The Mistress of Tall Acre (10 page)

If she had, wouldn’t he remember?

He shut his eyes as the reverend called for a kiss. He remembered his own bumbling when he’d first kissed Anne. She’d turned so shy, making him shy in return. But Colin and Sally were no mere boy and girl. They’d been loving and trysting for years, wresting from the war what it would deny them, meeting whenever and wherever they could.

The morning blurred and found him at the wedding breakfast, surrounded by too many unwed women amidst the fine napery of the dining room. Chicken, spiced ham, baked shad, and a host of other dishes lined the immense sideboard and table as if in outright defiance of war’s end and Britain’s penny-pinching rule. Seamus stayed quiet, self-contained even as they tried to draw him out. He could only guess the gist of their thoughts.

Wounded war hero. Grieving widower. Absentee father.

“General Ogilvy, are you staying long at Bracken Hall?” To his left, Clementine Randolph asked the question that had been broached half a dozen times already.

“Nay,” he said. “I leave at first light.”

“How is it returning home to Tall Acre after so long away with so much to be done?”

“Like battle,” he replied with a small smile. “I’m glad to have the winter to plan for a spring offensive—planting and the like.” He couldn’t say the repairs needed in his absence were appalling and his former creditors in London had yet to be paid . . . and here sat the unmarried Miss Randolph whose dowry would answer for any expense he incurred.

“I’ve heard Tall Acre is a lovely place. I believe it’s situated near the Three Chimneys estate just down from you on the Roan River?”

He raised his silver goblet. “You’re familiar with Three Chimneys?”

Miss Randolph’s smile was smug. In the warmth of so many candles, her wax makeup had begun to wane, though her hair with its plentiful pomade held tight. “My cousin Major John Franklin has just been awarded that confiscated property.”

Seamus nearly spilled his punch.

“I believe it formerly belonged to the Tory Lord Menzies,” she finished, making a disagreeable face.

He felt a sinking to his boots. “It did, aye, but is now occupied by his daughter . . . until her brother who served under my command returns home to claim it.”

She dabbed at her lips with a serviette. “I’d also heard her brother has gone missing or is a casualty of war, and that the taxes on Three Chimneys haven’t been paid in ages.”

Emily Lee leaned in on his other side. “I believe what Miss Randolph is telling you, General, is that she’d be happy to renew your acquaintance by coming to Tall Acre once her cousin takes up residence at Three Chimneys.”

They tittered conspiratorially and left him brooding. Sophie Menzies had said nothing to him of losing Three Chimneys. What else was she hiding?

Down the table General Washington was recounting news of their absent fellow officers in his quiet, self-effacing way. Several of those missing had assumed political office, others taking up residence on Tory estates seized as a reward for their wartime service. But Seamus was no longer listening.

It was now late November. The treaty ending the war had been signed in October. Congress was obviously wasting no time dealing with Tory holdings. A sad state of affairs, especially when Three Chimneys had been Sophie’s mother’s to begin with. Though he didn’t know Sophie Menzies well, he knew her well enough to discern her loyalty to her home. And losing Three Chimneys would take her one step farther away from Lily Cate. The situation clawed at him, begged his help. All he could do was appeal to a higher power.

It was late in the day when he found General Washington alone. In full dress uniform, Washington cast him back to the battlefield and countless meetings with fellow officers. As always, the commander in chief listened thoughtfully as Seamus laid out the dilemma of Three Chimneys and asked him to intervene.

His expression was grave, his voice low. “You’re aware of the talk surrounding Major Menzies . . . that he may have defected with Benedict Arnold?”

Seamus all but winced. Washington never cast suspicion that wasn’t warranted. “I’ve heard unconfirmed reports. No solid proof.”

Washington nodded intently and then outmaneuvered him. “Is the property—this Three Chimneys—a valuable one? Good timber, fertile fields, ample water supply?”

“Aye, all of it.”

“And is the lady in question amiable? Young as you?”

Young? Seamus didn’t feel young. The aches and complaints in his limbs bespoke age and adversity and more. But Sophie, despite her painful leanness, still seemed youthful. “I believe she is.”

“Is she comely? In your eyes at least?”

Seamus hesitated. He’d not thought of Sophie in those terms. Didn’t want to think of her in those terms. But the general required honesty above all else. “She’s lovely, aye.”

“Does she share your patriotism?”

He nodded, well aware of where Washington was leading.

“And are you not a widower with a young daughter in need of a mother?” The ensuing pause was painful. And then a wry glimmer lit Washington’s silver-blue eyes. “As one of my top officers, you’ve never needed me to spell things out for you, Seamus, so I’ll simply ask—what are you waiting for?”

Seamus bit back an excuse, though he couldn’t fault Washington’s logic. He himself had married a young widow with two children before the war. Martha Custis Washington was as charming and amiable as they came.

Washington clapped him on the back. “Why not save me any wrangling with Congress over Tory holdings and settle the matter yourself?”

Colin appeared just then, sparing him an answer. “Time for cards and drinks in the parlor, gentlemen. We’ll have a little more merriment before Sally and I are on our way.”

Seamus joined in halfheartedly, so distracted he couldn’t attend to the hand in front of him. He ended up losing at whist, his partner and opponents staring at him in stark surprise. With skills honed around countless smoky campfires, he was usually top of his game in terms of strategy and tactics.

His thoughts spun and refused to settle. Here he’d just told Colin he had no thought of remarrying, and Washington was making a case and trying to talk him into it.

Sophie Menzies Ogilvy.

It was too obvious, too easy a solution. Even if Lily Cate was wild about her, he didn’t love Sophie Menzies. He’d never thought of her as anything but the unfortunate daughter of a despised Tory.

She’d never considered him either, he was willing to wager.

The motion of the rocking chair was soothing, the snap and pop of the fire nearly lulling Sophie to sleep. Lily Cate’s warm weight spread across her like a quilt, her dark head upon Sophie’s bony shoulder, her small body curled catlike in her lap. As the clock struck seven, the winter darkness crept in, moonless and deep, magnifying the night sounds.

She heard hoofbeats even before Glynnis announced someone. She knew it was the general. But alone . . . or with a bride? Though he’d only been gone a week, it felt far longer.

In a few minutes he stood before her, winded and windswept, his cocked hat tucked beneath one arm. She looked up at him, masking the way her heart jumped at his appearing. How could a man look and smell so fine after so long a ride? Almost like a . . . bridegroom.

“Come sit by the fire and warm yourself, General.” She mulled the address. Her father had been a general. His rank meant very little, for it had been bought, unlike Seamus Ogilvy’s. “Glynnis has gone to fetch you a toddy.”

“I won’t refuse you.”

Still, his face showed surprise. She knew why. Despite their lack, Three Chimneys reeked of spirits. Her father was known for the finest pipes of Madeira and East Indian rum throughout Roan. What the British hadn’t drunk, their hired man Henry had hidden away. For medicine and wounds and a wee dram or two.

Seamus shed his cloak and draped it over a chair back before sitting opposite her. The fire sputtered, sending a colorful spray of sparks past the andirons. His hat and gloves he placed near the heat, much as Curtis used to do. She missed that homey touch, the comfort and security a man’s presence wrought. She opened her mouth to welcome him home. But this wasn’t his home. And this wasn’t their wee daughter.

He sat back, eyes never leaving Lily Cate. “How is she?”

Missing you
, she wanted to say. But she couldn’t, not honestly. Just this morning Lily Cate had cried because their time together was nearing an end. “She’s well. We went riding this afternoon.”

“Riding?” His brow lifted. “She won’t get near a horse.”

“She rode with me on one of Tall Acre’s very gentle mares. But I’m afraid she got quite worn out.”

“Wise to go today. The fair weather’s spent.”

Glynnis returned, bearing the toddy and a tray. Biscuits layered with the ham he’d provided were stacked beside a sliced apple on a pewter plate. He smiled his thanks, remembering her name. Flushing like a girl, Glynnis curtsied, leaving Sophie somewhat bemused. So the master of Tall Acre could even charm the help when he wanted, ensuring unending hospitality to come.

“You spoil me, the both of you.” His glance widened to take Sophie in.

There was an alarming lilt to his voice she’d not heard before. And that smile . . . It eased all the rugged, weathered lines of him, giving her a nearly forgotten glimpse of the young man he’d been. Confident, even cocky. Self-assured yet unchallenged. He’d had little to do with her back then, before she went to Williamsburg. The war had mellowed and matured him like fine wine in Three Chimneys’ cellar.

He seemed entirely too high-spirited tonight, having ridden untold miles in the cold to get here. She braced herself for some announcement, some startling revelation. Was he merely betrothed? Or had he left his bride at Tall Acre before coming here?

“How were your travels?” she blurted, wanting an end to her misery.

“Uneventful,” he said, reaching for the toddy.

She stared at him, heart in her throat.

He returned her stare. “You’re looking at me like I just lied.”

“I hardly call a bride uneventful.”

“A—
what
?” His amused astonishment brought the fire to her cheeks. “I don’t remember saying anything about a bride.”

“Little jugs have big ears.” At his quizzical expression, she rushed on. “You’d do well to conceal your personal correspondence if you’d like to keep it that way.”

He sat back and watched the steam curl round the tankard’s rim, mulling her words. “Meaning my maid does more than dust my desk.”

“I don’t mean to meddle but thought you’d want to know.” She forged ahead. There was simply no way to dance around it. “Lily Cate believes you went away to wed someone.”

He took a long drink, leaving her hanging. “I went to Bracken Hall to see someone wed. A fellow officer. I was best man. It was, as I said, uneventful.”

She rested her cheek against Lily Cate’s hair as a strange euphoria rushed in. He was not wed. Not taken. Just looking annoyed that she had imagined it. She gave the rocking chair a gentle push with her foot, wondering what Lily Cate’s reaction would be upon waking.

Lord, let her be
glad to see him again.

“Have you ever considered a post as a governess?” He reached for a biscuit but didn’t eat, as if awaiting her answer first.

’Twas her turn to be surprised. “You’re not seeking my services, I hope.”

Her distaste must have showed on her face, for he said quietly, “Is the prospect so abhorrent to you, then?”

“I . . .” She could just imagine that arrangement. First in line to observe the bride he would eventually bring home. Babies. A domestic scene long denied her. “I’ve posted a letter to Mrs. Hallam about a governess. Hopefully there’ll be a hasty reply.”

He ran a hand over his jaw, drawing attention to his shadow of beard. “You’ve been a great help to me with my daughter. I’d like to return the favor, if you’ll let me speak freely.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “You seem to have little trouble on that score, General.”

“Forgive me for that.” He shot her an apologetic glance. “Sometimes my field manners follow me into the parlor.” Setting his tankard aside, he leaned forward. “Since we’re discussing the matter of personal correspondence, I need to know if you’ve received any word from government officials concerning Three Chimneys.”

So he knew. Somehow it hurt, humiliated her, that he did. “Just yesterday a letter came,” she answered, resuming her rocking. “The post is in the study. On my fa—Curtis’s desk. You may retrieve it if you like.”

He got up without waiting for more. In moments he sat back down, letter in hand. “I have a proposal.”

Her girlish heart lifted. His words, the hushed way he said them, made her stomach spin, and then sharp reason reined her in. He didn’t mean
that
kind of proposal. She tried to stem the thought of him on bended knee. Was that how he had proposed to Anne? He didn’t seem like a romantic sort of suitor.

The look he gave her was all business, driving every romantic notion from her head. “I’m prepared to pay back taxes on Three Chimneys in exchange for your leasing land to me.”

“A lease? Why?”