Here Burns My Candle (53 page)

And she did not.

There was her answer.

Forgive me, Rob
. Elisabeth slowly folded his letter and slipped it inside her hanging pocket. He’d not told her what hour to expect his call. Whenever he came, she knew what must be said. But
how
to say it without crushing his hopes and breaking his heart? She knew the wise proverb:
A soft answer turneth away wrath
. But she did not fear his wrath; she feared his silence.

Not long after the clock chimed the hour of four, there was a knock at the stair door. Three sharp raps, then two.

Marjory nodded at Mrs. Edgar to pour their tea. “And bring a cup for Mr. MacPherson. He’ll be most disappointed when he learns we’ve no sweet biscuits.”

Elisabeth heard the tension in her voice. More than once in the last week her mother-in-law had found some way to remind her that the thirty pounds she’d brought home from Miss Callander’s could have—nae, should have—been much more. After settling their many accounts, Marjory had earmarked the remaining balance for meal and meat.

“I do not think Rob MacPherson comes to call because of the biscuits,” Janet said pointedly, looking at her.

Elisabeth started to rise, planning to greet him at the door, knowing what she would tell him.
Let us wait until we are alone to speak
.

But Marjory snagged her hand and gently pulled her back into her seat. “Gibson will see to our guest. One should never appear too eager for company, my dear.”

Put in her place in every sense, Elisabeth could only look toward the door and hope she might express her concern in some other way.
Say nothing, Rob. Not in front of the household
.

He entered the drawing room bearing a small market basket covered with a linen cloth. “I’ve been to Mr. Orr’s,” he said, handing the basket to Gibson.

Elisabeth recognized the yeasty aroma at once. “Caraway buns. How very thoughtful.”

He shrugged, though she could see her words pleased him. “Warriston’s Close isna far from my shop.”

When Mrs. Edgar returned with a plate bearing his bakery gift, stuffed with sweet caraway comfits, Rob asked the housekeeper, “Ye saved a bun for yerself, I hope? And one for Mr. Gibson?”

She shook her head, placing his offering on the table. “I didna think it richt.”

He nicked two buns from the plate. “They’ll fit nicely in yer apron pocket.” Mrs. Edgar thanked him profusely and hastened to the kitchen to enjoy her tea.

None of this was lost on Marjory, Elisabeth noticed. Her mother-in-law watched Rob join them at table as if it were his own. Then Marjory listened without comment as he described the latest activities of the prince’s army at Blair Atholl, where they’d besieged the castle.

“Lord Mark Kerr’s dragoons have headed north as weel,” Rob told them. “Ye’re a relative o’ his, aye?”

“A very distant relative,” Marjory said, “on my husband’s side.”

Elisabeth saw some emotion flicker across her mother-in-law’s face but could not define it. Pride, perhaps. Or regret. The Jacobite Rising was no longer a welcome topic of conversation at Milne Square, having cost them everything.

When their teacups were empty and their plates bare, Rob folded his hands in his lap and leaned forward. “I’ve come today with a proposal.”

Elisabeth shot him a look of dismay.
Please, Rob!

Marjory did not even blink. “And what is it you propose?”

“That I escort Leddy Kerr to her Hieland hame sae she might comfort her grieving mither.”

Marjory took her time answering him. “Mr. MacPherson, you are an unmarried man and in no position to escort my daughter-in-law any farther than the Luckenbooths.” She dabbed the corners of her mouth, then folded her linen napkin, dismissing his suggestion just as neatly. “I am certain Lady Kerr would say quite the same.”

“She already did, mem.”

Marjory narrowed her gaze. “Then why have you broached the topic again?”

“Because I intend to marry—”

“Mr. MacPherson.” Elisabeth rose, forcing him to stand. “Perhaps this is not the time and place—”

“Indeed.” Marjory was on her feet and gesturing toward the fireplace. “Shall we move our conversation to a more comfortable setting?”

Janet found a chair at once, her features alight with expectation. “Do tell, Mr. MacPherson. Who will be your lucky bride?”

Elisabeth’s feet were leaden as she crossed the room and sat by the low fire. However difficult it might have been to refuse his proposal in private, it would be far worse now with an audience.

Rob stood by the mantelpiece, his clean-shaven face slightly tinged with red. “The leddy has not agreed to my suit,” he confessed. “However, I hope to have an answer this verra day.”

“This day?” Marjory looked at Janet and Elisabeth in turn. “Then should you not seek out her company rather than drink tea with three widows?”

“Her answer will not take lang, mem.” Rob leveled his gaze on Elisabeth, any trace of humor gone from his voice. “She need only say ‘aye’ or ‘nae.’”

Oh, Rob. I cannot hurt you like this
.

“’Tis easy enough.” Janet pounced on the idea as if they were playing a game. “‘Aye.’ That is my guess.”

Marjory lifted one eyebrow. “I, too, believe the lass will say ‘aye.’ What do you think, Lady Elisabeth?”

Can you not see it in my eyes, Rob? Must I say the word aloud?

After a moment Rob prompted her in a low voice, “Come, Leddy Kerr. What will my future bride say to me?”

In agony Elisabeth stared at the floor. “I imagine she would want to tell you in private, Mr. MacPherson.”

“Because she is ashamed?”

“Nae.” She looked up at once. “Because she cannot reduce her feelings to a single word.”

His voice was as even as his gaze. “Take a’ the wirds ye like, Leddy Kerr. But I’ll have my answer now.”

Silence fell across the room.

Marjory looked at both of them, her eyes narrowing. “Just as I thought. You mean to marry my daughter-in-law.
You! A
tradesman.”

“Aye.” Rob straightened, his chest expanding. “’Tis honorable work, dressing gentlemen like Lord Kerr.”

Marjory was on her feet at once. “How dare you mention my son’s name while you plot to steal his wife?”

“I offered to take her hame to the Hielands. And marry her whan her twelvemonth o’ mourning ends. Nae mair, nae less. The choice is entirely hers.”

Marjory stared down at her. “Is this true?”

Elisabeth stood, using her height to bolster her courage. “Aye, that was Mr. MacPherson’s proposal.”

Marjory bristled. “You were married to a peer of the realm. Why would you demean yourself—”

“Demean
, is it?” Rob growled, his brow as dark as a storm. “Yer son demeaned her weel enough. With Jane Montgomerie and Susan McGill and—”

“Rob!” Elisabeth cried out. “Please don’t do this!”

He looked at her darkly. “’Tis the truth, Leddy Kerr, as ye verra weel ken.”

“Nae.” Marjory fell back a step. “These… accusations. They cannot be true. My son was… faithful.”

“Nae, he was not.” Rob’s voice softened only a little. “A young widow by the name o’ Lucy Spence came to visit Lord Kerr while he lodged at White Horse Close. Thrice I saw them thegither—”

“Stop!” Marjory sank onto her chair, her hands over her ears. “Do not say such things about my son. Please, Lady Elisabeth… please tell me this slander is not true.”

Elisabeth knelt beside her. “Lord Kerr was a loving husband and a good son. That is all that matters now.”

“He was, he was.” Marjory moaned into her handkerchief.

“Rather
too
loving,” Janet scoffed. “I’d heard the rumors and hoped they were idle gossip. Now I understand what sort of family I married into.” She stood and turned on her heel, retreating to her bedchamber.

Elisabeth watched her go, almost relieved. Marjory needed her full attention.

She rested her hand on her mother-in-law’s shoulder, which shook with her quiet sobs. “Try not to dwell on this,” Elisabeth said gently. Donald’s own words came to mind:
Do not bind these names to your heart
.

Rob stood above her now, offering his hand. “Leddy Kerr, if I might have a wird.”

She looked up at him, seeing him with new eyes. Clearly Rob had taken no small pleasure in ruining Marjory’s good opinion of her son. And to what end? Soothing his trampled pride.

Elisabeth stood without taking his hand. “Step into the entrance hall, Mr. MacPherson, and speak your piece.” She led the way, not looking over her shoulder, any doubt of her decision banished.

When they reached the stair door, she turned to look at him, keeping her distance. “Rob, how could you be so thoughtless?”

His expression was contrite, but his tone was not. “I am sorry, Bess. It needed to be said.”

“Nae, it did not.” Elisabeth spoke with equal conviction. “Her son is dead. His memory is sacred to her. In truth, ’tis all she has. What you’ve done is unconscionable.”

Rob suddenly gripped her shoulders, his temper flaring. “Why d’ye defend these people? They dinna love ye as I do. Ye’re a Hielander, Bess, and aye will be to them.”

“They are my family now—”

“Nae!” He shook her soundly. “Yer family lives in Braemar.”

“My mother lives there, aye.” She twisted free of his grasp. “But I left my father and my mother and cleaved unto my husband.”

“Aye, a profligate,” Rob muttered.

Elisabeth slapped him. Not hard, but hard enough. “Do not speak ill of my husband.” Tears stung her eyes. “Do not speak of him at all.”

He covered his cheek, his words low, almost menacing. “Ye were meant to be mine, Bess.”

“I was never yours.” She flung open the stair door. “I belonged to Lord Kerr. And now I belong to God. I bid you farewell.”

Seventy-Four

Who has not felt how sadly sweet
The dream of home, the dream of home.

THOMAS MOORE

M
arjory stood at the door to Elisabeth’s bedchamber, her ear almost touching the wood. Was she mistaken? Or was her daughter-in-law crying herself to sleep again this night? She could not fault the lass. Had she not wept through many a midnight hour? But this was unusual for Elisabeth.

Marjory eased away, honoring her daughter-in-law’s privacy. Now that Rob MacPherson had not darkened their door in a fortnight, Elisabeth seemed more at peace. But what were these tears at night? Certainly they weren’t shed for the tailor’s son. Mrs. Edgar, who’d been listening from behind the kitchen door, said Elisabeth practically threw the man down the stair.

Marjory was only sorry she’d not seen it for herself.

Elisabeth had been right to refuse his proposal. Aye, and to turn him out. The withdrawal of Rob’s support was no loss to Marjory, yet she hoped her daughter-in-law was not suffering because of it. He was her childhood friend, and his father was gravely ill.

Still, the terrible accusations Rob had made, the women’s names he had spoken with such certainty taunted her by the hour.

A loving husband and a good son
. So Elisabeth had assured her. But what the lass didn’t say was more troubling.
Donald was faithful
. Nae, she’d not said that.

Charlotte Ruthven had been right after all, then.
I saw Lord Kerr with Susan McGill
. One of the names Rob had spat out.
A widow of dubious repute
.

Marjory moved to the window, staring into the darkness, sick with the thought of it. Was that why Elisabeth wept at night? Because of Donald’s sordid affairs? Her daughter-in-law had apparently known for
some time, all the while remaining faithful, guarding his secrets, bearing her pain in silence.

Marjory carried her lighted taper to her bedside, her heart heavy with sorrow and with shame. An adulterer for a son. How could she live with that burden? She had taken him to kirk each Sabbath, read him the psalms, taught him the commandments.
How did I fail you, Donald? Was I not a good mother?

When she knelt to pray, Marjory pressed her forehead against the edge of her bed, desperate for answers. “Almighty God, you know how much I loved my sons.” She squeezed her eyes, trying to shut out the pain but could not. Her tears landed soundlessly on the carpet. “Forgive me… forgive me…” No more words came.

She had failed everyone she loved.

Everyone.

She remained there for some time, simply weeping.

When at last she could take a full breath, Marjory stood and dried her eyes on the sleeve of her nightgown. She’d spoken few words. And yet she knew the Almighty was listening.
The Lord seeth. The Lord heareth. The Lord knoweth
. He always spoke so clearly. Why did she find it difficult to trust him?

She stepped out of her brocade slippers and climbed into bed, utterly spent. A soft April rain was falling. She drew the bedcovers round her neck and burrowed deep into her pillow, already feeling drowsy.

Unbidden, thoughts of home crept through her mind like a gray cat slipping down a lane, soundless and barely noticed, yet beckoning her to follow.

Home, home, home
.

Lambing season had begun in the Borderland. The rolling hills were covered with bright green grass by now, and wildflowers dotted the meadows. Winter’s heavy snowfall would mean abundant crops come summer. There was no place lovelier than home in the spring.

Marjory sighed into the empty room, having found her answer. Come Whitsuntide she would return to Tweedsford with her daughters-in-law.

To leave behind a litany of mistakes. To make amends. To start anew.

As if from a distance, Marjory heard a soft tapping on her door.

And then Mrs. Edgar with a plaintive entreaty.

“Come,” Marjory called out to her, struggling to sit up.

Mrs. Edgar popped her head round the door, then quietly entered, full of apologies. “I’d hoped to find ye still awake, mem.”

“No matter. I only just now fell asleep,” Marjory said, tucking her bedcovers round her, then brushing aside her tousled hair.