Free The Lady and the Officer by Mary Ellis

fit of giggles from Eugenia, but Clarisa hadn’t seen the humor. But now that Kathleen maintained a presentable appearance, Clarisa had other goals in mind.
    â€œPlease set out the pitcher of lemonade and the decanter of wine on the sideboard.”
    â€œI thought I would bring ’em in once Mr. Duncan gets home. That way the ice won’t melt so fast,” Kathleen said, slouching against the newel post.
    â€œI would like you to set them out now and every day at this time. Mr. Duncan prefers a cool drink as soon as he arrives.” Clarisa struggled to contain her exasperation as Kathleen dropped a half curtsey and strolled slowly to the kitchen.
    â€œWhat’s wrong, Mama?”
    Her daughter’s voice startled the wits out of Clarisa. “Eugenia, please don’t listen from the steps. Polite people make their presence known when entering a room.”
    â€œYes, ma’am.” Coming down the steps, Eugenia wrapped her arms around her mother. “I hadn’t meant to. I was waiting for Papa. But it’s so entertaining to listen to Kathleen’s excuses.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Some days I think you should fire her.”
    â€œMore amusing for you than me.” Clarisa guided her daughter into the parlor with an arm around her waist. “Almost every day I also think I should fire her, but domestic help is impossible to find. All the slaves have run off, and many families can’t afford to pay freemen enough to keep them. Just last week Mrs. Martin said she sometimes washes her own clothes because her laundress works for three families. Each must wait their turn.” Together they sat on the settee, sweeping their hooped skirts out of the way.
    Eugenia’s expression indicated that the girl didn’t appreciate such difficulties, but her mother knew that the first time she had to iron a ball gown, she would understand.
    â€œWhat do you need to talk to your father about?”
    â€œI’ve been invited to a tea at the ladies’ academy, the one I hope to enroll in next year. All my friends will be there, so I must have a new dress. Everyone has already seen every one of mine no less than a million times.”
    Clarisa smiled at her daughter’s exaggeration. “You haven’t lived a million days yet. When you have, we’ll order you a new frock.”
    Eugenia frowned but didn’t argue as Kathleen carried in a pitcher, a decanter of claret, and a plate of shortbread cookies.
    â€œThank you, Kathleen, but where are the glasses?” asked Clarisa.
    â€œYou didn’t say nothing ’bout glasses, just drinks.”
    â€œMiss O’Toole, do you expect Mr. Duncan to tip the decanter up to his mouth?” Clarisa felt a flush climb her throat.
    â€œNo, ma’am, ’spect not. I’m just used to folks tellin’ me what they want.”
    The butler appeared in the doorway with glassware on a silver tray. “Shall I pour you and Miss Eugenia a glass of lemonade, madam?” Hespoke with the cultured accent of a free man of color, one who had been trained in Louisiana.
    â€œYes, Micah, thank you. That will be all, Kathleen.”
    After both servants left, Eugenia whispered behind her raised fan. “I won’t trouble Papa with a request for a new frock. Then we can afford to give Micah a raise. What would this family do without him?”
    â€œI quake at the thought.” Hearing the familiar crunch of wheels on cobblestones in their porte cochere, Clarisa breathed a sigh of relief. Although her husband’s job merely entailed writing checks to purchase war accoutrements abroad, she still worried about him until he returned home each night.
    â€œPapa!” Eugenia sprang to her feet, spilling cookie crumbs caught in her skirt across the floor.
    â€œSit down, daughter,” Clarisa scolded. “You’re eighteen years old, not eight. Wait to greet your father