The Mistress of Tall Acre by Laura Frantz Page B

jumping down from the front veranda and dashing toward the mounting block. Her wordless hug told Sophie everything. Both of them had been counting down the days till they were together again.
    “Papa said that I could show you to your room—’tis next to mine—and sit by you at supper.” Taking Sophie’s hand, she led her into a gleaming, beeswax-scented foyer with a wide staircase soaring upward, weaponry and paintings covering the paneled walls. Masculine voices and laughter seeped beneath a stalwart mahogany door to their right. “He’s in his study with his army men.”
    Sophie hid a smile. Her prayers had been answered. She’d been spared an awkward entry and was in the company of the one who mattered most. “We’ll not disturb them, then.”
    They climbed the central staircase, then headed down a long hall toward a door opened wide as if in welcome.
    “I asked Papa to give you the room next to mine. ’Twas Mama’s, Florie said.”
    Surprised, Sophie followed as a servant set her valise near an open, empty wardrobe. “Do you remember your mama, Lily Cate?” She regretted the question as sorrow crowded the girl’s little face.
    “I only remember Aunt Charlotte.”
    Charlotte. Anne’s sister. They seldom spoke of Lily Cate’s life in Williamsburg, though Sophie remembered the Fitzhughs. They’d been friends of her father’s. Pockmarked and gaunt, Fitzhugh was every bit as cold and calculating. In the back of her mind lay hazy allegations. Of dishonesty. Darker deeds.
    “Miss Sophie, look!” Lily Cate showed her a tester bed, an elegant dressing table with a mirrored back, and the bank of south-facing windows overlooking the front lawn where myriad shade trees grew. All personal effects had been removed. She’d have thought it any other room but for the connecting door to Lily Cate’s bedchamber.
    There was another door on the opposite wall. She could only guess where that led. Her lingering gaze gave her away.
    “That’s Papa’s room,” Lily Cate told her.
    Locked, most likely. Somehow being sandwiched between them made Sophie feel unsettled and secure all at once. She was a restless sleeper since British soldiers had occupied her home. Sometimes she had nightmares. The thought of waking either Lily Cate or her father was enough to keep her sleepless all week.
    The crunch of wheels on the drive returned them to the windows. A line of coaches was delivering more guests, not officers but refined ladies, their capes and bonnets adding a bit of color to the dreary landscape. Would Tall Acre hold them all?
    Lily Cate’s face was alive with excitement. “I’m supposed to let you rest till supper, but I’d rather play.” Pushing open the connecting door, she all but skipped into her bedchamber, a charming room made bright with floral wallpaper and a quilted yellow counterpane. “Papa gave me a dollhouse like yours from Richmond.”
    Her joy was so contagious Sophie felt her own spirits take wing. Dropping down beside her on the thick carpet, she lost herself in a tour of rooms, charmed when Lily Cate introduced the master of the house, a small wooden soldier in blue uniform.
    “Where are you ?” Sophie asked.
    Peering into a miniature parlor, Lily Cate pointed to a dark-haired girl in a yellow silk dress. At her feet was a cat curled on a braided rug. What? No mistress? Grieving widower that Seamus was, Sophie almost expected to see a miniature version of Anne presiding.
    As dusk darkened the windowpanes, the rich aroma of bread and roasting meat told them supper was near at hand. A maid delivered towels and hot water, replenishing the fire and helping Sophie dress. All thumbs, or all nerves, Sophie dropped her mother’s cameo and sent the maid scrambling to retrieve it. Finally trussed in stays and a remade gown of apple-green brocade, she stared back at a stranger in the looking glass. The maid had done wonders with her hair, arranging it high at the back of her head with curls spiraling to