Page 13 of The Inheritance At Bourton

“It’s proof he watched me.”

“It’s proof you’re his daughter.”

She didn’t see how stalking could be seen as evidence.

“What if he isn’t my biological father?”

Rowan reached over and picked up the first report, the one with her name on it. Leah Ellsworth, age twelve. “Look at this. A man doesn’t hire a firm in Seattle to find a child and follow her for forty years if he thinks she isn’t his. People can raise questions about a marriage registration all they like. But this—” he gestured at the whole of it, “this is a man acknowledging his daughter every single year of his life. It’s documented. It’s dated.”

“It’s not a DNA test.”

“No. It’s not.” He looked at her steadily. “It’s not much, maybe, in a courtroom. But it’s something. It’s forty years of something. You’re not trying to ascend to the throne of England. You don’t have to be his biological kid to inherit.”

She wiped her face with the sleeve of her father’s sweater. Her head hurt. Her chest hurt.

Was it enough? She didn’t know, but maybe it was her father’s way of giving her the documentation she needed.

“It would have been nice if he left this in a place to actually be found,” she said with a watery laugh.

Rowan smiled. “I’m guessing he never expected Madeline to do what she’s doing.”

“He had time before his death to tell you,” she said.

“It might have been too painful,” he said. “He was on a lot of pain meds those last months. His mind wasn’t what it was.”

That sent a fresh wave of sadness through her. She wished she could have been there for him even though he’d never been around for her.

“Tomorrow, we call Whitfield. And you’re going to help me put every one of these books back.”

“Deal,” Rowan said with a grin.

Let Madeline come. Let her bring the solicitors and the archaic clauses and the money that had always been enough to make her annoyances disappear.

Leah was fighting back.

Chapter Six

She saw Gerald two days later in the bakery.

She went to the village to buy bread and clear her head after another morning on the phone with Whitfield, who was still waiting for news from the General Register Office. Searching through old files that might not even help took a lot of time. Waiting was the hardest part. Not knowing what would happen next made her feel stuck.

The smell of yeast and cinnamon wafted around her. She stood at the counter, waiting for her order, when the bell above the door chimed and Gerald walked in.

He saw her immediately. Something flickered across his face—not quite guilt, but close enough that she felt her shoulders tense. She'd avoided him since paying off the loan. She'd been fine with that arrangement continuing indefinitely.

He approached her despite her best “leave me alone” expression.

"Leah," he said. "May I have a word?"

"I'm waiting for bread."

"It'll only take a moment."

She looked at him and saw the old man he was. Something in her told her to respect her elders, even if they had never done the same for her. He seemed smaller than he had at the lantern walk. Older. Exhausted.

Good. He should be. All of them should be ashamed of themselves for the role they played in destroying a family.

"Fine," she said. "One moment."