Love, Come to Me(97)

“I didn’t intend to worry about anyone but Amy,” Lucy said coolly, aware as she looked down at the trousers and folded them neatly that Heath was giving her another long, searching look. “What do you intend to do? Sell the plantation and then . . . ?”

“She’s young, Cin. And she’s never had anything resembling a mother. Victoria was a worthless parent. I guess I could ask some of the Prices in Raleigh to take Amy in. But my father was the outcast of the family, and times being what they are, his daughter won’t exactly be welcomed with open arms. Maybe I should find some school to put her in—”

“Down there?” Lucy asked, reluctantly experiencing a twinge of sympathy for Amy. Heath didn’t know it, but she had read every one of Amy’s letters, had come to know the girl through that careful, childish handwriting, and she felt pity for her. It would be frightening to be alone at such a young age. “But who will she spend the holidays with? Is there anyone for her in the South, or is she completely alone?”

“What’s the alternative?” Heath asked, his face expressionless, and Lucy sighed, folding another pair of trousers, her forehead indented with vexation.

“You ask that as if you didn’t know what the alternative is. You know perfectly well that it would be more practical to find a boarding school for her up here. Somewhere accessible, so that you could keep an eye on her. She’s your sister—I won’t offer any objection if you want to let her visit us during school vacations.”

It would be extra trouble and worry, and Lucy knew that she would have preferred not to have someone else around to intrude on her time with Heath. But how could she refuse to allow Amy a tiny corner of his life? Did Lucy have any right to stand in the way between the two of them? Of course not. And if she didn’t give in to this gracefully, he might come to resent her unwillingness to be flexible as far as his half sister was concerned.

“Why don’t you bring her up here?” she said quietly, and she knew by the sudden glow in his eyes that that was what he had wanted.

“Thank you.”

Lucy shrugged, looking away from him, glad that he had enough sensitivity to be matter-of-fact about her concession. At the moment she couldn’t bear gratitude from him. Not when she was so frustrated and upset.

“I won’t be gone more than a week, Cinda.”

“I wouldn’t mind going with you.” Knowing that he would refuse her offer, she said the words more out of a wish to be difficult than a real desire to accompany him. But the words would have choked her if she had not let them out. Oh, why couldn’t she be kind, gracious, and understanding? Why was she allowing herself to be angry with him instead of offering him comfort?

“It’s bad enough with one of us going. You’ve got to stay here and keep everything running smoothly.”

“What about the newspaper?”

“I hate to leave it.” He groaned in frustration. “Damn, I hate this. But I’ll have to rely on Damon to take care of it again.”

“You’ll need to take a nightshirt,” she said in a monotone, looking through the contents of the leather bag. “I know you don’t like to wear anything when you’re sleeping, but since you’re traveling—”

“I don’t know if I have any nightshirts.”

“You do,” she said flatly. “One. Somewhere. I saw it once as I was looking for some handkerchiefs.” Pausing, she added delicately, “I’m often surprised by the things I find around the house.”

Silence. Lucy rearranged the contents of the leather bag with meticulous care, knowing that she was the target of a suspicious stare. Then she looked up and raised her eyebrows a fraction of an inch, in an expression of inquiry. The cat-and-mouse game was a novelty; they had never resorted to it before. Heath looked as though he were about ready to end her inexpert taunting with a few hard questions, but instead he reached into the chest of drawers and tossed a few pairs of socks to the bed.

“If you need anything while I’m gone,” he said, “the Markhams are right down the street, and David owes me a favor or two. Go to them if you have any problems.”

“Why not the Redmonds?”

“Damon’s going to be busy enough with the paper.”

“But before when you were ill, he told me that if I ever needed—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted sharply. “Don’t argue. Don’t bother Damon. And don’t cross me on this.”

Lucy was infuriated by his high-handed manner. Anger sustained her through the process of packing, the last-minute instructions he gave, through everything that had to be done up to the point of saying goodbye. And then, as the carriage waited outside and they both stood inside the front door, and the servants coughed uncomfortably and left the hallway, Lucy felt all of her anger disappear in an instant. She kept her eyes on the lapels of Heath’s coat, miserably aware of the silence between them. She knew that she must break it, that he must not be allowed to leave with no words spoken between them.

“It’s been a long time since you were in Virginia,” she said stiffly.

“Three years.”

“How do I know you won’t want to stay there?” She spoke dryly, but there was a thread of real worry in her tone.

“Because they don’t know how to make New England apple pie.”