Here Burns My Candle Part 47

THOMAS OTWAY.

E lisabeth woke at dawn, the sky outside her window a pale blue wash of color. As she bathed and dressed herself, the air in her bedchamber was cool but not freezing. Rob's letter, unfolded and read many times, lay on her dressing table.

A week ago she was sure of her answer. Now she was less certain.

Was it Rob MacPherson who wooed her? Or was it the hills and glens of Braemar? She could not separate the two in her mind.

This much she knew: Edinburgh was no longer her true home. Tall lands and narrow wynds, which once quickened her pulse, now made her feel hemmed in. The crowded High Street with all its diversions held little appeal for a penniless widow. And everywhere she turned, she saw Donald. Or thought she did, then realized it was someone else with a slender build and a fair periwig.

Having her hopes raised, then dashed again and again was numbing. Would marrying Rob MacPherson next January put an end to her pain?

Elisabeth stood facing the window, absently dragging a brush through her hair, rather than look at the bed she'd shared with her husband for nearly three years. To consider marrying another seemed a sacrilege. She'd not informed anyone of Rob's proposal for that very reason. Why upset the household-her mother-in-law in particular-if the answer was going to be nae?

Elisabeth glanced at Rob's letter, wisely written in Gaelic. She put down her brush and opened the letter once more, scanning the lines she almost knew by heart. His words were written in a bold, unpolished hand. The ink was the very color of his eyes.

My dear Bess, I have loved you as long as I have known you.

She did not doubt Rob for a moment. Whenever they were together, his gaze was riveted on her as if no one else existed. Such complete attention was unnerving. But at least she never questioned his loyalty.

From the adjoining rooms came the sounds of her family stirring from their sleep. Determined to make up her mind before breakfast, Elisabeth read on.

This spring I would be honored to escort you to Castleton of Braemar and deliver you into your mother's arms.

Elisabeth's heart tightened. Would her mother swing open their cottage door and gather her in a fierce embrace, whispering, "All is forgiven, all is forgotten"? Or would the new Mrs. Cromar close that same door in her daughter's face, shutting her out forever?

If you accept my proposal of marriage, Bess, I will do everything in my power to make you happy.

A bewitching notion, having a husband dedicated to her happiness. Could she do the same? Put his pleasure above hers? Though Rob had yet to ask that of her, surely he had the right to expect she would return his boundless affection.

My heart and my hands are yours, and everything I own in this world, if you will have me as your husband come January.

No man could offer more. Donald had given her a t.i.tle and a fine home, aye. But his heart and his hands were never hers entirely. May these gloves warm your hands, as your hands warmed me. She could not fathom Rob being unfaithful to her, nor had she ever heard a whisper of gossip about him.

But were devotion and provision enough to win her heart?

Elisabeth stared at the words on the page, tracing the ink with her fingertips. She would marry for no other reason but love. Never mind that society laughed at such conventions. Before she could wed Rob MacPherson, she had to love him.

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 crus.h.i.+ng 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 ap.r.o.n 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 la.s.s 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 G.o.d. I bid you farewell."

Seventy-Four.