Page 7 of Hearts of Locke Hill

“I didn’t want to presume, but yes.”

“It’s a fair presumption. I’ve never seen two people better suited for each other. Except you and Father, of course.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss to it.

“That’s what I wish for you, you know.”

He set her hand on the coverlet between them, keeping it in his. “I know.”

“You’re getting older.”

“I know.”

“Your father was twenty-five when we marri—”

“Iknow, Mother.”

“You’re twenty-eight—”

He laughed at the ceiling. “And we wonder where Henry gets his tenacity.”

“Oh, I’ve never wondered that.” Mischief glinted in her eyes, which were almost gray, like brother George’s.

He shook his head with a chuckle but sobered. “I will speak plainly.” He gave her hand a soft squeeze. “These changes you suggest for the nursery … they will have to wait. The improvements on Little Oakleigh took much of our savings, and the unexpected chimney work didn’t help. At least we put off purchasing the horses we were looking at. Simon will be home for summer holiday but must continue at university. And George has just decided to become a doctor; did he tell you?”

She shook her head, eyes wide. “Have mercy.”

He chuckled. “Indeed. But he’s serious.” He wouldn’t tell her that the helplessness George felt for Father’s situation had pushed him into a decision. He’d leave that to George if he wished to share it. He squeezed her hand, so small in his. “We’ll have towait for our coffers to replenish a bit. Quite a bit. And if we are to consider a hospital—”

“We’ll not be sending your father anywhere. He will recover here. He will convalescehere.” Her voice had cracked, and she put her fingers to her lips, as if to make her fear invisible.

Cy opened his arm and she leaned into him, pressing a handkerchief to her eyes.

“Forgive me,” she said. “I’m trying to be strong.”

“There is nothing to forgive. You are strong. You’ve managed to keep seven children alive and thriving, the servants adore you, and I can’t give Father credit for Ruby. You’ve done well, Mother.”

She sniffled. “What the Lord was thinking when he sent her to us amidst all you ruffians. Ruby is an angel, isn’t she?”

“Her halo hides beneath all those big hats.”

She laughed and he breathed a little easier. He stood to pour a glass of water from the pitcher on his desk and offered it to her.

“You know,” she said, taking the glass, “your father wanted to fill this house, every room, so we’d never have to entertain guests.”

He chuckled as he took the chair at the desk. “That I can believe.”

“You are like him that way.”

“My observation is that the house is quite full enough,” he said, sure his face reddened at the prospect of fathering a brood of Burkes. It wasn’t something he often allowed himself to think about. Because it would ultimately bring him to wondering about a wife. Which was an odd sort of ordering of thoughts.

“You know what I mean. You prefer home and family to crowds, and at times, you prefer quiet and solitude to family.”

His gaze went to the papered door to the cupola, and he nodded. “I’ll not deny it.”

“You couldn’t. I know you better, perhaps, than any otherperson in the world knows you.” She leaned forward, whispering. “Though, I pray that will change one day.” She quirked her dark eyebrows. “You know, it is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good home should be in want of a companion to share it with.”

“This home is not, in that sense, mine, and there is hardly room to share it.”

“We shall all think very small thoughts.”