The Mistress of Tall Acre (25 page)

Seamus wasted no words once he’d set foot in the Fitzhughs’ Williamsburg townhouse.

“I thought it only fair to tell you I’ve decided to take legal action against you.”

“What the devil are you talking about?” Fitzhugh, for all his pomp and polish, looked apoplectic. “How dare you—”

“How dare
you.
” Seamus held his temper by a hair. “There is such a thing as plain dealing, but time after time you resort to underhanded tactics that leave me little choice but to seek a higher authority.”

Charlotte seemed aghast at such bluntness. “General, do sit down. Let us be civil.” She flicked her fan toward a settee.

Seamus stayed standing, hat in hand.

Fitzhugh began anew. “You’re well aware—”

“I’m well aware someone has been trespassing at Tall Acre, frightening my daughter and my staff.”

“Someone?” Charlotte looked duly alarmed. “Whatever do you mean?”

“An unknown man has been seen on the grounds more than once. He’s not yet been caught, but he will be.” Seamus looked straight at Fitzhugh. “And I’m holding you responsible for any trouble incurred.”

The judge stayed stony. “Would you like us to add libel to the case we’re building against you, General?”

“Build any case you like,” Seamus returned quietly. “Legally you don’t have a leg to stand on.”

“I beg to differ.” Fitzhugh emerged from behind the desk, snuff box in hand. “We’re working to return the child—”

“The child has a name.”

Fitzhugh snorted. “As I was saying, we’re working to return Anne’s daughter to our care and see your mismanagement of her come to an end. We’re aware you’re often away from Tall Acre and she is unsupervised—”

“If I’m away, it’s because of estate business as I’ve just returned from nearly a decade of war. As for my daughter, she’s closely supervised at all times—”

“Closely?”
Fitzhugh’s voice climbed to new heights. “We’re aware you cannot even keep a governess on hand—”

“And I’m well aware you sent Miss Townsend to Tall Acre, masquerading as such,” Seamus shot back, his surface calm deserting him. “The least you could do is to not be so blasted stupid about spying!”

“You have no proof!” Fitzhugh flung at him. “’Tis hearsay, all of it!”

“Nay, not hearsay.” Seamus’s own voice rose and crested, overriding his former brother-in-law’s. “I suspected something amiss from the first.”

“Gentlemen, please!” Charlotte intruded, nearly as irate. “Need I remind you that we merely want Lily Cate to come for a visit? ’Tis been ages since we’ve seen her.”

A visit? As if this was some social call? Would they never listen? Seamus didn’t hide his disgust.

Fitzhugh regarded him through narrowed eyes. “A visit seems meager at best when Anne’s daughter should be returned to our care permanently. If you’re not agreeable to even a brief meeting, perhaps a court order will help change your mind. I’m prepared to force the issue if you deny our request—”

“You can threaten all you want. I’ll not bring my daughter to Williamsburg. I’ve already told you that you can come to Tall Acre if you send word well ahead of the date.” Even that was more than Seamus was willing to concede. And a supervised visit it would be. “I’ll not bring her here—leave her here—court order or no.”

“You’re in grave error, General.” Fitzhugh was nearly spitting in his ire, unused to being thwarted. “Anne’s daughter is, per Anne’s request, rightfully ours based on your history of absence and neglect. I needn’t remind you that we have it in writing—”

“Nay, you needn’t remind me.” Seamus’s tone flattened. “Anne did me a grave disservice, but that is all. Nothing you say or do will take my daughter from me.”

“Gentlemen, please!” Charlotte looked at them, palms raised imploringly. “As I’ve said before, our main concern is that Lily Cate needs a woman’s influence—”

“And she’s to have one.” Seamus returned his hat to his head and took a step back. “You’re among the first to know I’m to wed.” They stared at him, their shocked expressions giving him a small, sweet taste of victory.

Finally Fitzhugh said, “Marry? When?”

“As soon as I return to Tall Acre.”

Confusion colored his face. “Who on earth are you to marry?”

“A lady from Roan County.”

Charlotte frowned, her surprise giving way to petulance. “And who might that be?”

“Miss Sophie Menzies of Three Chimneys.”

“The
turncoat’s
daughter?” they said in unison.

Seamus gave a nod, pulse pounding. “Aye. I’m to have a wife. Lily Cate is to have a mother. No argument you devise can stand up to that in court, so I advise you to quit your case.”

He turned, ignoring the bitter barb Fitzhugh flung at him and Charlotte’s gaping dismay. His elation lasted till he reached the foyer and realized just what he’d done.

Become betrothed to a woman who didn’t have a clue.

Passing into the cold Williamsburg night, the stars hanging like icicles in the frozen sky, Seamus made for the Raleigh Tavern, wishing he could return to Three Chimneys by the light of the moon and talk—nay, argue—Sophie Menzies into marrying him. For all he knew, she was still in Annapolis. As it was, there was no going home till morning. An unappetizing meal at the Raleigh would have to suffice till then, followed by a long, sleepless night.

Next morning, in a bold move his heart wasn’t quite willing to make, he found himself at James Craig, Jewelers, hunting up a ring. As luck would have it the shop was empty, sparing Seamus any explanation of why he had come in so early, though Craig was looking at him in a bemused sort of way.

“And what exactly did you have in mind, General Ogilvy?”

“A wedding band . . . nothing too ornate. But no pinchbeck either.” Anne had hated anything inferior or counterfeit. He guessed she’d been buried with the ornate ruby ring he’d given her. Or mayhap the ever-grasping Charlotte had kept it. The uncharitable thought nicked him, but he aimed for honesty, at least in the sanctuary of his own head and heart.

What would Sophie favor?

Muttering about the price of gems in the wake of war, Craig laid out a generous selection of jewelry atop the wooden counter. Seamus examined pointe native diamond rings and plainer bands, drawn to a gold and black enamel ring wide enough for engraving. Simple and elegant, it wouldn’t overpower Sophie’s slender hand.

He held it up to the light, wondering if he’d have need of it at all. Everything hinged on her response, and he hadn’t even asked her. But he’d ride clear to Annapolis if he had to.

“If you’d engrave it with three names—Sophie, Seamus, Lily Cate.”

Craig nodded and began putting the other rings away. “My congratulations, General. I wasn’t aware you were to remarry.”

“These things have a way of happening,” Seamus murmured.

“Aye, indeed they do.” Craig chuckled. “I’ll have that engraving done straightaway.”

Seamus hoped he wouldn’t fish for details like wedding dates.

He wasn’t sure there’d be one.

19

T
was candlelight when Sophie finished her supper and watched the last of daylight drain away. Rain streaked her bedchamber windowpane, but not so heavily as to obscure the long front drive with its lone rider hastening her way. Another post? Surely not. She’d yet to recover from the last.

Her heart gave an unmistakable, maddening skip. There was no mistaking this long, well-muscled rider who rode with a penetrating purpose.

Seamus.

Had he come about Lily Cate? Some maternal instinct always propelled her to fear illness or accident. Had there been more trouble with the trespasser at Tall Acre or Anne’s Williamsburg kin?

Turning toward the looking glass, she raised cold hands to fiery cheeks, dizzy as a girl. Any hedges she put up round her heart always tumbled at first sight of him. Hastily taking the pins from her hair, she shook it loose and wove in a satin ribbon, tying back the waves with practiced hands. A splash of rosewater at her throat and wrists completed her hasty toilette as Mistress Murdo announced him.

“General Ogilvy is in the front parlor, miss.”

Sophie thanked her, glad she’d asked Henry to lay a fire. Now was the time to tell him about Curtis. Would he think the worst of her? Shun her like Roan did?

Gripping the banister, she went below, shame pummeling her the nearer she came to the open parlor door. Yet not even the dread of confessing the betrayal could dampen her gladness that Seamus was waiting. Her every sense was heightened by the mere anticipation of him.

By the time she crossed the threshold and beheld his broad back, a dozen things she’d missed about him were satisfied. Unaware of her, he placed his cocked hat atop a settee and straightened to look into the mantel mirror and smooth his cravat. As if he cared how he looked for her. As if she were special . . . beloved. In that instant his gaze met hers in the cracked glass. She nearly forgot to breathe.

Never would she forget the sight of him rimmed in firelight, his dark hair so wind-tossed that loose strands lay about his shoulders like spilled ribbon, his eyes keen and kind and searching all at once. Slowly he turned round. His solemnity gave a warning.

He swallowed, the cords in his neck tensing. “Sophie . . .”

She went still. Never had he used her Christian name. Her heart, so sore over losing Three Chimneys and Curtis, so torn over missing Seamus yet needing distance, felt like it would burst.

He gestured toward a Windsor chair. “Mayhap you’d better sit down.”

She stayed standing. “Whatever it is, please . . . just say it.”

He took another step toward her. “I’ve come to ask you—” He looked wildly uncertain yet determined all at once. “To marry me.”

Her lips parted. No sound came.

“I know that’s the last thing you expected.” His intensity assured her he wasn’t jesting. “I’m asking you to be my wife.”

My wife.
Not
my dance partner
. Not
my houseguest
or
my daughter’s companion
. Breaking their gaze, she sat down in the nearest chair.

“Forgive me for being so abrupt.” Disquiet deepened his voice. “Ever since you left for Annapolis, I’ve thought of little else.”

Oh?
If she was tied up in his thoughts, she’d like to know the gist of them.

“I admire and respect you. I doubt I’ll ever meet another woman like you.” His words held firm. “I’m indebted to you for being there for my daughter, and it’s because of her I’m here.”

She found words at last. “Something happened in Williamsburg.”

“I told Anne’s kin I’m to wed.”

“You told them you were going to wed
me
?”

“I did.”

“Are you so sure of me, then?” Her eyes widened at his audacity. “That I shall accept you?”

A glimmer of amusement broke through his unease. “Nay, I’ve never been less sure of anything in my life.”

“You, sir, are a wee bit bold . . .” Pleasure stirred and then reason staggered in. “Rather, Lily Cate is in need of a mother, and you stand to lose her if you don’t make a family again.”

“Aye, to put it bluntly.”

The truth sat squarely and unflinchingly between them, hardly the proposal of her dreams—but a proposal nonetheless.

“I understand . . .” Her voice fell away. She felt painfully, impossibly . . . joyful. “But you see, I—I’m reluctant to marry a man . . .”

“A man you don’t love,” he finished for her.

Nay, a man who doesn’t love me.

He looked to his boots. “I know you care for someone else, but I thought perhaps, given time, you might find me . . . worthy of your hand.”

Had he no inkling of her feelings for him? Did he somehow find himself lacking? Undeserving of her hand, of love and marriage? The emotion filling his face told her so. Clearly, the misunderstanding about her ghostly suitor was between them, awkward and misleading.

“Mayhap we’d better back up.” Taking a seat beside her, he changed course. “How was your trip? Glynnis?”

She took a breath. “Glynnis is better. Annapolis is big . . . busy.” She tried to smile, to steady her voice, to return to normalcy. “How are things at Tall Acre?”