“I hear this man Travis owns half of Virginia.”
“Not quite, only about a third.” Sarcasm didn’t dull their interest.
“Regan, I don’t like this man leaving notes in my private safe. I have private documents in there, and a lawyer’s word to his clients is sacred.”
On and on they went, hour after hour, until Regan’s smile was plastered on. Only a small voice at her side made her respond. “Mommie.” She looked down to see her daughter’s small face, obviously worried about something.
“Come on,” she said, lifting her daughter and carrying her to the kitchen. “Let’s see if Brandy can fix us lunch, and we’ll go on a picnic.”
An hour later, Regan and her daughter were alone together by a little stream north of Scarlet Springs. They’d demolished a basketful of fried chicken and little cherry tarts.
“Why doesn’t Daddy come back home?” Jennifer asked. “And why doesn’t he write me letters like everybody else?”
For the first time, Regan realized that her daughter had been excluded from the notes and roses. Thinking back, she knew Jennifer’s room had been free of any marriage proposals.
She pulled her daughter to her lap. “I guess because Daddy is trying to get me to marry him, and he knows that wherever I go, you go too.”
“Daddy doesn’t want to marry me too?”
“He wants you to live with him; in fact, I think at least half of the roses are for you, to get you to come live with him too.”
“I wish he’d send me roses. Timmie Watts says Daddy only wants you, and I’ll have to stay here with Brandy when you go away.”
“That was a dreadful thing for him to say! And totally untrue! Your Daddy loves you very much. Didn’t he tell you of the pony he bought for you and the treehouse he built? And this was before he’d even met you. Just think what he’s going to do now that he knows who you are.”
“You think he’ll ask me to marry him too?”
Regan had no idea how to reply to that. “When he asks me, it means he wants you too.”
Sighing, Jennifer leaned against her mother. “I wish Daddy’d come home. I wish he’d never go away again, and I wish he’d send me roses and write me letters.”
Rocking her daughter, stroking her hair, Regan felt Jennifer’s sadness. How Travis would hate knowing he had hurt his daughter by excluding her. Perhaps tomorrow she could make up for Travis’s oversight. Maybe she could find some roses, if there were any left within the state after Travis’s harvesting of them, and give them to her daughter—from her father.
Tomorrow, she thought, and almost shuddered. What could he be planning for tomorrow?
Chapter 19
JENNIFER WOKE HER MOTHER THE NEXT MORNING, A little bundle of roses clutched in her hand. “Do you think they’re from Daddy?” she asked her mother.
“Could be,” Regan said, not really lying but giving the child hope. She’d placed the little bouquet on her daughter’s pillow early this morning.
“They’re not from Daddy,” Jennifer said with great despair. “You put them there.” With a fling, she tossed them across the bed and ran to her own room.
It was some time before Regan could comfort her daughter, and she was close to tears herself before Jennifer quietened. If only there was some way she could get a message to Travis and tell him of Jennifer’s distress.
When they were finally dressed, both of them far from cheerful, they held hands and together prepared for what the day—and Travis—had planned for them.
The reception rooms were full of townspeople, but since there was no new excitement, often only one family member was present. Stiffly, Regan fended off their questions and kept Jennifer near her as she checked the rooms of the inn and tried to keep up a normal routine. She was quite tired of being a spectacle for everyone to stare and gawk at.
By noon nothing new had happened, and the townspeople, deflated, began to go home. The dining room was filled but not packed, and Regan noticed Margo and Farrell dining together, their heads bent, almost touching as they talked. Frowning, she wondered what the two of them could have to say to each other.
But she had no more time to think about anything else, because the noise coming from the hall was rising in tone and pitch.
Eyes skyward, she felt like crying in despair. “Now what has he done?” she muttered.
Jennifer clutched her mother’s hand. “Do you think Daddy’s come home?”
“I’m sure he’s done something,” she said, and started for the front door.