The Mistress of Tall Acre by Laura Frantz

trembling body. He held her at eye level, her nightcap askew, vulnerability etched in her heart-shaped face. Had she really called him Papa? Or had he only imagined it? His chest felt so full of both alarm and delight he couldn’t breathe.
    “Papa, there’s a man—he’s looking up at me. I can see him from my window!”
    “What?”
    “On the front lawn, behind that big oak tree.”
    “You’re sure?”
    She buried her face in his shoulder in answer, as if she couldn’t bear to take another look. The sick sinking that had begun inside him the night he’d taken her by force from Williamsburg rekindled.
    “I’ll go see,” he murmured, stroking her hair and cap till her breathing returned to normal and she lifted her head.
    Calling for his housekeeper, he sent her and Lily Cate upstairs. The familiar pistol at his waist, worn as a precaution against prowling animals, saved him a trip inside to his gun case.
    He sprinted around the west side of the house, eyes on every bush and tree. The front lawn yawned empty. Even with lanterns lit and a twelve-man search with his foxhounds, nothing turned up an hour later. The river, a chronic source of worry given someone could slip in by boat, gleamed empty in the moonlight, the water lapping gently along the leaf-littered shore.
    But the rhythm of his heart stayed at a gallop, his thoughts as hard to corral.
    This was a warning. From Williamsburg.

    “You’ve not seen Miss Lily Cate for a fortnight.” Glynnis’s voice filled the warm kitchen like the aroma of freshly baked gingerbread.
    “Just in passing at church,” Sophie said, trying to keep the lament from her tone. Their honest talk at the tavern still unsettled her. She feared she’d angered Seamus further by refusing to let him carry her to services and back in his coach since then. She preferred walking, she’d told him.
    “Well, if you’re wondering what’s going on at Tall Acre, I heard on good authority from Florie that there’s to be a holiday ball. The general’s officer friends will be in attendance and a great many from Roan too.”
    “I’m not surprised,” Sophie said quietly. “Tall Acre has a history of hospitality.”
    “He’s hired a new cook, other staff.” Glynnis sighed, a thorn in her pleasure. “My only concern is what you’ll be wearing. You’re down to a few good dresses, though you could don something of your dear mother’s.”
    “I wouldn’t count on an invitation.”
    Glynnis looked up from the gingerbread she was icing. “Why not?”
    Lifting her shoulders, Sophie snatched a wayward crumb. “Our relationship has become somewhat strained.”
    “Whose? Yours and the general’s?”
    Sophie nodded. “Whenever we’re together we have . . . words.” Turning her back on Glynnis, she took the steaming kettle from the hearth and set it on the kitchen table. “And like you said, I’ve not seen Lily Cate for a fortnight. That speaks for itself.”
    Yet wasn’t that what she wanted? A safe distance? Exasperation shot through her. From Seamus, truly, not Lily Cate. But she couldn’t have one without the other. Could she?
    “Well, ball or no ball, we still have a fine Christmas ham, thanks to Tall Acre. A far cry from last Christmas. The only thing we’re lacking is your brother’s presence.”
    “I’m still praying about that,” Sophie murmured. Tucked in the pages of her Bible were the letters he’d sent, the ink faded and hard to decipher. With them was the letter from Richmond announcing that Three Chimneys was now lost. Glynnis was unaware of that.
    Turning away, Glynnis began to cough, hiding her face in her apron.
    “You should be abed.” She schooled the sympathy in her tone. Glynnis didn’t like to be coddled. “You’ve still not recovered from that cold.” She reached for a cup and poured tea. “Have you been drinking that water from the chestnuts we boiled? ’Tis beneficial for chest complaints, Mama always said. Perhaps I should send for the