The Mistress of Tall Acre (17 page)

S
. . . for Sophie?

She studied him, face solemn. Since Sophie’s leaving as their houseguest, Lily Cate had begun a slow retreat into a shell he couldn’t penetrate. Each day brought a bit more distance. She’d even stopped calling him Papa.

He took out a fresh sheet of foolscap and began to write out the whole alphabet for her with his injured right hand. Slowly. Waveringly. With a confidence he was far from feeling. It didn’t help that she’d taken a step back. The sight of his injury always frightened her, and he understood.

“I can’t remember all the letters Miss Sophie taught me,” she confessed.

“No matter. We’ll soon have a governess for you. I was just writing Miss Menzies about it.”

It was New Year’s Day. With any luck someone would be seeking a position. Someone who had reams of time and far more patience. Aye, patience. His daughter reminded him of a butterfly, flitting place to place, never landing for long. No doubt when she’d made her
S
, she’d fly away again.

He glanced at her, ricocheting between relief and regret. Relief when Lily Cate dropped her reserve and wanted to be around him. Regret when she’d had enough of his company and fled. Sometimes he felt relief at her going and regret that he did. A good father wouldn’t feel that way. Would he?

For now she kept looking up at him and then down at the paper he was inking, open wonder in her eyes. “How is it having so many things in your head?”

He paused. “Letters and such?”

She nodded. “Is it very crowded?”

“Aye.”

“Is there room for me?”

In answer, he took her fingers in his good hand and helped her shape a big
S.
“There’s always room enough for you even when it looks like I’m too busy.”

“General . . .” Mrs. Lamont stood on the study’s threshold, smiling pleasantly. “Captain McClintock is here to see you.”

Seamus thanked her, thinking he’d misheard. McClintock rarely came upriver. Was he back? “Send him in.”

“Do you want me to disappear?” Lily Cate asked.

He stared at her, thoughtful.
Nay, I want McClintock to disappear.

As he thought it, his junior officer walked in, tricorn in hand, skittering his plans to finish up accounts.

“Welcome back, Will,” he said, trying to be hospitable despite the demands of the day. “I thought you were back home at Ramsay.”

“I was.” McClintock’s vexed expression gave a warning. “But then I decided to make another trip upriver and call on Miss Menzies.”

Lily Cate snapped to attention sooner than Seamus at the mention, but McClintock was staring at Lily Cate as if unwilling to say more. In the onslaught of the captain’s unwelcome words, Seamus had all but forgotten her. “Go upstairs while our guest and I speak privately.”

With a dutiful nod she was off, shutting the door behind her.

“Would you like a drink?” Seamus offered, wanting to cut to the chase instead.

“Nay, I had a toddy at Three Chimneys,” he said, tossing his hat onto a chair, “which helped me get over the sting of her refusal.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re over it, but what exactly are we talking about?”

“I asked Miss Menzies permission to call on her. Court her.”

Court her?
A strange heat settled in his belly. Seamus sat on the edge of his desk, swinging a booted leg, feeling like they were back in camp and McClintock had countermanded an order. But it was Sophie’s response that left him hanging. “And?”

McClintock stepped toward a table and uncorked a brandy decanter, obviously still suffering the humiliation. Amber liquid splashed into a glass. He took a sip of the drink he’d just declined, clearly rattled. “She said her affections lie elsewhere.”

Seamus stayed stoic while his mind whirled.

“She said quite plainly that she has another suitor, though she didn’t name him.” He shot Seamus a black look. “You might have warned me.”

“Warned you? I had no idea.” Seamus stared at the rug. Who on earth could it be? A neighbor? Someone in Roan? The guard he’d posted? Mayhap there was more to Sophie Menzies than he’d first thought.

“I even asked her to accompany you and your daughter on your visit to Ramsay for foxhunting in future, hoping she’d come round.”

You what?
Seamus wanted to spit. Sophie likely thought he’d sanctioned McClintock’s pursuit, his unexpected proposal. “That wasn’t wise.”

“I realize it now. I should have consulted you first. But the truth is I was so sure she’d agree to everything, I forged ahead.” McClintock cleared his throat. “I never thought to be turned away by a penniless spinster with a property soon to be confiscated, but there you have it.”

“Was it Miss Menzies you wanted or Three Chimneys?”

McClintock had the grace to color slightly. “Both are a draw.”

For all his bumbling, McClintock was honest. And lonely. His fiancée had died of fever during the war, and he had little family to call his own.

“There were a number of other women here in December,” Seamus reminded him. “Any one of them would be glad of your suit.”

“Yes, but none of them are Miss Menzies,” he answered thoughtfully. “There’s something about her . . .”

Something, aye. Seamus didn’t like the reminder.

The next day Henry stood at the kitchen door on behalf of Glynnis, who was behind the house chasing down a chicken. “There’s a visitor to see you, Miss Menzies.”

“Another?” Sophie nearly laughed as she settled a pan of biscuits in the bake oven. Three Chimneys seemed like a toll station lately. “And who have we today?”

“General Ogilvy, miss.”

Her levity vanished. “Is his wee daughter with him?”

“Nay, he’s come alone. And he looks all business.”

“Then I’d best not keep him waiting.” Tearing her apron free, Sophie took a last look about the kitchen, wanting to dart up a back stair and mind her hair at least. A quick glance at a hanging copper pot reflected a dusting of flour on her chin. She supposed the general could wait.

A few minutes later she retraced her steps to the parlor, her favorite fichu about her shoulders, her hair repinned, her heart somersaulting along with her stomach. Why General Ogilvy so early in the morning? Half past nine wasn’t exactly the break of day, but his sudden arrival had certainly shaken her awake.

The parlor door was ajar, but no fire was burning. They were trying to conserve wood, and the room felt like a cave. Seamus was standing by the cold hearth in a fulled-wool cloak and cocked hat. Perhaps their meeting would be blessedly brief.

“I’m sorry there’s no fire. Would you like something warm to drink?” She wanted to eat the words as soon as she’d said them.

“Nay.” He looked straight at her, aggravation in his gaze.

Shaking free of that look, she bit her lip. Protocol be hanged! She would have to invite him into the kitchen lest they be frostbitten . . . or her biscuits burn. “Please come with me.”

He followed her without a word as she battled embarrassment and the dread of what was to come. The strange man Lily Cate had spoken of never left her thoughts. “Lily Cate . . . she’s all right?”

“Aye.”

She’d never seen him so brusque. He took a chair, watching her as she spun about the kitchen fetching India spirits, loaf sugar, and nutmeg. Her nutmeg grater eluded her, thanks to the befuddlement of his unexpected company. She couldn’t remember where she’d put it. He removed his cocked hat and set it by the dog irons along with his gloves, gaze rising to the kitchen’s leaking roof. Mercifully he made no comment.

When she finally served him the fragrant toddy, he looked like he might laugh. He took it with an amused, questioning half smile that reminded her he hadn’t wanted one in the first place. Mortification stung her from head to toe. If she wasn’t careful, he’d know ’twas
he
who made her so camshauchle!

Taking the toddy back, she managed a fiery swallow, nearly scorching her tongue as she did so. He did laugh then, throwing back his head in a rare show of mirth, banishing all awkwardness between them.

He gestured to the stool beside him, as if this was his kitchen and she was in need of direction. The comforting aroma from the bake oven filled the air, as did that of the simmering soup brimming with the last garden vegetables—and a chicken if Glynnis had her way.

He gave a kick to a smoldering log. “I’m aware Captain McClintock was by here yesterday. He came to see me afterward.”

She bit her tongue. Had McClintock complained to him then? Was Seamus upset with her for refusing him? “Yes, the captain was kind enough to call and ask—” The word
courting
hung in her throat. “To ask if—”

“So he told me. I want you to know I was unaware of his intentions.”

She glanced down at the toddy in her hands. Could he see her relief? She’d gone half a day and all night thinking he’d been matchmaking when—

“I understand you already have a suitor.”

Her second sip went down the wrong way. Turning her head, she stifled a cough, sloshing hot liquid onto her apron as she did so. With one deft move he took the mug from her once and for all and set it on the kitchen table beyond her reach.

She put a hand to her throat. “Captain McClintock misunderstood me. I have no suitor.”

“But he said—”

“I told him my affections lie elsewhere. What I didn’t tell him is that they’re not returned.”

His gaze sharpened. “So the man you love doesn’t love you back.”

Fire scored her cheeks. “That’s the long and the short of it, yes.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Menzies. But I find that hard to believe.”

“General Ogilvy, I’m telling you the truth. I—”

“I don’t doubt that you’re telling me the truth. What I question is your would-be suitor.” His voice dropped a notch. “Is the man blind—or simply stupid?”

He is neither . . . He
is you.

He leaned back in his chair. “I thought mayhap if you married this man, your troubles would resolve.”

Oh aye, no doubt.

Could he not see ’twas
he
who turned her inside out? The mere thought of being courted by him skewered her with longing. She loved that he was here now asking after her, concerned and wanting to fix things for her. She loved especially that he didn’t have any notion she was smitten with him.

Her words came soft. “Not everyone is meant to marry and have a family. Perhaps I’m one of them.”

“I beg to differ,” he said with less fire. “You’re meant to be mistress of your own home, have children.”

“I suppose you’re going to order someone up for me.” The teasing in her tone belied her heartache.

“Aye, I would if I could. But some matters are even beyond a rebel hero’s reach.”

More addled, she grabbed a rag, opened the beehive oven, and took out the leathery-looking biscuits. The sound of coughing drew her eye to the kitchen doorway. Glynnis appeared, eyes huge at the sight of the general’s back. Dead fowl in hand, she hurried away, any questions about the burnt smell answered.

“Your housekeeper sounds in need of a doctor,” he murmured.

“She won’t let me send for one.”

“Mayhap she’d be more willing if I was to send for one.”

“What she needs is to go to her sister in Annapolis. Glynnis’s duties here keep her from getting well.”

“I could arrange for travel. But where would that leave you?”

“I only want what’s best for Glynnis.” She spoke honestly, though the prospect of life without her longtime housekeeper was lonesome indeed. “I fear she’ll only worsen if she stays. She might recover in Annapolis.”

“I’ll take care of it if you’ll prepare her.”

She met his gaze, finding it all too steady in comparison to her own. “General Ogilvy, you cannot always be coming to my rescue.”

His eyes warmed. “Why can’t I?”

“Because . . .” Her voice trailed away as her heart lost more ground.

Because it makes me more enamored with you.

He was regarding her in that intent way he had, undermining her self-control. “I’ve looked over the taxes and this leasing of the land, and I remain in your debt. Once your housekeeper leaves, I’ll send a servant over from Tall Acre to replace her, not that anyone can. But at least it will settle matters between us and hasten her to health.”

“But—”

“Just say aye, Miss Menzies.” He smiled, melting all resistance.

“Very well.” ’Twas futile to protest. Her gaze trailed to the stubborn set of his shoulders beneath his fine wool cloak. “I have good news for you too. I finally received word from Mrs. Hallam just yesterday about a governess.” She reached in her pocket and withdrew the post. “A young woman from Williamsburg is seeking a position. She’s in reduced circumstances but is quite accomplished.”

He took the letter. “You know her?”

“We shared French lessons long ago. She comes highly recommended.”

He tucked the letter in his waistcoat, and it seemed a burden lifted along with it. “I’m in your debt again,” he said as if indebtedness was a gladsome thing.

“I don’t doubt you’ll try to even the score.”

“Straightaway.” He gave her a wink and gestured toward the foyer. “Why is there no fire in your parlor?”