The Mistress of Tall Acre (26 page)

“Well enough, though Miss Townsend left without warning.”

“Amity?” Her mind whirled. “But she came well recommended from Mrs. Hallam.”

His jaw firmed. “The same Mrs. Hallam who resides in Williamsburg and might well be friends with the Fitzhughs.”

The truth dawned slowly. Was Amity part of their scheming? For the moment she couldn’t take it in. All that filled her head was his shocking proposal.

She looked into the fire, the queasy knot in her middle expanding. How could she explain or let go of the girlish hope that she was waiting for someone, someday, who might look at her with longing? Someone who truly wanted to make her his in all the ways that mattered?

Not . . .
this
.

She folded her hands in a show of calm. “You should know that while I was in Annapolis, I wrote my father.”

He said nothing, but she could sense his thoughts.
You wrote the man who abandoned you? Who hasn’t inquired after you these eight years past?

“At the time it seemed the right thing to do.” It sounded logical. Practical. Yet writing to him had cost her. Her pride. Her last hope. “I’m considering going to Edinburgh.”

“To Edinburgh,” he echoed. There was no accusation or anger in his tone, just quiet contemplation. “You’d take Edinburgh over Tall Acre.”

Would she? Her mind stayed muddled. Stunned.

“Then, when I returned home yesterday, I received word from—” Tears smarted in her eyes. She nearly couldn’t speak. “Curtis.”

His gaze clouded. She read a dozen things there, but prior knowledge and regret were uppermost.

“You knew.” Her voice came soft, without blame. “But you didn’t tell me.”

“I suspected, but there had been no confirmation. I didn’t want you hurt by false reports.”

“He betrayed you, his commanding officer.”

“Aye, but the war is won.” He held her gaze, obviously as settled in spirit about the matter as she was unsettled. “We should be glad he’s alive, all loyalties aside. One day it won’t matter.”

Wise words. Humble words. And at such cost. Men he’d trusted and would have laid down his life for had gone over to the enemy more times than he could count. But she never imagined Curtis would be one of them.

“I’m sorry, Sophie.” He looked to the hat in his hands, the once-colorful cockade faded. “If you think Curtis’s loyalties make me think differently about you or my proposal, they don’t. The future is yours—ours—to make of it what we will.”

“Allow me time to pray about matters first.”

“I won’t force the issue. All I ask is that you forgive me for being so . . . sudden.” He stood, averting his eyes, and with that instinctive gentlemanly courtesy she found so appealing, he said, “If you’d rather convey your answer by note, I’ll be at Tall Acre waiting.”

Coming into Tall Acre’s foyer, Seamus found the house quiet, the immense case clock chiming ten. He’d wanted to see Lily Cate before she went to bed. By now she’d be asleep, unaware of the small storm he’d just created at Three Chimneys. Just as well. He didn’t feel like talking but getting on his knees and asking forgiveness. From both heaven and Sophie Menzies.

What woman wanted a proposal like the one he’d just laid out? Heedless, he’d gone striding into her parlor and winged the question at her like he was pitching horseshoes and she was the target. Her shock and dismay would never leave him. And now her answer, or the lack of it, lay like an unexploded shell between them. He was sure she’d say no. And he didn’t blame her.

But Edinburgh?

Myrtilla met him on the landing, having come from Lily Cate’s room. “She’s sleepin’, sir. Everything’s been fine here with you away, though she’s been askin’ when you be back. And she’s missin’ Miss Menzies somethin’ fierce besides.”

He thanked her and moved on to the second floor. He tore off his cloak and tossed his hat and gloves on a hall chair, then carefully opened the door of her room. Firelight caressed her face as she slept beneath the high canopy. The doll Sophie had given her was tucked beneath one arm.

Straddling the bed steps, he sat down, willing his pulse to settle. She looked so peaceful. So unlike Anne. Lily Cate had no memories of her mother, something that both saddened and gladdened him. His daughter was as darkly pretty as Sophie. He could well imagine people thinking they were mother and daughter at some point in future, if the impossible happened and Sophie would have him.

Lately Lily Cate had begun to open up, slowly escaping her shell of fear and confusion, reaching out to him in tentative trust. He could well imagine her joy if he were to tell her that Sophie was to be her mother. He’d give anything to shake Lily Cate awake with the news tonight.

He rubbed his whiskered jaw with stubborn resolve, forcing his unsettled emotions into retreat. He might soon be telling her Sophie was leaving for Scotland instead.

He touched her cheek, flushed with sleep, and brushed back a lock that curled over one eye. Her lashes were long and thick, fanning across the dainty planes of her face like black fringe. She was nearly perfect. She was in need of a mother. A happy home.

A far better father.

Sophie remained in the parlor, not bothering to go to bed, knowing sleep would never come. Facing the chair Seamus had sat in, she tried to reconstruct the scene. The shock of his unexpected proposal. The rush of disbelief. She felt backed into an impossible corner. Yet he was likely sleepless too, awaiting her answer.

Stiff from sitting, she went to the window, looking out through the rain-soaked night to the pinpricks of light that were Tall Acre. Could she really be its mistress? She knew something of its workings from the pages of Anne’s diary, mainly Myrtilla’s early bond with Lily Cate. She sensed Riggs’s competence as estate manager, the constant upkeep and cash required to maintain so large an estate, Seamus’s love of hearth and home, the endless cycle of seasons in which the enslaved and indentured played such a part.

She retrieved her Bible from her bedchamber and thumbed through its pages, searching, seeking answers, till her eyes crossed and her back ached. She prayed her way to daylight, but though dawn relieved her nighttime fears, it did little in the way of answers. Her choices seemed so simple yet were fraught with untold risk. She could go to Edinburgh and try to make a life there. Or she could wed Seamus and secure herself a home, a husband, right here in Roan.

She had no template for marriage, at least a happy one. Her parents’ bond had been by arrangement. Oddly enough, her mother had cared for her father while he’d shown nothing but contempt for her feelings. The more loving she was, the more distant he became. Sophie had watched it play out like an unending tragedy. Always cold and indifferent, he had moved to Williamsburg and then Scotland, forsaking her altogether.

If she wed Seamus, she must keep her love hidden at all costs. She could not bear to be an object of contempt, making him feel cornered, trapped, suffocated, only to turn away from her in disgust. The prospect lined her spine with ice.

At the same time, how could she accept him and cast aside a chance for true love if it came? In Edinburgh, perhaps, or elsewhere?

She bent over the Bible, the words bearing both solace and challenge.
Let us not love in word, neither in tongue; but in deed and in
truth.
The truth was she loved Seamus. He might be her only hope of a husband. She loved his daughter with all her heart. If taking a wife would ensure matters in Williamsburg would melt away, who was she to deny him what he most wanted?

At eight and twenty, Sophie Menzies would be the talk of Virginia marrying Seamus Ogilvy. Pondering it, she bit her lip till it nearly bled. She’d always hated such talk.

As dawn made an icy entrance, she returned to her room and tucked the Bible away. Her fingers and feet were numb, but her heart felt on fire as she began to dress to go to Tall Acre. She’d not make him wait a minute longer for her answer.

She must unburden herself—or burst.

20

S
ophie walked toward Tall Acre and considered what to say. How to say it. By the time she turned down the familiar, cherry-lined alley, she was fisting her gloved hands so tightly her fingers ached. Pausing at the hitch rail near the front steps, she stood for a moment to catch her breath, her cape buffeted by a rising wind.

She lifted her gaze to Tall Acre’s soaring eaves. A pair of doves nested there, cooing softly and adding a touch of whimsy to her situation. Everything, in light of Seamus’s startling proposal, seemed to have altered. Or was she simply seeing the world with new eyes?

A smiling Mrs. Lamont met her at the door. “Good day, Miss Menzies. Up early this chilly morning, I see.”

Before Sophie could answer, Lily Cate came bounding down the stairs, a look of pure rapture on her face. She threw her arms about Sophie, nearly catching her off balance. Still breathless, Sophie hugged her back, loving the warm, sweet feel of her after a month-long separation. She smelled of talc and soap, indicative of a recent bath.

“I thought you’d never come back,” Lily Cate exclaimed, her embrace never lessening. “Are you here to play?”

Sophie ran a hand through the girl’s tumbled curls and eyed the bruise on her face. Had she fallen? “I’m here to see your father first. But after that the day is ours, yes.”

“Papa gave up on my hair,” she whispered as Mrs. Lamont disappeared. “He says he is no good at making me pretty.”

“Fetch me your ribbons, then.”

“Then can we play?”

“Miss Menzies said she wanted to see me first.” Behind them stood Seamus, wearing the same clothes he’d had on when he’d seen her last night. He’d obviously not slept any more than she, and the somber slant of his features told her he wasn’t expecting an aye as her answer either.

Lily Cate released her reluctantly, scampering up the stairs and out of sight.

Seamus extended a hand toward the open door of his study. She went in ahead of him, feeling an air of finality settle about them when he shut the door. Silent, he came to stand before the fire, hands clasped behind him.

Awkwardness thickened the room like storm clouds gathering. She said softly, “I’m sorry I kept you up all night.”

He gave a weary smile, his scruff of beard turning him roguish. “Rather, I kept
you
up all night.”

True enough. She wanted to be witty, make light of it, but it was so emotional a moment she had no words.

His own expression was fraught with a striking uneasiness. “You can tell me nay without hesitation. I like to think I’m man enough to take it. But at the moment I’m guessing you’re on the verge of saying yes, otherwise you would have sent a note. Though I sense you still have . . . questions.”

She gave a nod, unsurprised he’d read her so easily.

“I’ve filed the court papers required to manumit all of Tall Acre’s slaves. Those who wish to remain as freedmen can work for wages.” He took hold of a poker and gave a jab to the fire’s backlog. “’Tis a relief to have it done, even if you don’t agree to marry me.”

So all was in order and he’d kept his word. Freeing his slaves would cost him dearly in terms of labor, though it was the right thing, the godly thing, to do.