“He saved us, Father. You could be more gracious.”
“For all I know he sent those men here—”
“For all you know he did not.” Esther looped her arm with Father’s, her pulse slowing, the surge of cold anxiety ebbing.
“Confess to me at once,” Father said. “What is between you and Lightfoot? He says he loves you.”
“And I love him, Father. Though he be a Whig and a rebel, I cannot deny my affections.”
“Then gather your heart, daughter, because you won’t be wedding a Lightfoot. Not as long as I breathe.”
“Why? I may do as I please. I am of age and—”
“Esther!” Father’s voice boomed with a cannon’s force. “Be still. You will never have my agreement or blessing.”
She drew back, pulling her arm from his. “Never? But the Longfellows have been your friends for twenty years. You employed them, dined with them, worshipped with them. The sweat of Laurence Lightfoot is in the very house.”
“Leave it be, Esther.” Father started for the stairs. “Upon his death, Laurence and I were long since parted by politics and land.”
“Land? What’s this about land? Does it have anything to do with why you hover over your ledgers?” A gentleness replaced Esther’s frustration as Father paused on the second-floor landing, his shoulders drooping. “Is everything well with Lord Whatham?”
Father sighed, patting her hand, his thick palm warm and firm. “I’m suddenly quite weary. Haven’t we had enough excitement for now?”
Esther kissed Father good night. “You must know, Father, you are my papa and my dearest friend. I would never do anything without your blessing.” There, she assured him. Eased a bit of his angst.
“Of this I am assured, my darling.” His eyes glistened as he gathered his words. “Your mother wrote to me before you returned from England. She had hoped you would stay in Grosvenor Square and take your place in society. But I rejected her proposal. How terribly I missed you while you were gone. But now I wonder if I should’ve left you among your peers.”
“Neither she nor you could have made me stay. I planned to sail home with or without anyone’s consent.”
He raised his chin and gazed beyond the dark window, candlelight reflecting in the glass. “Yet you’ve come home to a war. And what do we offer a young woman of your breeding and station?Backwoods men, farmers, trappers, and traders? Half-breeds and traitors. In London, you’d be among your peers, perhaps court a man with a title and a Cambridge degree like your dear papa.”
“While I am British, a Loyalist, I am also a South Carolinian, Father. I love the upcountry. The land, the hills, the streams are my home. London is a jungle I do not know or wish to know.”
And yes, South Carolina gave her Hamilton. She’d bide her time with Father, let the war move on, but she would marry Hamilton Lightfoot. What was her future without him?
“Then I have failed you. The plan was never for you to remain here.”
“But here I am. You cannot make me return to London.” Her brash speech contained sufficient courage, but Esther knew well her submission to Father and his wishes. “As for Mother, she must deal with her own decisions. She was the one who decided I should sail to you at ten while she remained behind.”
“Her own mother was ill.”
“Grandmama had nothing more than a summer cold. If Mother cared about my place in society, about a possible marriage to a peer, then she never should have sent me away.” This was not her first conversation with Father about Mother’s distance from them.
“I believed you’d discover her love for you while you were with her,” Father said. “Never doubt her affection and devotion. But she was raised with certain comforts and privileges that one cannot find in the backwoods of an American colony.”
“She loved herself more than us. How can you defend her?” Esther turned toward her room yet caught something unusual in Father’s expression. A sentimental smile. A jolly glint. “Father, what is it? Something I said? Something about Mother?”
“I know I’ve never spoken of this with you, Esther, but I love your mother. With every ounce of my being.”
“You are still married, but, Father, surely... You’ve not clapped eyes on her in seven years.”
“No, and I shall do my best to remedy our distance when thiswar is over. The upcountry demanded more of me than I originally imagined. But your mother and I, we... correspond.”
“Correspond?”
Father nodded once, facing away. “You’re an adult now, as you so pointedly like to tell me, so I suppose you will understand. We pen love letters. Often, I receive a dozen or more from her when the post arrives.”
“Love letters?” Esther stepped back, as if she’d peered into a forbidden intimacy. “Then I don’t understand why—”
