NOTE: This is the second Ladies of the Revolution novel, but it is a stand alone.
Eliza Wilkinson is no stranger to both privilege and heartbreak. Widowed at eighteen, she gained self-sufficiency while managing one of her father’s plantations. Now, at age twenty-two, marauding Redcoats destroy her home and hard-won independence.
With her family’s properties in ruins and their financial future threatened, Eliza’s father insists she seek the stability of a new marriage. As she reluctantly navigates the romance and intrigue of Charles Town’s social season, two very different men vie for her attention.
The Season’s revelries come to an end amid the chaos and terror of siege, and when the city falls to the British, Eliza joins other rebel ladies in relief work, intelligence gathering, and sabotage.
Danger mounts as the British banish and imprison patriots to quell civil unrest. Eliza learns of a military operation that could spell disaster for General Francis Marion, commander of the only significant rebel force left in South Carolina. Can she locate the elusive Swamp Fox and deliver a message of warning in time?
Based on Eliza Yonge Wilkinson’s letters that recount her experiences during the American Revolution.
NOTE: This is the second Ladies of the Revolution novel, but it is a stand alone.
Eliza Wilkinson is no stranger to both privilege and heartbreak. Widowed at eighteen, she gained self-sufficiency while managing one of her father’s plantations. Now, at age twenty-two, marauding Redcoats destroy her home and hard-won independence.
With her family’s properties in ruins and their financial future threatened, Eliza’s father insists she seek the stability of a new marriage. As she reluctantly navigates the romance and intrigue of Charles Town’s social season, two very different men vie for her attention.
The Season’s revelries come to an end amid the chaos and terror of siege, and when the city falls to the British, Eliza joins other rebel ladies in relief work, intelligence gathering, and sabotage.
Danger mounts as the British banish and imprison patriots to quell civil unrest. Eliza learns of a military operation that could spell disaster for General Francis Marion, commander of the only significant rebel force left in South Carolina. Can she locate the elusive Swamp Fox and deliver a message of warning in time?
Based on Eliza Yonge Wilkinson’s letters that recount her experiences during the American Revolution.
In the pre-dawn of a late May morning, an unfamiliar sound brought me awake in an instant. I lay still, trying to separate what I’d heard from the mockingbirds’ song and the swish of marsh grasses in the breeze off the water. Then I heard it again. The jingle of harness combined with a low rumble suggesting people and animals on the move.
“Quick, around back.” The hoarse whisper below my open window spurred me to action. Had I locked the rear door? I put on my wrapper and ran downstairs on tiptoe. When I burst into the kitchen, I pulled up in surprise. A woman stood silhouetted in the faint glow of the embers on the hearth, clutching the fireplace poker. She turned, startled, and we both breathed a sigh of relief. Trust Jennie to be one step ahead of me.
Heavy footfalls crossed the back porch, and we shrank out of sight as the door swung open with a creak to reveal a tall, shadowy figure bearing a rifle.
The moment the interloper stepped inside, she leapt forward and hit him across the shoulders. The man cried out in surprise and his rifle clattered to the floor as he fell. I pulled the weapon out of his reach and raised it as Jennie slammed the door, turned the key in the lock, and readied the poker. Together we stood over the prostrate figure.
He groaned as he rolled over. “Consarnit, Eliza!”
“Will?” I lowered the rifle and frowned at the younger of my two brothers. “Why are you sneaking around in the dark?”
“Our unit’s out on overnight patrol.” He grunted as he got to his feet and reclaimed the gun. “If I knew you two were lying in wait I’d have let Frank come in first.”
I unlocked the door, and as Jennie lit a candle and set it on the trestle, our older brother hurried a barefoot servant girl inside. I asked, “Who is that?”
Will shrugged. The girl remained mute, but shot a desperate glance at Jennie.
“You Cora, from Mist’ Ash’s place, right?” When the girl nodded, Jennie put an arm around her shoulders. “You can tell my mistress what happened.”
Cora gulped. “I went out visitin’ last night and I was on my way home just now. I seen a squad of Redcoats at your gate and I hear them sayin’ should they plunder the house. I tol’ them it belong to a decrepit ol’ gentleman who don’t live here, and it ain’t worth their trouble.” She paused and gave me an apologetic glance. “It wasn’t exactly a lie, ma’am, and they believed me, but I was scared to be around soldiers, so I run off.”
Frank added, “We’d been tracking them all night, and took cover close enough to listen to everything they said—so close she almost fell over us in the dark.”
“Please don’t tell my mistress. I ain’t supposed to be out.”
“I won’t. Wait here.” I hurried to fetch a coin and handed it to her. “If the soldiers are gone, you’d best get on home.”
“Yes’m.” The girl curtseyed and slipped out the door.
Will took both rifles and stood them in the corner. “They were looking for Morton Wilkinson’s place, but they couldn’t find it.”
Jennie laid slices of ham in the spider while I joined my brothers at the table. All of us had our mother’s coloring, but they looked like wild men in their dirty, fringed hunting frocks. Their brown eyes glittered in their tanned faces, and their matted, dark hair was pulled back and tied with bits of leather.
In contrast, I was clean and well fed, even if my circumstances were more reduced than one would expect of a planter’s widow. Doubtful anyone who saw the three of us would guess we had grown up in luxury.
Glad as I was to see them, their mention of my brother-in-law raised my ire. “If the Redcoats do find Morton’s place and arrest him, I say it couldn’t happen to a more deserving fellow.”
Will spoke up. “You may not like the man, Eliza, but he’s our company’s ensign. Doesn’t it frighten you that a squad of Redcoats out prowling in the night ended up at your gate? You’d be safer at Papa’s.”
Frank added, “You’re only a few miles from where they’re camped at the Ferry.”
Jennie set plates of ham and buttered cornbread in front of us and my brothers dug in before she finished pouring the coffee. “Papa’s place is just as close to the Ferry.” I stabbed at the ham with my fork. “I’m staying. The Redcoats have no reason to bother me. Even that servant Cora thinks this house is so shabby it looks abandoned.”
Frank drained the rest of his coffee. “It’s not only the Regulars you should be concerned about. Loyalists like Daniel McGirth and his banditti will use you harshly too. He’s been spotted in the area.”
Will nodded. “You should refugee while you can.”
I laughed. “When did I ever take orders from my baby brother?”
“I’m only a year younger than you,” he grumbled.
“I can’t recall a time you listened to us.” Frank gave me a knowing look. “I think you don’t want to go to Papa’s because you haven’t made peace with Susannah.”
“She hasn’t made peace with me, either.” Our stepmother was a mere ten years older than me, and more our contemporary than our father’s. Rather than befriend us, she tried to rule over us—especially me, because I resisted her authority the most. “Papa is too feeble to stand up to the Redcoats, so I daresay I’ll be the one protecting them.” Besides, I had a reason for wanting to stay here at Plainsfield my brothers knew nothing about.
Frank pushed back his empty plate and got up to retrieve their rifles. “Our unit’s been called to Willtown. No telling when we’ll be able to stop by.”
“Well, if our local militia isn’t needed to protect us, the Redcoats must pose no threat. So much fuss over nothing-”
Will cut in. “No, it’s the reverse. General Lincoln and the Continentals are on the march from Augusta and expected here any time.”
“Why are they sending you away, then?”
Frank said, “Our primary job is to put down unrest and stop looting, but as soon as a battle’s brewing they’ll call us back. You’re taking a pretty big gamble by staying here alone.”
“You two risk running afoul of the Redcoats every day. I daresay you’d stay if you were in my shoes.”
“Maybe. But you’re our sister.”
As Will got up to join him, they exchanged a worried glance. My relationship with my brothers had always been more roughhousing and pranks than expressions of affection, but this time I followed them outside and kissed each of them on the cheek in farewell.
Frank folded me in a warm embrace. “You look more like Mother all the time. Take care of yourself, Eliza.”
They headed down the cart path with their rifles on their shoulders, and when Will looked back I smiled and waved. It was natural that we would not always agree. They believed Morton Wilkinson a great patriot, but I had no admiration for my brother-in-law or his supposed devotion to the Cause.
I was only seventeen when I wed Joseph Wilkinson, a dashing planter and physician twelve years my senior. We were married less than a year when he contracted smallpox and succumbed so quickly that his death left me stunned. Days later, I gave birth to our son, who did not survive. While I grieved the tremendous double loss, Morton schemed to make sure I received nothing from Joseph’s estate. His treachery planted a simmering resentment in my soul I had been unable to reconcile for the past four years.
When my brothers were out of sight I went back into the kitchen, where Jennie cleared their plates.
“Sit with me.”
She fixed food for herself and we took our usual places opposite one another.
I refilled my coffee. “Is it foolish to want to stay?”
She shrugged. “We’ve been hearin’ for months that they soldiers be coming.”
“I daresay Mr. Smilie over on Wadmalaw is the only man who still refugees every time soldiers are rumored to be in the district. If I’m going to do a man’s work and run this place, I can’t behave like a frightened girl.”
“What about Mr. Joseph’s plans?”
“After this harvest, I should have enough laid by.” I leaned in. “We can’t go refugeeing about the countryside if we mean to do right by his memory.”
In Patriot of the Lowcountry: Eliza Wilkinson and the Fall of Charleston by Tracy Lawson, readers follow the title character, who is a young widow living in South Carolina during the American Revolution. At first, her life seems mostly stable. However, she’s still grieving her husband and trying to manage her household and responsibilities in a world that’s becoming increasingly unstable. She’s also close to the enslaved people who live on her property, but propriety often causes uncomfortable dynamics between them. Simultaneously, she must navigate her relationships with two suitors, Peter Porcher and Hext McCall. One she grows to love, and the other she sees for who he really is: a cad. Through it all, Eliza is caught between what’s expected of her and her desire to help the cause in any way she can. With war closing in and everything she knows at risk, she must figure out how to move forward in a world that no longer feels familiar.
This book brings history to life. It makes everything feel so close and real, rather than just a bunch of dates from the past. The writing is smooth and engaging, keeping the romance and high-stakes political drama front and center throughout the story. The small details of camp life, ruined plantations, and cramped prison quarters bring an extra layer of interest to this tale. Another clever aspect is the coded correspondence between Eliza and one of her love interests. It adds an element of tension and intrigue to the plot. Eliza is the star and the best part of this novel. She’s honest, stubborn, and often bitingly funny.
This book is easy to recommend to readers who love immersive, character-driven historical fiction. It’s perfect for those who like stories with strong women or who enjoy historical romances. Ultimately, it's a memorable read that’s both educational and entertaining from start to finish.
Trigger warnings: war violence and trauma, smallpox and serious illness, captivity and harsh prison conditions, period‑accurate sexism, and references to slavery.