Lady Love (3 page)

Well, she thought with a sigh, as she climbed into bed and pulled up the covers, perhaps things will improve tomorrow.

***

They didn’t. The next morning, which dawned clear and warm, Cameron Thorpe was sitting at the breakfast table on the patio with his mother when Merlyn walked in. The look he gave her would have stopped traffic.

His dark eyes—they were almost black at close range, deep-set under a jutting brow—ran up and down Merlyn’s slender figure. She was dressed in faded blue jeans and a flaming orange pullover T-shirt that read “Kiss me, I’m a frog!” Her long black hair fell over her shoulders, and her eyes were a pale, sparkling green. She wasn’t beautiful like her late mother, but she had delicate features and a perfect figure, and normally she dressed with a flair that set her apart. Today, however, she’d deliberately worn her most outlandish T-shirt, hoping to get a rise out of Mr. Conservative. And she did. Immediately.

“Do you normally dress like that?” Cameron asked.

“Why, yes, when I’m not going naked,” she replied with a careless smile. She stared at him. He was wearing a dark business suit with a dark tie and a white shirt. She’d have bet that he had a closet full of them, all alike.

“More eggs, Cameron?” Lila asked quickly as Merlyn sat down and helped herself to toast and coffee.

“No, thanks,” he said, and his eyes never left Merlyn. His face was broad and hard, his nose was formidable, and he had a jaw as square as the way he dressed.

“Sizing me up?” Merlyn asked “I wear size ten slacks and a medium T-shirt. And there’s nothing underneath,” she whispered, leaning forward.

He came as close to a flush as she’d ever seen a man come, and his black eyes glittered at her. “I don’t find your attitude amusing,” he said curtly. “And I won’t have my daughter subjected to remarks like that.”

“Amanda isn’t downstairs yet,” Merlyn told him, “and you’re hardly a child.” She studied him. “Mrs. Thorpe said you were a banker.”

“Yes,” he said, sounding as if he found speaking to her distasteful.

“How exciting,” she murmured, stifling a yawn.

“Where did you take your degree?” he asked out of the blue.

“The University of Georgia.”

“Did you specialize?” he persisted, as he sipped his coffee.

“Not really,” she returned. “I enjoy ancient history as well as other periods.”

“What qualifies you to be a research assistant?” he chided. “Do you have references?”

“Are you the reincarnation of the Spanish Inquisition?” she shot back. “Really, Mr. Thorpe, my qualifications satisfied your mother.”

“They certainly did,” Lila seconded. She frowned. “Cameron, I’ve never known you to be so rude to a guest!”

“We’ve never had a guest like this,” he said, glancing up and down Merlyn’s figure.

“How sad for you.” Merlyn smiled. “But, at long last, here I am!”

“I’ve got to make a phone call,” he muttered, glaring at Merlyn as he got to his feet. “Five more minutes of Jane Eyre there, and I’ll be searching for a blunt instrument.”

“How kinky,” Merlyn said, grinning. “Usually men are wildly excited when they get to that point. Are you by any chance trying to seduce me over the scrambled eggs?”

His mother had already turned away with a napkin over her mouth.

“If I were eighty with terminal acne, I wouldn’t be so desperate,” he replied.

“You’ll be heartbroken when you realize what you’re passing up,” Merlyn called after him.

The hall door slammed behind him, and Lila made strangled sounds in her napkin.

“Poor Cameron,” Lila said finally. “He’s so domineering with women.”

“Not this one,” Merlyn informed her smugly. “I’m a free spirit. Basically, I hate men.”

“Is there a reason?”

Merlyn smiled. “Yes. A fiancé who turned out to be Dracula. I broke the engagement, and now I’m trying to get myself back together.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” Merlyn said. “I was ready to settle down. I’m twenty-six, after all. I wouldn’t mind a husband and children. But it’s going to take some time to forget what happened.”

“You’re still young, my dear,” Lila said with a smile.

“So I am,” Merlyn agreed. Then she changed the subject. “Where are we going to work? Inside?” she asked, casting a wary eye toward the house.

“That wouldn’t be intelligent, would it?” Lila laughed. “I can see you now, hurling things at Cameron!”

“Only a few sticks of furniture,” Merlyn protested. She sighed. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Thorpe, I’ll get used to him. After all, I got used to asparagus and squash casserole.”

Lila laughed merrily. “Call me Lila, not Mrs. Thorpe. And, yes, I think you’ll get used to my son, and he to you, in time. It will do him good to learn that not every woman thinks he’s the final authority.” She got to her feet. “Since it’s so warm, we’ll hash out some preliminaries here on the patio,” she added. “I’ll get my legal pad, and you can fetch those history books I watched you lug up the staircase yesterday.”

“I’ll get them right now,” Merlyn said.

Minutes later she came back downstairs with an armload of books, fortunately without running into the lord of the manor.

“Amanda’s late this morning,” Merlyn remarked as she seated herself at the little white table.

“Yes, but not unusually so,” Lila said with a smile. She sat down across from Merlyn. “With school out for spring holidays, she doesn’t get up until eleven.” She sighed, and the smile faded. “Poor child, she’s so lonely. Cameron has very little time.…”

“He could make time, if he wanted to,” Merlyn said quietly. “My own childhood was lonely. My mother died when I was about Amanda’s age, and my father missed her terribly. Instead of turning to me, he turned to his work. It wasn’t until I was well into my teens that he suddenly discovered he was a parent. We’ve grown closer, but there was quite a gulf between us during those first few years without Mama.”

“I’m afraid that Cameron’s work is his whole life,” Lila said. She stared at her slender, elegant hand on the table. “His late wife was not the kind of person he needed. Marcia was wildly exciting, I suppose, but not at all domestic. She hated children. If Cameron hadn’t threatened to toss her to the press, she’d have had an abortion. She left him just after Amanda was born. She was killed several years later in an automobile accident. A tragic affair, all around.”

“Did Amanda know her at all?” Merlyn asked.

“No. Marcia considered Amanda a liability, not an asset. She’s not the most beautiful child in the world, despite her sweet nature and kind heart. Although I doubt Marcia would have wanted her anyway. She just didn’t have any maternal instinct at all.”

“How sad,” Merlyn said quietly. “And it’s even sadder that her father gives her so little of himself. He’ll regret that one day.”

“He probably will. But he doesn’t listen to advice, my dear.”

“I noticed,” Merlyn replied dryly.

“Keep right on ruffling him, Merlyn,” the older woman said. “Maybe it will help.”

“Oh, that doesn’t take much effort—ruffling him,” she assured her colleague. “I have a feeling my very existence is enough to do the trick.”

***

They were hard at work, discussing possibilities for fictional characters during the reign of Henry VII, the founder of the Tudor line, when Amanda came downstairs. Lila was right, Merlyn thought. The little girl favored her father, and she was nobody’s idea of beautiful. God bless her, she was gangly and thin and nervous, and those huge eyes swallowed her face. Probably when she grew up, she’d surprise everybody by being a beauty, though. Often it was the ugly ducklings who made the most beautiful swans—simply by taking advantage of what they had and making the most of it.

“Good morning,” Merlyn said brightly, and smiled.

Amanda smiled, too. It was hard not to, when their visitor had such a contagiously sunny disposition.

“Good morning, Miss Merlyn,” she said. “Good morning, Grandmama.”

“Have you had breakfast?” Lila asked the child.

“No, ma’am,” Amanda murmured. She sat down on the glider, her hands folded on her skirt, her long hair in neat pigtails, her blouse spotless.

“Why not?” Lila prodded.

“I didn’t like to ask Mrs. Simms to fix it just for me,” Amanda said shyly.

“Nonsense,” Lila said. “Tilly doesn’t mind. And, Amanda, it isn’t as if we don’t pay her. Now go and ask for what you want.”

“But I’m not hungry,” the child insisted.

Lila sighed heavily. “Oh, Amanda, you’re just skin and bones.”

“She certainly is,” Cameron boomed, joining them. His dark, unsmiling eyes studied his daughter’s thinness. “Get in the house and eat,” he said curtly.

“Yes, Father,” Amanda said in a subdued tone. She got up without raising her eyes and went back into the house.

“My, what a way you have with children, Mr. Thorpe,” Merlyn said sweetly. “All the diplomacy of a rocket launcher, in fact!”

“Shut up,” he told her coldly, his dark eyes daring her to make another statement.

She got to her feet “Look here,” she said, “you may order Amanda around, but I’m a big girl. I’m here to work, not to…”

“Then why don’t you work, Miss Forrest, and leave my daughter’s upbringing to me?” he asked coolly.

“Mr. Thorpe…!” she persisted.

“Your duties include research, I believe, Miss Forrest, not child psychology?” Cameron went on, not giving his mother a chance to interfere.

Merlyn’s green eyes glittered at him. “My father used to be just like you,” she said angrily. “All work, all ice. I grew up on the mercy of neighbors. I wonder how you’re going to feel when Amanda is old enough to leave home, and if she’ll say the same things to you that I said to my father?”

He gave her one last glare before he turned and went back into the house, slamming the door behind him.

“Oh, my,” Lila murmured.

“Sorry,” Merlyn grumbled as she sat back down. “He makes me so mad! I did have a lot of terrible things to say to my father at one time. We’re good friends now, but we weren’t always. He and your son would get along just fine.”

“Yes, well, I’m sorry about all this,” Lila said. “He isn’t the most relaxing person to work around, even if he is my son.”

“I had no right to say those things to him,” Merlyn said after a minute, cooler now. “I’ll apologize, if you like.”

“And make him even more smug than he already is?” Lila exclaimed. “You will not!”

Merlyn laughed. “All right, then.”

Amanda came back minutes later, looking puzzled yet happy. “Daddy sat with me while I had breakfast,” she said. “He hasn’t done that in a long time. He even talked to me.”

Merlyn and Lila exchanged shocked, faintly amused glances before they got back to work.

Chapter Three

L
ila scribbled on a yellow legal pad and Amanda played quietly with a doll, while Merlyn dug into several volumes of information on the Tudors. But her mind was wandering, tugged away unwillingly by the conversation she’d had with Cameron earlier.

My, my, wouldn’t Cameron Thorpe’s eyes bulge if he could see her as she really was? She pursed her lips and fantasized about coming down the staircase of her father’s town house in her white Bill Blass original with her blue fox boa draped lovingly over her bare shoulders, her hair in a high coiffure with a diamond tiara, and her mother’s diamond necklace and earrings gracing her milky complexion.…

She shook herself. Why destroy his illusions? Let him think what he liked.

“You said the history of the English Kings had always fascinated you. Why?” Lila asked, interrupting Merlyn’s mental wanderings.

She almost told the older woman the truth—that her own family history could be traced back to the time of the Plantagenets and Tudors. But that would be giving away far too much.

“Actually, I had a cousin who was British,” she said. Well, it was the truth.

“One you had a crush on?” Lila pursued.

Merlyn pursed her lips and smiled, thinking about that cousin—Richard the Lion-Hearted—and the dashing picture he made in fact and fiction. “You might say that,” she agreed.

“You must tell me all about him one day.” Lila sighed as she studied her notes. “This is going to be quite a feat when I really get started. I’ve only just roughed out the main characters. Merlyn, I’m fascinated by Uncle Jasper.”

“The one who was responsible for Henry VII’s accession to the throne?” Merlyn laughed delightedly. “I’m finding great material on him. During the War of the Roses, he took his brother’s widow, Margaret Beaumont, to his own castle at Pembroke and provided for her while she gave birth to his nephew Henry, who was to become Henry VII—father of Henry VIII. Jasper lost his fortune in the War of the Roses, conducted something of a commando campaign against the Yorks and eventually rescued Henry Tudor from them. Henry, you see, was the last surviving male of the Lancastrian line. Their great enemies were the Yorks. Those were the two factions that fought the War of the Roses.

“But to get back to Jasper, he and Henry spent quite a while imprisoned in Brittany until the death of Edward IV, whose sons were captured by Richard III—remember him? Anyway, a faction arose to support Henry’s bid for the throne, with the help of some political maneuvering by his mother, Margaret Beaumont. Uncle Jasper helped to raise an army, which marched finally into battle against Richard III. Richard was killed after a valiant defense, and Henry married Edward IV’s eldest daughter, Elizabeth of York, uniting the Lancasters and Yorks and ending the War of the Roses.”