for your keep. And if you can manage that for a month, without telling anyone who you are or what you’re worth, I’ll swear off matchmaking for life. Cross my heart.”
She pursed her lips, and her own green eyes began to twinkle. “A month, huh?”
“A month.”
“What kind of work could I do?”
“You’ve got a degree in history,” he reminded her.
“Lots of people have.”
He looked thoughtful. “Yes, but I think I know a way you could use it.”
She cocked her head warily. “Oh, no, you don’t.”
“No men,” he said, holding up his hands defensively. “Just a lovely lady who writes torrid historical romances. She lives on Lake Lanier, north of here.”
“In Gainesville?” she asked, and he nodded. She studied him. “What would I do?”
“Help her with some research on her next book. Jack Thomas was talking about it yesterday. We were at the board meeting of that college—you know, we’re both trustees. He knows Cameron Thorpe, the Charleston banker, well. The writer is Thorpe’s mother. She lives alone, except for a housekeeper.”
It was sounding better and better to Merlyn. She knew Lake Lanier. It was a man-made lake, Georgia’s biggest, and one of her good friends raced at Road Atlanta near there. Dick Langley had an enormous home on the lake, which she’d visited occasionally.
“She’s a writer?” She frowned. “Does she write under her own name?”
“No. Her given name is Lila Thorpe,” he said, “but she writes as Copper O’Mara.”
She gasped. “But I read her!” she burst out. “She’s one of my favorites!”
“All the more reason to apply for the job,” he chuckled. “Want me to call Jack Thomas and ask if he knows her phone number? And don’t worry, I won’t blow your cover. I’ll say I have an acquaintance who might qualify for the job.”
“Fair enough,” she said. “I’ll show you I’m no society darling.”
He studied her slenderness and smiled with pure pride. “You’ve got class, though. Just like your mother.”
“But she was beautiful,” Merlyn argued.
He nodded. “The most beautiful creature on earth. I still miss her, you know.” He turned away. “Well, let’s get this show on the road, daughter.” He picked up the phone.
***
Three days later, on a rainy Friday, Merlyn drove up to the large two-story lake house where Lila Thorpe lived. It was a fieldstone and wood building as beautiful as its natural surroundings. Beyond it was the lake, with a boathouse and a private cove and pier. Around it was open land, with hills and pine trees and none of the cluttered construction one found closer in to Gainesville.
Merlyn imagined that the estate would be beautiful in the sun, and she could hardly wait for the weather to break and the warm breezes to herald blossoming things. There were dogwood trees all around the house, along with small shrubs; the dogwoods were in bud already.
She carried her suitcase up to the front porch and rang the doorbell. A small, thin woman in a cotton dress let her in.
“I’m Tilly,” she introduced herself. “Mrs. Thorpe is in the living room. If you’ll follow me?”
There was a quick scurrying sound on the staircase in the long hall. Merlyn got a glimpse of a dark-haired, dark-eyed girl of about twelve who hesitated a few steps up.
“Hello.” Merlyn grinned, tossing back her long black hair. “I’m Merlyn Forrest,” she said, deliberately leaving off the “Steele.”
The child, obviously shy, stared at her, unsmiling. “Hello,” she said after a minute.
“This is a lovely house,” Merlyn said. “Do you live here with Mrs. Thorpe?”
“She’s my grandmother.”
How formal the child sounded, how repressed. Why did she live with her grandmother? Where were her parents? Was Cameron Thorpe, the man her father had mentioned, this little girl’s father?
“This way, Miss,” Tilly called when she realized that Merlyn was lagging behind.
“Yes, excuse me,” Merlyn said. She winked at the girl and walked on.
Lila Thorpe was tall, thin and graying and had twinkling eyes. She held out a slender hand to shake Merlyn’s extended one. “You must be Merlyn,” she said, smiling. “I’m so glad you’re here! I simply can’t research and write at the same time, and I have this incredible pull toward English royalty at the moment. What do you know about the Plantagenets and the Tudors?”
Merlyn caught her breath with a little laugh. “In fact, just a smattering, though the English kings have always fascinated me. But I brought my history books along, and I can find anything you need. How about that?”
“Perfect!” Lila sighed.
“Is she going to live here?” the little girl asked from the doorway.
Merlyn turned and found the child hesitating at the door. She was wearing a white and brown cotton frock, knee-high socks, and patent leather shoes. She had a manner that was much older than her years, and eyes that didn’t smile.
“Yes,” Lila said warmly. “Come in, Amanda, and meet Merlyn Forrest. She’s going to help me research my new book.”
“She told me her name in the hall,” Amanda murmured.
“Yes, I did, but you didn’t tell me yours,” Merlyn said warmly. “Did you know that Amanda means ‘worthy of love’? It was my mother’s middle name.”
The child’s huge eyes widened. “Really?” Her shoulders hunched. “My mother is dead.”
“So is mine,” Merlyn said with quiet sympathy. “It’s rather lonely, isn’t it? At least you have your grandmother.”
Amanda tilted her head, studying the newcomer. Merlyn was wearing jeans and a velour pullover. She had purposely avoided designer pieces, choosing instead clothes in some medium price range that wouldn’t arouse suspicion. But with her usual flair, she was wearing a vibrant Mexican poncho over the outfit. She looked colorful and bright and a little nonconformist.
“That’s so pretty,” Amanda remarked of the poncho. “It’s like a rainbow.”
“I got it…I mean, a friend brought it to me from Mexico,” Merlyn said. In fact, it had been purchased by Merlyn herself in Mexico City, but it wouldn’t do to let them know how well traveled she was. She grinned. “I’ll let you wear it sometime, if you like.”
Amanda brightened, and then her face fell and she shrugged. “Daddy wouldn’t let me,” she muttered. “He won’t even let me wear jeans. He’s afraid I’ll grow up
