Heath just shook his head. “Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t be a bad choice. His family has more money and influence than I realized at first. But the Caldwells are powerful enemies, and there might not be anything left of the Amos family in a year or two.”
“Or maybe there won’t be anything left of the Caldwells,” she snapped. “They seem rather intent on twisting the law to their advantage. I don’t think I’ve ever met such an underhanded group of people in my life.”
“Sure you have. That’s half the politicians in Washington, DC.”
“Fine, perhaps you’re right. And it’s all the more reason not to return home with you.”
“But you need to return with us.” Her father looked between her and Heath, his brow drawing down in confusion. “You need to marry someone who can help us. It’s your duty as a daughter.”
“There was a time when I thought that, but did you know there’s a story in the Bible about a master who has three servants?” She went on to explain the story, about the first servant with five talents, and the second servant with two, and the final servant who buried his talent in the dirt.
By the time she finished, her father was scratching his head, causing a tuft of snowy white hair to stick up. “I don’t see what these servants or talents have to do with anything.”
“Don’t you?” For being so smart, there were some things her father could never seem to comprehend. “My talents are writing and drawing and maybe even mapmaking, not hosting fancy teas or flattering politicians or looking pretty.”
“You’re pretty, Bry.” Heath leaned a shoulder against the wall and ran his gaze down her. “Richard never would have agreed to marry you had you been hatchet-faced.”
“Yes, of course she’s pretty. And she needs to use those looks to catch a good husband—like Jameson.” Father frowned, lines of impatience creeping across his face. “If he’s not named the next secretary of the interior, he’ll be named to some other position in the president’s cabinet soon. He’s both well respected and a widower in need of a new wife. You won’t even need to ruin your looks by bearing him children. He’s probably happy enough with the three he already has.”
“Father, no.” This time tears did smart her eyes. “I’m not marrying Mr. Jameson or anyone else for your research funding. And I want children of my own. And even more, I want to marry a man who won’t care if my looks do get ruined by being pregnant. I never should have let you pick a husband for me in the first place. I explain it all in this letter, if you’d just...”
She tried extending the letter to him again, but he batted her hand away. “I’m not interested in reading anything you wrote.”
“But—”
“It’s time you leave. We have packing to do.”
A fresh round of tears scalded her eyes, but she swallowed them down. “What about my things?”
“They’re not your things. They’re mine. I paid for every one of them.” He turned back to his trunk, which the maids had stopped packing at some point.
“Not my journal. Can I at least take that?” She’d left it in the library when she snuck out of the house.
“Fine. You can have the clothes you were wearing the night you left, but I’m keeping the rest of it.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t have to be this way. We can still have some kind of a relationship, even if I’m living in Alaska. We can write letters at the very least.”
“Write letters?” He whirled back to face her, his eyes stormy. “Why would I want to hear from a wayward daughter who doesn’t understand her duty to her family? Do you realize how much trouble you’ve caused for us? How much more trouble this will cause once the Caldwells realize that you really are planning to stay here and marry an Amos? They were furious when they realized you’d snuck out to see Mikhail Amos at the jail and then spent Thanksgiving with his family. I might well end up facing consequences for that.”
“You’re talking about your funding again,” she spat.
“Of course I’m talking about my funding.” He threw up his hands. “I can’t run a lab without it.”
Oh, why did everything always have to revolve around his funding? Why couldn’t he see anything other than that? She backed out of the room. “I’m sorry, Father.”
His scowl only deepened. “If you were sorry, you’d be coming home with us, not blathering on about servants and talents.”
“When I say I’m sorry, it’s because of this. She waved her hand between the two of them. You and me. That we can’t have a better relationship. That when you look at me, you don’t actually see me, just someone you can use to help you get closer to what you want for yourself.”
“And I’m sorry that you refuse to do your duty as a daughter and procure a good match for our family. Good-bye, Bryony.”
He slammed the door shut behind her, then barked something at the maids.
She whirled toward the stairs, trying to swallow the worst of her tears until she reached the door.
But Heath was standing at the top of the staircase holding her journal. “Here you go.”
She reached out and took it, then swiped a tear away from her cheek. “Are you angry at me too? For staying?”
