Guardian to the Heiress. Margaret Way
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face. She had such a range of expressions. He knew the absence of tears beyond that glitter didn’t mean she wasn’t suffering in her way. He had learned a lot about her mother and her stepfather—nothing much good.
He didn’t want to think about what had made her break away. She was exquisitely pretty, like a Dresden figurine. He had heard it said her mother was as “hard as nails and twice as sharp.” Apparently she couldn’t deal with a daughter who, as she’d grown up, started to eclipse her. Now, that was sad—a kind of “mirror, mirror, on the wall” scenario. He wondered where Carol Emmett found comfort. Not that there would be any shortage of comforters. More now that she would have to cope with being the Chancellor heiress. The fortune hunters would emerge from the woodwork.
Afterwards he helped her clear the table. Carol made coffee. Her moment of weakness had passed. “So, what is it I’m required to do?”
“By tomorrow this will be front-page news, Carol. A media event. Your grandfather died at his country estate. That is where he wished to be buried.”
“I know. In the garden at Beaumont, alongside my grandmother, Elaine. We used to go for walks there. The grounds were so beautiful, and so big I thought it was an enchanted forest and I was the princess. When I was about four, my grandfather told me where he wanted to be buried. He loved me, you know. Then.” She swallowed hard.
“He always loved you, Carol,” he felt compelled to say. He hadn’t missed that little pained swallow. “He told me he’d wanted to fight your mother for custody.”
She broke in fierily, flatly contradicting. “He did not!”
“Let me correct you—he did. As his legal advisors, we told him winning custody of you was one fight he wouldn’t win. Your mother was your mother, a powerful person in your life. She was determined to keep you. She wasn’t letting go.”
“Spite, probably,” Carol found herself saying. It shocked her because it very likely was true. She’d no idea up until that point her grandfather had wanted custody of her. She fully intended to take that up with her mother. “My mother hated the family—my uncle Maurice, his wife, Dallas, but particularly my grandfather. It took me years to find out he had practically accused her of murdering my father. She would never have done that. What would be the reason?” She spread her hands.
“Your grandparents didn’t have a case.”
“I know that.” She didn’t believe for a minute her mother had wanted to dispose of her father. But then her mother was so good at deception. In her mid-forties, Roxanne was still a beautiful, sexy woman, a born temptress. But she wasn’t all that smart. Murder would have been difficult to pull off on the harbour. The Manly ferry, in fact, had come to her mother’s rescue. Even the floating cushions had been retrieved; never her father’s body. As a child she had prayed and prayed he had swum all the way to New Guinea, perhaps; he had never drowned, anything but that. Her father had been out on the harbour a million times. He was a fine sailor.
Damon Hunter’s voice snapped her out of her unhappy thoughts. “Allow me to be the first to congratulate you, Carol. You’re the Chancellor heiress.”
She gave a bleak laugh. “So I might as well get back my father’s name. I’ve never liked Emmett but it was a shield for the time. This won’t make anyone in the family happy. I do hope they’ve all been well-provided for, or am I in for a lengthy court battle?”
“No battle. Your grandfather knew exactly what he was doing. Sound mind, sound intent. I drew up the will. It’s ironclad. I should tell you at this point I have control over your inheritance until you turn twenty-one, which I understand is August eighth, next year?”
She gave him a taunting smile. “That means you have charge of the purse strings?”
“We can always discuss what you need. You don’t have to worry about any heavy-handed treatment. I’m here to protect your interests, Carol.” And to protect you, he thought, jolted by his instantaneous attraction to her. It was like being handed a bouquet of the most beautiful red roses, perfect buds awaiting full bloom but spreading their fragrance. He couldn’t think of a single young woman of his acquaintance who’d had that extraordinary effect on him.
“Sounds like I might need it,” she said wryly. “The truth is, I don’t want the money. On the other hand, I think I can do a lot of good. Rich people have a responsibility to give back to the community.”
“Your grandfather certainly did that.”
She couldn’t deny it. “So here I am, an heiress without warning. I think I’m in shock.”
“Well, you’re not jumping up and down,” he said.
There was such an attractive quirk to his handsome mouth. It struck her that her feelings were a bit extreme. “Everyone will hate me,” she said. “Why would I feel elated? Except I am, in an odd way. It’s not the money. It’s the fact Poppy—my grandfather,” she quickly corrected, “wanted custody of me. If only I’d known that. It would have given me some comfort.”
She didn’t say her own mother had denied her that comfort. In death, her grandfather had left her rich enough to be independent of everyone—first up, her mother. They didn’t enjoy a good relationship. At least her mother had always been surprisingly generous when it came to providing for her. She had even bought her a flashy sports car when she had needed a car to get to and from university.
“You haven’t asked how much.” Damon wondered if she had any idea.
She shrugged a delicately boned shoulder. “I don’t want to know. Not yet, anyway. That’s way too mercenary. How much does anyone need? I just love big-business philanthropists, doing so much good, keeping their eye on things, not letting the money stray into the wrong hands.”
“Well, you won’t be in the their class.”
He had a heartbreaking smile. It lit up his handsome dark face with its gilt-bronze tan. She wondered if he were a yachtsman. Most likely he was; that tan was from the sun, not any sunbed. “I don’t want to be there when the will’s read,” she said with a faint shudder.
“I’ll be there, too, Carol,” he reassured her. “I expect I will have to go to the country house the day after tomorrow, maybe sooner. I’d like to take you with me. You should be there. The house is yours.”
Her finely arched brows, so much darker than her hair, shot up. “You’re serious?”
“Absolutely. Wills are serious matters.”
“I know that.” She coloured. “So I can tip them out—my uncle Maurice, Dallas and Troy, although he lives in the apartment at Point Piper. That belonged to Poppy.” Her childhood name for her grandfather was flying out regardless.
“That remains with the family,” he said. “Do you want to tip them out of Beaumont?”
She looked into his fathoms-deep dark eyes. “I have to think about that. I’m not finished my degree yet. I expect you’ve checked me out?” Of course he had. “I’m smart enough, apparently, but I’m not giving my studies my best shot.”
“A fresh start next year,” he suggested. “You’ll feel more committed by then.”
“Why were you so committed?” She really wanted to know. “We’ve all heard Professor Deakin sing your praises.”
A faint grimace spread across his dynamic features. “I didn’t have your advantages, Carol, but I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer. I was ambitious, an inherited trait. Then I, too, lost my dad, a geologist, when I was twelve.”
So both of them had lost their fathers at an early age. He at twelve, she at age five. That made a bond.
“It was just my mother and me,” he was saying. “I determined after that, it was my job to look after her, when she knew perfectly well how to look after both of us. She’s a strong woman. She ran a very successful catering business