has left all of his worldly goods—all of his wealth and possessions—to...’
Caro braced herself.
‘Ms Caroline Elizabeth Fielding.’
It took a moment for the import of the lawyer’s words to hit her. When they did, Caro had to grip the arms of her chair to counter the roaring in her ears and the sudden tilting of the room. Her father had left everything...to her? Maybe...maybe he’d loved her after all.
She shook her head. ‘There must be a mistake.’
‘No mistake,’ the lawyer intoned.
‘But surely there’s a caveat that I can only inherit if I agree to administer my mother’s trust?’
Her father had spent the last twenty years telling her it was her duty, her responsibility...her obligation to manage the charity he’d created in homage to her mother. Caro had spent those same twenty years refusing the commission.
Her father might have thought it was the sole reason Caro had been put on this earth, but she’d continued to dispute that sentiment right up until his death. She had no facility for figures and spreadsheets, no talent nor desire to attend endless board meetings and discuss the pros and cons of where the trust money should be best spent. She did not have a business brain and had no desire whatsoever to develop one. Simply put, she had no intention of being sacrificed on some altar of duty. End of story.
‘No caveat.’
The lawyer could barely meet her eye. Her mind spun...
She shot to her feet, a hard ball lodging in her chest. ‘What about Barbara?’
He passed a hand across his eyes. ‘I’m afraid no provision has been made for Mrs Barbara Fielding in the will.’
But that made no sense!
She spun to her stepmother. Barbara rose to her feet, her face pinched and white. Her eyes swam but not a single tear fell, and that was somehow worse than if she’d burst into noisy weeping and wailing.
‘He doesn’t make even a single mention of me?’
The lawyer winced and shook his head.
‘But...but I did everything I could think of to make him happy. Did he never love me?’ She turned to Caro. ‘Was it all a lie?’
‘We’ll work something out,’ Caro promised, reaching out to take Barbara’s hand.
But the other woman wheeled away. ‘We’ll do nothing of the sort! We’ll do exactly as your father wished!’
Barbara turned and fled from the room. Caro made to follow her—how could her father have treated his young wife so abominably?—but the lawyer called her back.
‘I’m afraid we’re not done.’
She stilled and then spun back, swallowing a sense of misgiving. ‘We’re not?’
‘Your father instructed that I give you this.’ He held out an envelope.
‘But you said...’
‘I was instructed to give this to you only after the reading of the will. And only in privacy.’
She glanced back at the door. Praying that Barbara wouldn’t do anything foolish, she strode across and took the envelope. She tore it open and read the mercifully brief missive inside. She could feel her lips thinning to a hard line. She moistened them. ‘Do you know what this says?’
After a short hesitation, he nodded. ‘Your father believed Mrs Fielding was stealing from him. Valuables have apparently gone missing and...’
And her father had jumped to conclusions.
Caro folded the letter and shoved it into her purse. ‘Items may well have gone missing, but I don’t believe for one moment that Barbara is responsible.’
Mr Jenkins glanced away, but not before she caught the expression in his eyes.
‘I know what people think about my father and his wife, Mr Jenkins. They consider Barbara a trophy wife. They think she only married my father for his money.’
He’d had so much money. Why cut Barbara out of his will when he’d had so much? Even if she had taken the odd piece of jewellery why begrudge it to her?
Damn him to hellfire and fury for being such a control freak!
‘She was significantly younger than your father...’
By thirty-one years.
‘That doesn’t make her a thief, Mr Jenkins. My father was a difficult man and he was lucky to have Barbara. She did everything in her not insignificant powers to humour him and make him happy. What’s more, I believe she was faithful to him for the twelve years they were married and I don’t believe she stole from him.’
‘Of course you know her better than I do—but, Miss Caroline, you do have a tendency to see the best in people.’
She’d been hard-pressed to see the best in her father. She pushed that thought aside to meet the lawyer’s eyes. ‘If Barbara did marry my father for his money believe me: she’s earned every penny of it several times over.’
Mr Jenkins obviously thought it prudent to remain silent on the subject.
‘If my father’s estate has passed completely to me, then I can dispose of it in any way that I see fit, yes?’
‘That’s correct.’
Fine. She’d sell everything and give Barbara half. Even half was more than either one of them would ever need.
* * *
Half an hour later, after she’d signed all the relevant paperwork, Caro strode into the kitchen. Dennis Paul, her father’s butler, immediately shot to his feet.
‘Let me make you a pot of tea, Miss Caroline.’
She kissed his cheek and pushed him back into his seat. ‘I’ll make the tea, Paul.’ He insisted she call him Paul rather than Dennis. ‘Please just tell me there’s cake.’
‘There’s an orange syrup cake at the back of the pantry.’
They sipped tea and ate cake in silence for a while. Paul had been in her father’s employ for as long as Caro could remember. He was more like an honorary uncle than a member of staff, and she found herself taking comfort in his quiet presence.
‘Are you all right, Miss Caroline?’
‘You can call me Caro you know.’ It was an old argument.
‘You’ll always be Miss Caroline to me.’ He grinned. ‘Even though you’re all grown up—married, no less, and holding a director’s position at that auction house of yours.’
In the next instance his expression turned stricken. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mention that bit about you being married. It was foolish of me.’
She shrugged and tried to pretend that the word married didn’t burn through her with a pain that could still cripple her at unsuspecting moments. As she and Jack had been separated for the last five years, ‘married’ hardly seemed the right word to describe them. Even if, technically, it was true.
She forced herself to focus on something else instead. ‘It’s not my auction house, Paul. I just work there.’
She pulled in a breath and left off swirling her fork though the crumbs remaining on her plate.
‘My father has left me everything, Paul. Everything.’
Paul’s jaw dropped. He stared at her and then sagged back in his chair. ‘Well, I’ll be...’
His astonishment gratified her. At least she wasn’t the only one shocked to the core at this turnaround. To describe her relationship with her father as ‘strained’ would be putting it mildly. And kindly.