by Laura Frantz
They talked little. Amidst the coach’s rocking, Sophie and Lily Cate slept till the day unraveled completely and The Golden Swan came into view. Seamus had taken care of lodging, sending a groom ahead to secure the best room. His bride would have clean linens, no bedbugs, and a decent night’s sleep, at least. His daughter too.
As darkness descended, memories of his first wedding night crept in like an uninvited guest. Anne seemed to hover and he tried to push her away, glad for Lily Cate’s chatter and Sophie’s soft talk.
Still full from the wedding breakfast, they declined supper and went upstairs to their room. Spacious and warmed by a large corner hearth, the chamber bore one large bed with room enough for them all. Retreating behind a screen, Sophie shed her traveling clothes and helped Lily Cate into a nightgown while he undressed and pulled on a nightshirt. Unsettled by his own bare, battle-scarred legs, he got into bed, aware of them washing their hands and faces at the washstand just as he’d done minutes before.
The sweet silence was broken by Lily Cate as she climbed atop the feather tick, her voice limp with weariness. “Papa, Mama? Shall we pray . . . or just sleep?”
Snuffing the candle, he lay on his back. “Pray then sleep.”
She reached for him in the darkness, and he felt not her small fingers but Sophie’s as Lily Cate joined their hands. He was all too aware of this new wife of his. The ring he’d gotten for her in Williamsburg fit far better than he’d hoped and grazed his palm as he clasped her fingers.
For a moment he struggled with words enough to honor the day. “Father, we thank Thee for undeserved mercies and new beginnings. Bless us and protect us and make us fit to do Thy will. Amen.”
“But Papa, that’s not what you usually pray.” Her voice held that charming lisp on account of her missing front tooth. “I’ll say the rest.”
Glad for the darkness, he listened, moved by the joy in her voice.
“Dear Jesus, be here with us. We are sorry for our sins. Please heal Papa’s hand. Thank You for my new mama. Help her to be happy at Tall Acre and not homesick. Help me to have a new brother or sister . . .”
She was babbling now, and he fought the urge to clamp a hand over her mouth. Sophie intervened gently, finishing the prayer with a few more heartfelt words he couldn’t comprehend. They breathed a combined amen and released hands. In moments Lily Cate was asleep, her even breathing like a cat’s purr in the stillness.
He wanted to say goodnight to Sophie, but the words wouldn’t come, so he gave in to an uneasy slumber, wondering if she’d do the same. Wondering if she wanted him to do more than sleep. For now he congratulated himself on getting the deed done. Theirs was a safe, suitable arrangement. She was in love with someone else. He had no wish to love again.
What could possibly go wrong?
Sophie lay completely still, not wanting to disturb her bedfellows with the slightest movement or noise. The fire had nearly spent itself, and there was only the sound of their combined breathing and what she feared was a mouse scuttling in a far corner.
She almost expected Seamus to snore. Wasn’t that what men did? But he was stone still, perhaps as wide awake as she. Everything was too new, too strange, for her to let sleep have its way. The tester bed she’d known since girlhood seemed a lost, forgotten thing, tucked away like a child’s toy. Though the inn’s mattress was comfortable and the bed curtains enveloped them in velvety darkness, she was all too aware of Seamus beside her save for Lily Cate between them. His beloved masculine scent met her in the darkness, wooing her, bringing home his wedding kiss.
She was a bride. His bride. The pearl necklace he’d given her still lay warm about her neck. She’d forgotten to remove it but liked keeping it close, liked the sentiment and the brush of his fingers on her bare skin as he’d fiddled with the clasp.
The events of the day came floating through her conscience like dandelion down. She’d spoken her vows with all her heart, then grew almost light-headed signing her new name. She would always remember the way Seamus had reached out and steadied her shaking hands, and that tender, half-dazed way he’d regarded her all day as if he couldn’t quite come to terms with what they’d done.
She longed to tell him she’d do it all over again, relive every heartrending moment when he’d ridden to Three Chimneys and asked her his stunning question. She sensed he was unsure of her, perhaps thinking she was awash in second thoughts. There’d been none since. Lord willing, there never would be. Not with love for them both filling her to the brim and crowding all doubt out.
Her thoughts leapt ahead, checked by dread. What did she ken about managing an estate? She knew even less about intimate matters. Finishing school hadn’t taught such, though she did remember the giggling of girls and the whispering behind fans. Sunk into her studies, she mostly ignored them. Now she wished she’d paid attention. Her dear mother, bless her, had said little. A midwife’s motivation was birthing babies, not begetting them.
Lily Cate turned over, flinging out an arm. Sophie curled into her, wishing Seamus was on her other side so that she could be nestled between her two favorite souls like they were a set of bookends.
In the wee small hours when the busy inn finally quieted, she surrendered to sleep.
Seamus remembered replenishing the fire in the night and standing by the window, measuring the light snow and weighing whether they should continue their journey come morning or turn back. But had no memory of how Sophie came to be beside him, close as his shadow.
He opened his eyes, jolted awake by the fact she was where Lily Cate had been. His daughter must have gotten up in the night to use the chamber pot and crawled back into bed, leaving Sophie in the middle. Sleep had never been this pleasurable. His new wife was all softness and French-milled soap and sighs, where Lily Cate was elbows and knees and half cries.
This close he could make out the sheer linen of her nightgown with its skim of white lace and pleated gathers. All the pins were gone from her hair. It spilled across the pillow like it had no end, begging for a brush or his hungry touch. Firelight danced across her face, and he traced her pale features with his eyes instead of his fingers, a fierce ache pooling in his chest. Fast asleep, she was stirring his senses without even trying.
With a twinge of conscience he rolled away from her, ignoring the voice that said he had every right, that she was his wife. But he couldn’t wipe from his mind the fact that she loved someone else. Or what she’d surely been thinking when he proposed.
But you don’t love me.
In the absence of love was lust. He’d not dishonor her with that. Nor could he lie with her knowing she thought of someone else. They were at an impasse as felt as any on the battlefield.
Near dawn Lily Cate cried out, and he could feel Sophie rouse slightly, sense her startling as she realized she lay beside him. Gently the mattress shifted and Lily Cate was in the middle again, the wall between them.
And what a high wall it was.
Seamus was being so careful with her. Had something happened between them in the night? She could remember little, only how puggled she was when she went to bed, and that somehow she’d awakened to find she was between him and Lily Cate. If they’d become one as Scripture said, that she would have remembered. But all she felt was her continued quiet elation at being his bride.
Lily Cate kept her preoccupied, sharing her bowl of porridge, bright-eyed as a chipmunk and eager for the next adventure. Another inn awaited after a day spent bumping along rutted roads that seemed to have no end. That night Lily Cate remained between them with no trips to the chamber pot, and they had to gently shake her awake at dawn.
A new world was opening up, Seamus leading. How sheltered her life had been, confined to Three Chimneys and Williamsburg. After fending for herself during the war years, she was only too glad to let him take care of the details.
“You’re obviously well-traveled,” she said once they set foot in Warm Springs.
“I’ve been to the continent. London and
Edinburgh,” he told her, ushering them into the village’s only inn. “Your Scotland is a remarkable place, full of contrasts. Somewhat like Cornwall, where my father was born.”
“I was but Lily Cate’s age when I left. I hardly recall it.”
“If you had, you might have decided to return after all.”
For a moment she was nearly upended by doubt. He made Scotland sound so tempting. Had she done wrong by marrying him? Nay, her heart was quick to answer.
No second thoughts. No regrets.
He led them to a corner table where they shared a hearty supper. At meal’s end she caught him studying her so intently she flushed. “I suppose your best wedding gift is retaining Three Chimneys,” he told her with a wink.
Stunned, she stared at him. “But the letter that came, saying the new occupants are arriving April first—”
“Not if we’re married, Sophie.”
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
Clad 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 In
dians 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.”
