The Mistress of Tall Acre by Laura Frantz Page A

doctor—”
    “You’ll do no such thing. There’s naught to be done for a cold except get over it. I’ll mend.” She started out of the kitchen, gnarled hands untying her apron as she went. “I’m off to the attic to see about a proper ball gown.”
    Sophie watched her go, words of refusal lodging in her throat.

    The invitation arrived at dusk. Standing alone in the foyer after a servant from Tall Acre delivered it, Sophie ran a finger over the heavy masculine scrawl that comprised her name. Half a dozen excuses allowing her a graceful exit leapt to mind. Glynnis was unwell. She was expecting company . . . though Curtis’s homecoming hardly counted. With a swipe of a finger she broke the Ogilvy seal, devouring the contents like a piece of gingerbread.
Dear Miss Menzies,
Our hope is that you will honor us with your presence as our house guest from Wednesday to Saturday next culminating in a holiday ball on the 20th.
Sincerely,
Seamus Ogilvy
    Beneath his bold signature was Lily Cate’s own, loping and unpracticed and hesitant, melting every shred of her resistance. She could say no to the general, but she couldn’t disappoint Lily Cate.
    Leaving the invitation open on an entry table, she took the wide stairs slowly, fighting her conflicted feelings every step. The truth was she was starved for a little life, a little company. What could it hurt? The general would be surrounded by friends and she would be on the fringe, more a companion to Lily Cate.
    As expected, three gowns hung about Sophie’s bedchamber awaiting her perusal. All were wrinkled, one yellowed with age, another torn. One glance decided the question. A pale lemon lustring with an overlay of French lace stole her breath. It had been Mama’s favorite, though the immodest bodice was missing a fichu.
    Still, she had no proper shoes. No jewels to go about her throat. Any remaining finery had been bartered for food last winter. The thought of a house filled to the brim with genteel men and women made Sophie cringe. These were the general’s personal friends. She didn’t want to embarrass him by appearing ill-dressed, even if she had been invited out of courtesy.
    She could hear Glynnis approach, her slow tread on the stairs giving a warning. Her bent frame filled the doorway, invitation fluttering from her hand.
    I told you so , her expression seemed to say.
    “Not only a ball but a merry four days’ stay!” Stepping into the room, she watched Sophie examine the lustring. “I thought you’d pick that one, though we’ll have to alter the other two for you to wear while you’re there.”
    “Is there time?”
    “Perhaps, if we get to work at once.”
    “We’d best begin,” Sophie said, eyeing the clock.
    And pray I get the influenza instead.

10

    S ophie could only remember two visits to Tall Acre, once when the general married and they paid a call to his bride, and then at Lily Cate’s birth. Oddly, the memory of the lovely Anne Ogilvy was no longer fixed in her head as firmly as a framed miniature in oils. She only remembered the feel of her. The former mistress of Tall Acre seemed kind but condescending. Soft-spoken yet sharp-eyed. Sophie and her mother had not returned nor been invited back.
    Sophie recalled it now as the new Ogilvy coach came round to collect her, giving her a taste of the refinements to come. Lined with green Morocco leather and boasting diamond-cut plate glass, the vehicle was Philadelphia made. Sophie was glad the coachman took his time on the rutted road so she could compose herself, but no amount of prayer or preparation could quiet her heart as the hundred-year-old house came into view. Three Chimneys was lovely in its own tired, genteel way, but Tall Acre was magnificent with its sweeping porches and three-storied brick facade.
    She wasn’t the first to arrive, but Lily Cate was waiting for her, a servant by her side. Through the coach window Sophie could see her hopping on one foot and waving wildly, finally