Lieutenant Twimball and several of the king’s men waited in the foyer. “Well, well, well, we meet again, Lightfoot.”
“Indeed. I’m only sorry I did not see you at King’s Mountain.”
“Nor I you.”
Tension mounted under the outwardly cordial exchange. Hamilton looked toward Esther.
“Lieutenant Twimball, Captain Blyth, why don’t you return to our dinner. I’ll be along. Please, the food is hot, and we cannot let Sassy’s hard work go to waste.”
“I’m sorry to have disturbed your evening, Esther.” He retrieveda scroll from the sack over his shoulder. “This is the legal deed of Quill. I don’t care what Aunt Mary signed—”
“Are you still here, Hamilton?” Father appeared around the stairwell, Dr. Rocourt giving chase.
“I advise you to rest, Sir Michael.”
“I have guests to attend. Good evening, Hamilton.” Father held open the door.
“I have the deed.” He waved the scroll at Father. “You cannot possibly have a legal right to Quill. I will find out what you’ve done.”
“That matter is signed, sealed, and delivered by none other than Cornelius Jones, a Loyalist and a friend of Lord Whatham’s.” Father’s chest rattled with each breath, causing Dr. Rocourt to stand by his side, admonishing him again to lie down.
Hamilton narrowed his gaze. “You’re a thief, Sir Michael. Nothing but a common thief, low down and—”
“Hamilton.” Esther stepped in for her father. “Why don’t you say good night? ’Tis not the hour to air grievances.”
He started to speak, then strode for the door, his angry footsteps driving into the hardwood.
“Happy Christmas, Hamilton.”
He peered back at her with a nod, sadness in his eyes. “Happy Christmas, Esther.”
17
JESSE
December
In his guesthouse by the Daschles’ pool, Jesse washed and stored away the dishes that had been in the sink for far too long, his stomach rumbling for lack of lunch with no dinner plans on the horizon.
Rehearsals forBound by Love, and last-minute changes in the script inspired by the actors, had consumed him since mid-October.
He’d spent his mornings writing and his afternoons training to be a Revolutionary War soldier, going through the choreographed fight scenes. Just one fight took nearly three weeks to master, so he and the other soldiers didn’t appear to be playacting.
Jeremiah insisted that the story ring true. Real.
To that end, Jesse didn’t see Chloe much. They had only a few scenes together, and because Jeremiah wanted to hit the ground running once they landed in South Carolina, the director put more emphasis on the physical aspects of Jesse’s role than on the emotional.
Putting away the last dish, Jesse peered across the massive lawn toward the back of the Daschles’ mansion—okay, toward Chloe’s front door—hoping for a glimpse.
He never made it home to Boston for Octoberfest, so he had agreed to fly home for the holidays. He left in three days.
On the table, his phone rang. Jeremiah’s number flashed across the screen.
“I’ve got good news and bad news.”
“Do I need to sit down?”
“You know there have been rumblings over at Premier Studios that Prescott White’s job was on the chopping block.”
