The Mistress of Tall Acre (28 page)

He wasn’t even sure what love was. More than a feeling, aye. Would she come to love him in time? And he her? Cherishing her was easily managed. He already cherished their unusual friendship, the honest conversation between them, the boundless affection she had for his daughter.

“Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor her, and keep her in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, as long as ye both shall live?”

“I will.” He studied her as she spoke her vows, wishing she’d meet his eyes again and quell some of his questions. Was she thinking of her mother and brother? Wishing they were here? Uncertainty gnawed a deeper hole inside him. He prayed she wasn’t wishing herself in Edinburgh, regretting this very binding moment. Or worse, longing for the man she loved. But her voice stayed steadfast, and she even managed a small smile at the finish, warming him inside and out. Making him feel less a fool.

“You may kiss your bride.”

He froze. He’d forgotten that part. Swallowing hard, he hesitated. He owed Sophie a kiss at least. Leaning in, he brushed back her filmy veil with his good hand and pressed his mouth to hers. She was warm . . . willing. Fragrant . . . inviting. Causing his chest to constrict so much he forgot to breathe.

Riggs clapped him on the back, ending the intimacy. Sophie bent down and embraced Lily Cate, laughing softly at something she said. Before leaving the parlor they signed the marriage certificate. Relief raced over him like rain as she penned her new name.

Sophie Menzies Ogilvy.

The wedding breakfast began, but Seamus was barely aware of what he ate, overcome by the novelty of taking a bride and not having to go to war soon after. His thoughts suddenly clouded at what lay ahead. A honeymoon loomed, fraught with complications. He hadn’t thought that far. Hadn’t let himself think that far.

Their trunks were soon lashed onto the coach, and the sun stayed out, turning the melting snow more brilliant. Lily Cate started hopping again, her face wreathed in smiles. By two o’clock the three of them left Tall Acre, the staff standing on the front stoop and waving till they’d rolled past the gates and out of sight.

They talked little. Amidst the coach’s rocking, Sophie and Lily Cate slept till the day unraveled completely and The Golden Swan came into view. Seamus had taken care of lodging, sending a groom ahead to secure the best room. His bride would have clean linens, no bedbugs, and a decent night’s sleep, at least. His daughter too.

As darkness descended, memories of his first wedding night crept in like an uninvited guest. Anne seemed to hover and he tried to push her away, glad for Lily Cate’s chatter and Sophie’s soft talk.

Still full from the wedding breakfast, they declined supper and went upstairs to their room. Spacious and warmed by a large corner hearth, the chamber bore one large bed with room enough for them all. Retreating behind a screen, Sophie shed her traveling clothes and helped Lily Cate into a nightgown while he undressed and pulled on a nightshirt. Unsettled by his own bare, battle-scarred legs, he got into bed, aware of them washing their hands and faces at the washstand just as he’d done minutes before.

The sweet silence was broken by Lily Cate as she climbed atop the feather tick, her voice limp with weariness. “Papa, Mama? Shall we pray . . . or just sleep?”

Snuffing the candle, he lay on his back. “Pray then sleep.”

She reached for him in the darkness, and he felt not her small fingers but Sophie’s as Lily Cate joined their hands. He was all too aware of this new wife of his. The ring he’d gotten for her in Williamsburg fit far better than he’d hoped and grazed his palm as he clasped her fingers.

For a moment he struggled with words enough to honor the day. “Father, we thank Thee for undeserved mercies and new beginnings. Bless us and protect us and make us fit to do Thy will. Amen.”

“But Papa, that’s not what you usually pray.” Her voice held that charming lisp on account of her missing front tooth. “I’ll say the rest.”

Glad for the darkness, he listened, moved by the joy in her voice.

“Dear Jesus, be here with us. We are sorry for our sins. Please heal Papa’s hand. Thank You for my new mama. Help her to be happy at Tall Acre and not homesick. Help me to have a new brother or sister . . .”

She was babbling now, and he fought the urge to clamp a hand over her mouth. Sophie intervened gently, finishing the prayer with a few more heartfelt words he couldn’t comprehend. They breathed a combined amen and released hands. In moments Lily Cate was asleep, her even breathing like a cat’s purr in the stillness.

He wanted to say goodnight to Sophie, but the words wouldn’t come, so he gave in to an uneasy slumber, wondering if she’d do the same. Wondering if she wanted him to do more than sleep. For now he congratulated himself on getting the deed done. Theirs was a safe, suitable arrangement. She was in love with someone else. He had no wish to love again.

What could possibly go wrong?

Sophie lay completely still, not wanting to disturb her bedfellows with the slightest movement or noise. The fire had nearly spent itself, and there was only the sound of their combined breathing and what she feared was a mouse scuttling in a far corner.

She almost expected Seamus to snore. Wasn’t that what men did? But he was stone still, perhaps as wide awake as she. Everything was too new, too strange, for her to let sleep have its way. The tester bed she’d known since girlhood seemed a lost, forgotten thing, tucked away like a child’s toy. Though the inn’s mattress was comfortable and the bed curtains enveloped them in velvety darkness, she was all too aware of Seamus beside her save for Lily Cate between them. His beloved masculine scent met her in the darkness, wooing her, bringing home his wedding kiss.

She was a bride. His bride. The pearl necklace he’d given her still lay warm about her neck. She’d forgotten to remove it but liked keeping it close, liked the sentiment and the brush of his fingers on her bare skin as he’d fiddled with the clasp.

The events of the day came floating through her conscience like dandelion down. She’d spoken her vows with all her heart, then grew almost light-headed signing her new name. She would always remember the way Seamus had reached out and steadied her shaking hands, and that tender, half-dazed way he’d regarded her all day as if he couldn’t quite come to terms with what they’d done.

She longed to tell him she’d do it all over again, relive every heartrending moment when he’d ridden to Three Chimneys and asked her his stunning question. She sensed he was unsure of her, perhaps thinking she was awash in second thoughts. There’d been none since. Lord willing, there never would be. Not with love for them both filling her to the brim and crowding all doubt out.

Her thoughts leapt ahead, checked by dread. What did she ken about managing an estate? She knew even less about intimate matters. Finishing school hadn’t taught such, though she did remember the giggling of girls and the whispering behind fans. Sunk into her studies, she mostly ignored them. Now she wished she’d paid attention. Her dear mother, bless her, had said little. A midwife’s motivation was birthing babies, not begetting them.

Lily Cate turned over, flinging out an arm. Sophie curled into her, wishing Seamus was on her other side so that she could be nestled between her two favorite souls like they were a set of bookends.

In the wee small hours when the busy inn finally quieted, she surrendered to sleep.

Seamus remembered replenishing the fire in the night and standing by the window, measuring the light snow and weighing whether they should continue their journey come morning or turn back. But had no memory of how Sophie came to be beside him, close as his shadow.

He opened his eyes, jolted awake by the fact she was where Lily Cate had been. His daughter must have gotten up in the night to use the chamber pot and crawled back into bed, leaving Sophie in the middle. Sleep had never been this pleasurable. His new wife was all softness and French-milled soap and sighs, where Lily Cate was elbows and knees and half cries.

This close he could make out the sheer linen of her nightgown with its skim of white lace and pleated gathers. All the pins were gone from her hair. It spilled across the pillow like it had no end, begging for a brush or his hungry touch. Firelight danced across her face, and he traced her pale features with his eyes instead of his fingers, a fierce ache pooling in his chest. Fast asleep, she was stirring his senses without even trying.

With a twinge of conscience he rolled away from her, ignoring the voice that said he had every right, that she was his wife. But he couldn’t wipe from his mind the fact that she loved someone else. Or what she’d surely been thinking when he proposed.

But you don’t love me.

In the absence of love was lust. He’d not dishonor her with that. Nor could he lie with her knowing she thought of someone else. They were at an impasse as felt as any on the battlefield.

Near dawn Lily Cate cried out, and he could feel Sophie rouse slightly, sense her startling as she realized she lay beside him. Gently the mattress shifted and Lily Cate was in the middle again, the wall between them.

And what a high wall it was.

Seamus was being so careful with her. Had something happened between them in the night? She could remember little, only how puggled she was when she went to bed, and that somehow she’d awakened to find she was between him and Lily Cate. If they’d become one as Scripture said,
that
she would have remembered. But all she felt was her continued quiet elation at being his bride.

Lily Cate kept her preoccupied, sharing her bowl of porridge, bright-eyed as a chipmunk and eager for the next adventure. Another inn awaited after a day spent bumping along rutted roads that seemed to have no end. That night Lily Cate remained between them with no trips to the chamber pot, and they had to gently shake her awake at dawn.

A new world was opening up, Seamus leading. How sheltered her life had been, confined to Three Chimneys and Williamsburg. After fending for herself during the war years, she was only too glad to let him take care of the details.

“You’re obviously well-traveled,” she said once they set foot in Warm Springs.

“I’ve been to the continent. London and Edinburgh,” he told her, ushering them into the village’s only inn. “Your Scotland is a remarkable place, full of contrasts. Somewhat like Cornwall, where my father was born.”

“I was but Lily Cate’s age when I left. I hardly recall it.”

“If you had, you might have decided to return after all.”

For a moment she was nearly upended by doubt. He made Scotland sound so tempting. Had she done wrong by marrying him?
Nay
, her heart was quick to answer.

No second thoughts. No regrets.

He led them to a corner table where they shared a hearty supper. At meal’s end she caught him studying her so intently she flushed. “I suppose your best wedding gift is retaining Three Chimneys,” he told her with a wink.

Stunned, she stared at him. “But the letter that came, saying the new occupants are arriving April first—”

“Not if we’re married, Sophie.”