired Donald Kerr.
Forgive me, lass. For all of it
. Did men think they could simply do as they pleased, then beg to be forgiven? Was there no man who was honorable or faithful or true?

Nettled, Elisabeth edged toward the door, taking Anne with her. “Pardon me, Cousin, but we must go.”

“Indeed, our business here is finished.” Anne lifted her skirts, turning her back on the factor of Tweedsford.

By the time they reached the carriage, Elisabeth regretted their hasty departure, leaving Marjory to bid the man farewell. Mr. Laidlaw’s apology seemed most sincere and his desire to lead a new life commendable. Could she not see past her own heartache? Donald Kerr was the one who’d wronged her, not Roger Laidlaw.

With a heavy sigh, Elisabeth took her place on the cushioned leather seat of the carriage, then watched the admiral help Marjory board and climb in after her, having ordered his driver to make haste. Lord Jack removed his hat, but there was still a great deal of him to fit onto the balance of the seat.

“At least the rain has stopped.” He settled beside her. “And we’ll be heading
south. If Lord Mark is en route, he’ll be coming from the north, from Edinburgh. You’ve nothing to fear, Mrs. Kerr.” He looked at Marjory across the carriage interior. “What of your own carriage ride from the capital? Was it exceedingly uncomfortable?”

Elisabeth listened as he engaged first Marjory, then Anne, then Gibson, dispelling the tension in the air with his thoughtful questions and comments. Though she’d seen other sides of the admiral as well—a flash of impatience, a moment of anger—such things were far outweighed by his warm, generous spirit.

Careful, Bess
.

She looked down, studying her hands. When a woman began tallying a bachelor’s amiable qualities, thoughts of marriage were sure to follow. But she was a widow in mourning. However unfaithful Donald was, she intended to honor his memory for the full twelvemonth society required. To do otherwise would break her mother-in-law’s heart.

Her cheeks grew warm.
Is it Marjory’s heart that concerns you? Or your own?

“You’ve slipped away from us,” Lord Jack was saying as Elisabeth lifted her head, hoping to cool her skin.

“Not far,” she assured him, glad the admiral could not read her mind.

How foolish even to think her employer might look in her direction, with Rosalind Murray so temptingly near. What gentleman would not choose a wealthy young lady of good breeding over an impoverished widow who might never bear him a child?

His carriage soon began the steep climb toward the East Port. Since she was facing the back of the coach, Elisabeth had to press her feet against the floor to keep from tipping too far forward and landing on Anne’s shoes.

But gravity was working against her. At the very moment Elisabeth feared she might slip from her seat, Lord Jack braced her against the cushioned back, his long, muscular arm pressing into her ribs. Mortified, she turned her head.

“We’ve managed to avoid generals and dragoons this morn,” the admiral
said smoothly. “Now if we can all remain in our seats, I shall return you home without injury.”

The moment the carriage crested the hill, Elisabeth eased back into place. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“My pleasure,” he said. Even more softly.

She looked out the window as if the tradesmen’s cottages were the most interesting sight she’d ever beheld.
Guard your heart, Bess
.

ack could not remember when he’d last sat down. On his dawn ride, perhaps. Even breakfast had been consumed on the run. He’d tasted a summer pear while inspecting the orchards. Then gulped down a cup of tea while discussing last-minute details with Roberts and finally sampled a yeast roll while reviewing Mrs. Tudhope’s menu.

He simply did not have time for lolling about. Bell Hill’s first household supper was only seven hours hence, and Jack wanted everything to be perfect.

“Your lordship?” Mrs. Pringle appeared at his study door. “Will you be having dinner at two o’ the clock, as usual?”

“Dinner?” Hearing the sharp tone in his voice, he swiftly apologized. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Pringle. At the moment I’m afraid I have no appetite and even less patience.”

“I quite understand,” she said kindly. “The house is at sixes and sevens with maidservants colliding into one another in the hall and menservants tripping over their own feet in their haste to have everything ready.”

Jack sighed. “Perhaps my plan was too ambitious.”

“Nae, milord.” Mrs. Pringle stepped farther into the room. “We are proud to be part of that plan. To gather at one table and sup with our master as if he were our friend.” She looked away for a moment. “I only hope we meet your expectations. Roberts and I have done our best to teach them proper table manners. We will none of us embarrass you this night.”

“What a shame,” Jack said, hoping to put her at ease. “I was counting on at least two dropped plates, numerous overturned glasses, and a host of rolls being tossed from one end of the dining room to the other.”

Mrs. Pringle gave him a grateful smile. “I’ll see what can be arranged, milord.”

The supper hour was drawing near when Roberts came looking for him. “Your …, eh, staff for this eve has arrived. Shall I bring them in, sir?”

Jack moved to the front of his desk, prepared to greet them. “By all means.”

He would never have asked the five of them to serve him in any capacity, least of all juggling plates of food and glasses of claret. But on the Sabbath at kirk, when he’d confessed needing several people to serve the meal, they’d all volunteered.

“I’d be honored to help,” Marjory Kerr had said. “It is the least I can do after all you’ve done for my family.”

“I’m a servant, milord,” Gibson had insisted, “and richt guid at it.”

Anne Kerr had also agreed to join them, then recruited Michael and Peter Dalgliesh. A press gang could not have been more persuasive. “We’ll serve you well,” Anne had vowed.

Jack had protested, of course. Offered to pay them handsomely for their efforts. The elder Widow Kerr in particular was offended. “I cannot be bought, milord. You must accept my service as a gift of thanks. I believe I speak for all of us.”

Now here they were, filing into his study, reporting for duty.

Marjory and Anne wore freshly starched aprons and white, round-eared caps. Gibson had on his usual livery, and Michael had stitched up two black waistcoats for the occasion, one of them perfectly fitted to a seven-year-old boy.

“What a fine-looking group,” Jack told them. “Gibson will rightly serve as butler and put the rest of you through your paces. If you’ll report to Mrs.
Tudhope, I’m certain she’ll be greatly relieved to see you.” He could not resist asking young Peter, “And how will
you
be of service?”

The lad held out his hands, pretending to hold a dish between them. “I’m to carry the food,” he said, standing very tall, “but I’m not to go like this.” Peter tipped his hands forward, sending imaginary vegetables spilling onto the floor.

“What will you do if that happens?” Jack wanted to know.

Peter stood on tiptoe, waving Jack closer so he might whisper in his ear. “I will cry,” Peter said softly. “Then Annie will feel sorry for me and help me clean things up.”

“Excellent plan,” Jack assured him. He thanked them one by one, then sent them off to the kitchen. Such friends were more precious than rubies.

No sooner had they left than Mrs. Pringle entered his study, looking quite agitated. “You have a visitor, sir. General Lord Mark Kerr of Tweedsford.”

One thought was foremost in his mind.
Bess
.

Jack was halfway to the door. “Escort my guest to the drawing room and serve him tea. I shall join him shortly,” he said, then bolted into the hall and down the stair. He’d avoided the man for more than a week. Why had he come today of all days?

The moment he crossed the threshold into Elisabeth’s workroom, Jack blurted out, “Lord Mark Kerr is here.”

She quickly put aside her sewing. “Have you spoken with him yet?”

“Nae.” Jack began to walk the perimeter of the room, his fists clenched. “How can I possibly drink tea with a man who so wronged your family?”

“With decorum, milord.” Elisabeth stood, her hands clasped behind her back.