Mine Is the Night A Novel

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 Marjory’s late husband. Which means you are a kinsman of ours.”

Jack nodded, the picture growing clearer with each waking moment. “No doubt the minister thinks I should provide for the two of you. And I should. Nae, I will. Gladly.”

Bess took his hands in hers. The warmth of her skin surprised him.

“I am grateful for anything you might do for Marjory,” she admitted. “But provision is not what I seek from you, milord.”

He drew her closer, longing for an honest answer. “My dear Bess, what do you seek?”

“A future.” She looked up at him, her blue eyes hiding nothing. “Lord Buchanan, if your feelings for me compare in any measure to the fond affection I have for you, then I believe the Almighty intends for us to be together.”

Jack couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “You wish … to marry me?”

She lifted his hands and gently kissed them. “I do.”

“Lord bless you,” he whispered, swiftly pulling her into his embrace. “You might have chosen a younger man, Bess. A richer man—”

“Nae, there is only one man for me.” Elisabeth nestled her head in the hollow of his neck as if she belonged there. And she did belong there. By the grace of God and no other.

He mustered his courage, knowing there was no turning back now. “You say you have a fond affection for me, Bess? Then I’ll be bolder still and confess I adore you. And everything about you.” He kissed her hair, like silk beneath his lips. Then the soft plane of her brow. Then the tender curve of her cheek.

“Lord Jack—”

“Jack,” he murmured. “In this room titles mean nothing.”

She smiled in the darkness. “Jack, then.”

He eased her from his embrace, then lowered her into his chair and drew up the footstool for himself. “No one must find you here,” he said firmly, keeping his voice low. “And no one must see you depart.”

She eyed the door.

He understood. Even now someone might be listening between the cracks.

“You’ve nothing to fear,” he assured her. “I’ll protect you and your good name as well. You are much respected in Selkirkshire, Bess.” He claimed her hands, then kissed each one. “At Bell Hill most of all.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, barely touching, simply breathing. He had a thousand things he wanted to tell her, but one issue prodded his conscience at the moment. “Bess, we must speak of a subject that will not be pleasant for you.” He inched closer, praying for wisdom. “Every wedding begins with the question, ‘Is there any impediment to this marriage?’ Alas, there is one for us.”

Her eyes widened. “What is it, milord? Have you been married before? Is there some other woman who—”

“Nae, there is no other woman,” he said firmly. “But there is someone who could destroy the very future you seek. A powerful man, who rules us all.”