Read Online Here Burns My Candle by Liz Curtis Higgs - Free Book Online
Authors: Liz Curtis Higgs
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their campaign, however great the need. Though his sword dutifully hung by his side, he’d had no military training, nor was he a skilled horseman. Still, with Andrew itching to enlist, might Donald be persuaded?
Or was someone else persuading Lord Kerr that afternoon and in quite another direction? Miss Anna Hart, perhaps, with eyes the color of jade. The young woman’s words jabbed her like a saber, the sharp tip bared. I choose carefully whom I embrace . Had the lass dared to embrace Lord Kerr, on this day or any other? Surely a merchant’s daughter would not be so careless with her virtue nor a husband so thoughtless with his favor.
Only then did Elisabeth recall his whispered endearment. I have a weakness for beautiful women . A compliment, as she’d imagined? Or was it a confession?
Elisabeth slowly rose, brushing the wrinkles from her skirts. Nae, Donald. I’ll not believe it. Not until you tell me so . With a leaden heart, she stood waiting for the others as the dragoons disappeared from sight.
“Beg pardon, Leddy Kerr.” Gibson stood at the bedchamber door, his posture ramrod straight despite his sixty years. “’Tis one o’ the clock.”
“Pour the claret,” Marjory told him, sweeping past the others. “Rebellion or not, dinner is served.”
Nine
Nature’s loving proxy,
the watchful mother.
EDWARD ROBERT BULWER, LORD LYTTON
A ny moment Lord Kerr will breeze through the door like an autumn leaf,” Marjory declared soon after they sat down to their Sabbath dinner. “We’ve no need for concern.” She felt the heat of false bravado rise to her cheeks. Or was it the claret warming her from the inside out?
She hid behind her glass, hoping no one noticed she’d hardly touched her food. What mother could have an appetite with an army approaching and her son amid the fray? For the others’ benefit, she treated Donald’s absence as a trifling matter. For her, it was yet another reason to worry.
Their first winter in Edinburgh both her sons had been weakened by a bout with consumption. Donald had regained his strength, albeit slowly, while his brother still struggled to breathe. Whatever their late father’s wishes, Andrew could never hope to serve in the military, and his older brother had never expressed any desire to do so. But if Donald saw his friends bearing arms and heard the cadence of the dragoons, might he not be tempted? Might he not join the Volunteers?
Holding the glass to her lips, Marjory sent a brief prayer heavenward, then drank deeply, as if sealing a bargain. Bring my son home, Lord, and do not tarry . She waited for the familiar sense of peace that had once followed her prayers. But such assurance did not come; only an empty silence.
As the others dined on lemon tarts and tea, Marjory’s gaze kept returning to the tall case clock in the corner of the drawing room, its brass pendulum counting the seconds. Nearly two o’ the clock and still no word from Donald. When Gibson finished his serving duties at table, Marjory quietly dispatched him to the Lawnmarket, knowing he would return with her son or with news of him.
The afternoon sky was gray but not threatening when the four of them put aside their linen napkins. “Shall we read beside the hearth?” Marjory suggested. Much as she longed to soothe her troubled mind with a game of whist, the Sabbath afternoon was better spent in spiritual pursuits. She sent Elisabeth to collect Reverend Boston’s book from her bedchamber and made herself comfortable by the fireplace.
Her daughter-in-law soon reappeared, the thick volume in hand. “Shall I begin?” Elisabeth offered, opening to the page marked from their last Sabbath reading.
Marjory pursed her lips. ’Twas Andrew’s voice she wished to hear, with the familiar cadence of home. Or Janet’s well-bred accent, honed from her years in Edinburgh society. Elisabeth’s speech, still tainted with a Gaelic air, grated on the ear. Too musical by half and too lively. Human
Or was someone else persuading Lord Kerr that afternoon and in quite another direction? Miss Anna Hart, perhaps, with eyes the color of jade. The young woman’s words jabbed her like a saber, the sharp tip bared. I choose carefully whom I embrace . Had the lass dared to embrace Lord Kerr, on this day or any other? Surely a merchant’s daughter would not be so careless with her virtue nor a husband so thoughtless with his favor.
Only then did Elisabeth recall his whispered endearment. I have a weakness for beautiful women . A compliment, as she’d imagined? Or was it a confession?
Elisabeth slowly rose, brushing the wrinkles from her skirts. Nae, Donald. I’ll not believe it. Not until you tell me so . With a leaden heart, she stood waiting for the others as the dragoons disappeared from sight.
“Beg pardon, Leddy Kerr.” Gibson stood at the bedchamber door, his posture ramrod straight despite his sixty years. “’Tis one o’ the clock.”
“Pour the claret,” Marjory told him, sweeping past the others. “Rebellion or not, dinner is served.”
Nine
Nature’s loving proxy,
the watchful mother.
EDWARD ROBERT BULWER, LORD LYTTON
A ny moment Lord Kerr will breeze through the door like an autumn leaf,” Marjory declared soon after they sat down to their Sabbath dinner. “We’ve no need for concern.” She felt the heat of false bravado rise to her cheeks. Or was it the claret warming her from the inside out?
She hid behind her glass, hoping no one noticed she’d hardly touched her food. What mother could have an appetite with an army approaching and her son amid the fray? For the others’ benefit, she treated Donald’s absence as a trifling matter. For her, it was yet another reason to worry.
Their first winter in Edinburgh both her sons had been weakened by a bout with consumption. Donald had regained his strength, albeit slowly, while his brother still struggled to breathe. Whatever their late father’s wishes, Andrew could never hope to serve in the military, and his older brother had never expressed any desire to do so. But if Donald saw his friends bearing arms and heard the cadence of the dragoons, might he not be tempted? Might he not join the Volunteers?
Holding the glass to her lips, Marjory sent a brief prayer heavenward, then drank deeply, as if sealing a bargain. Bring my son home, Lord, and do not tarry . She waited for the familiar sense of peace that had once followed her prayers. But such assurance did not come; only an empty silence.
As the others dined on lemon tarts and tea, Marjory’s gaze kept returning to the tall case clock in the corner of the drawing room, its brass pendulum counting the seconds. Nearly two o’ the clock and still no word from Donald. When Gibson finished his serving duties at table, Marjory quietly dispatched him to the Lawnmarket, knowing he would return with her son or with news of him.
The afternoon sky was gray but not threatening when the four of them put aside their linen napkins. “Shall we read beside the hearth?” Marjory suggested. Much as she longed to soothe her troubled mind with a game of whist, the Sabbath afternoon was better spent in spiritual pursuits. She sent Elisabeth to collect Reverend Boston’s book from her bedchamber and made herself comfortable by the fireplace.
Her daughter-in-law soon reappeared, the thick volume in hand. “Shall I begin?” Elisabeth offered, opening to the page marked from their last Sabbath reading.
Marjory pursed her lips. ’Twas Andrew’s voice she wished to hear, with the familiar cadence of home. Or Janet’s well-bred accent, honed from her years in Edinburgh society. Elisabeth’s speech, still tainted with a Gaelic air, grated on the ear. Too musical by half and too lively. Human
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