The Mistress of Tall Acre (29 page)

In the muddle of the last few days, she’d forgotten just what matrimony meant. Joy washed through her. Though it would legally become his, Three Chimneys wasn’t lost to her.

“I’ve written to Richmond telling them of our marriage. There’s plenty more Tory property to dispense throughout these United States without touching Three Chimneys.”

Curtis leapt to mind with the accompanying ache. What would he and her father have to say about her marrying the enemy, a hero of the Revolution? And retaining her mother’s estate to boot?

“You’re thinking about your brother, no doubt.”

She took a sip of lukewarm tea, watching Lily Cate laughing with some children in a corner, where a puppet show was in progress. “Six years since I’ve seen him. I can’t imagine how it was for you being away even longer, in the thick of the fighting.”

“I’ve seen things no man should.” He met her eyes in the haze of candlelight. “But it was worth it, every minute, fighting for freedom, for the greater good, though I lost a great deal personally in the process.”

She focused on his wounded hand as it lay fisted on the table between them. “Your injury . . . does it hurt?”

He looked surprised she would ask. “Sometimes it feels whole, nearly fooling me. Mostly it aches, aye.” He extended it, and she forced herself to not look away. “Sabers are sharp things. I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“How was it fighting under General Washington? Is he really the lion everyone says he is?”

“Everyone is in awe of him and should be. Even the king.” He returned his attention to his mostly finished meal. “You’ll understand when you meet him, Sophie.”

“I’m glad war has an end.” Yet she was no longer thinking of that but the way he spoke her name. Slow and thoughtful, as if he liked the way it sounded.

Or was she simply woolgathering?

Lily Cate came back to them, face alight. “Shall we try out the hot springs, Papa?”

“Aye, tonight in the moonlight if there is a moon.”

“In my clothes?” Lily Cate asked in wonder. “In the snow?”

Sophie smiled. The prospect sounded almost magical. “You’ll wear your bathing costume. One of the maids packed it for you.”

“Do you have one?”

“Yes.” She’d never seen such an outlandish garment and suspected it had been Anne’s. She could only imagine what Seamus would wear.

“Are the pools hot?” Lily Cate persisted.

Seamus finished his ale. “Some are, some aren’t.”

So he had been here before. On his first honeymoon? Sophie felt an odd disappointment as she looked at the ring glinting on her left hand. Sometimes she felt she was following in Anne’s very footsteps, living in her shadow. Was that always the way of it for second wives?

“Papa, how much longer do we have to wait for our room to be ready?”

Seamus got to his feet. “I’ll ask.”

Leaning closer, Sophie tweaked her nose playfully. “I’ve brought our sewing and some books till then.”

Giggling, Lily Cate snuck her arms round Sophie’s waist. “I’m glad you are my mama.”

“And I’m glad you’re my wee daughter.” She kissed the top of Lily Cate’s head where the curls were the thickest. Her hair was Seamus’s own, black as coffee yet silky enough to pull her fingers through. In the heated traces of her imagination, she dared doing the same with his.

She watched as he made his way round tables and benches to the foyer. Over the past couple days she’d tried not to look at him overlong, but their continued closeness was wearing her down. Was she wrong to half hope that up close she’d see his flaws and the pedestal on which she’d put him would crumble?

He returned with word their room was almost ready. Lily Cate wedged her way between them, sleepy and animated by turns. Sophie’s new beloved daughter had brought them together yet somehow, unwittingly, seemed to stand between them. Would she always?

And then there was Anne.

22

C
lad in their bathing costumes, Sophie and Lily Cate went by lantern light to the springs behind an attendant, the vapor pluming out of the wooden building like steam from a bottomless kettle. Thankfully, the moon was most obliging, shining full and bright as they made their way along the boardwalk, a chill wind nipping at them and casting a few stray snowflakes about.

Seamus remained in their room, reading by the fire. Sometimes he was so quiet. Preoccupied. Fresh worries flirted with Sophie at every step. Was he bemoaning what they’d done? Wishing the whole affair in Williamsburg would melt away?

Standing on the threshold of the springs, Sophie took in everything in a glance. The sulphurous scent was subtle enough to not be unpleasant, the bathing pool mostly empty this time of night. Sophie smiled at two women leaving the waters, glad for the clasp of Lily Cate’s hand.

“Will I be burned, Mama?” Lily Cate drew back, clearly befuddled by the small sea of smoking water.

“Let’s test the springs slowly,” Sophie told her. “I’ll go first and you just put your toes in.”

Lily Cate looked on as Sophie started down stone steps into the mist, water eddying around her bare ankles. Seamus had spoken of having a bath connected to the laundry at Tall Acre, piping in hot water to a large copper tub. The fanciful notion might make others laugh, but if it was anything like this, she’d encourage him all she could.

“Oh, ’tis wonderful,” she reassured Lily Cate. Seamus had called it
invigorating.
Slowly she slid into the water up to her neck, the heavy tug of wet fabric making her want to shed her bathing costume.

Done with wiggling her toes, Lily Cate held out her arms. Sophie reached for her and lowered her gently into the steaming water.

“I feel like a fish.” With a smile twin to Seamus’s own, Lily Cate moved away from her, venturing fearlessly toward the other side.

The pool wasn’t deep but wide, shaped like an enormous basin. The gravelly, cloudy bottom disguised the springs bubbling at its base. On all sides were changing rooms, a female attendant in waiting. Beyond the arching wooden canopy a white flag was raised, signaling the two hours allotted to the ladies. Taking the waters was indeed a treat.

Expelling a breath, Sophie relaxed as the springs did their healing work. Perhaps tonight she’d sleep. Sharing a bed with Seamus, even with Lily Cate between them, had left her restless and ruminating till breakfast.

“Mama . . .” Lily Cate was tugging at her, drawing her deeper into the water.

Sophie let go of her worries, intent on the present. On building a bond with her new daughter.

She’d best leave Seamus and their hasty marriage to the Lord.

Miraculously, the weather cleared. Sunlight touched the gentle hills around Warm Springs, coaxing them out of the inn. They shed their capes and hats, though Seamus left on the scarf she’d knitted him. On a rocky ledge looking west to the wilderness, they had a wintry picnic of sorts—cold chicken, cheese, pickles, and biscuits.

Lily Cate stared ominously at the distant mountains. “Papa, are there real Indians over there?” She looked up at him as if he could answer any question put to him. “Who want to take our scalps?”

His dark brows knit together. “Who’s been filling your head with such talk?”

“Aunt Charlotte.”

Sophie met Seamus’s eyes before he replied quietly, “Indians aren’t anything for you to worry about. You’re safe in Virginia, remember.”

Yawning, she nestled between them. Sophie covered her with a quilt from the coach, wishing she could lay down in the puddle of sunlight and nap with her. The springs seemed to have a languorous effect even hours later.

“I sent word to Williamsburg we’ve married,” he said quietly. “The papers will post the announcement. But I’ve no idea what will happen next.” Picking up a small stone, he rubbed it between thumb and forefinger. “Lately it seems pushing west might be the better choice. I’ve been awarded a tract of land in Kentucky for my service.”

“Kentucky? You’d truly leave Tall Acre?”

“Against my will, aye, but it may come to that.”

She fell silent, her head swimming with questions. “Seamus—” Would she always feel a flood of awkwardness when she said his name? “I would know how all this bad feeling came to be.”

A wry smile worked its way across his face. “You have many merits, Sophie Menzies Ogilvy, but your candor and lack of kin are among your very best.”

“Meaning relatives can be troublesome.” Her thoughts veered from Curtis to Anne, then the diary, bringing a lash of guilt. Though she’d returned it to Anne’s desk, the contents still haunted.

“’Tis time you knew how things stand.” Seamus tossed the stone toward the western swell of mountains. “When Lily Cate was born, Anne nearly died. I don’t know what you recall about that day, but the doctor—and your mother—said a second birth would likely take her life. So I stayed away. Anne became angry with me because I rarely took leave or came home.”

“She didn’t know about the doctor’s warning?”

“I didn’t tell her. I wanted to wait till she had healed. She knew I wanted a son and would have felt a failure.” The rush of words came to a painful halt as if the past was catching up with him, forcing him to relive something better left alone. “When I returned to camp, I wrote a letter and asked my adjutant to give it to her in the event I died in battle. I explained what the doctor had said about future children. My distance.”

She brushed back a strand of hair the wind had pulled free, meeting his eyes. “I don’t blame her for being upset, but what you did was—” A great many words whirled in her head and settled.
Brave. Honorable. Even
noble.
“You did nothing wrong, Seamus.”

“I wonder. In hindsight . . .”

“If you could go back, would you not do the very same?”

He lifted his shoulders. “As it was, Anne became so angry with my perceived neglect, she decided she wanted our daughter raised by her sister and her husband if something happened to her. She’d always been a bit frail, so her worries weren’t unfounded. She put her wish in writing and died of a fever not long after.”

Sophie looked down at Lily Cate, wondering how much of Anne was in her features. Anne, for all her failings, seemed deserving of understanding too. She’d been lonely, fearful, isolated. Tempted. Unable to understand who or what Seamus was.

“’Twas a terrible, trying situation,” she said softly, glad to let it go.

“Aye, what’s done is done.” There was no rancor in his speech, just raw regret. Though Anne had hurt him deeply by withholding Lily Cate, he was a man too decent to dishonor her memory by speaking disparagingly of her even in death.

A prayer rose in Sophie’s heart. For healing. Mending. Peace.

They said no more, lost in their own private thoughts, as the sun dipped lower and a hawk cried out in its circling flight.

They returned to Tall Acre in a fortnight. Coming into the foyer, Sophie startled to hear the servants call her “Mistress Ogilvy” when she still felt like Miss Menzies.

Nothing had changed but her name.

Would it ever?

She went to her new bedchamber ahead of a servant shouldering her trunk, wondering if Seamus would follow. Leaving the door open, she took stock of her surroundings. A rich Prussian blue, the milk-paint walls still looked fresh, unmarred by time and use. Delicate Queen Anne furniture predominated save the manly secretary along one wall she guessed had been Seamus’s father’s. The room was made more homey and familiar by her own counterpane and desk and the embroidered fire screen she’d worked with her own hand. A rag rug of Glynnis’s making warmed the plank floor in front of the hearth, a wedding gift.