Free Guardian to the Heiress by Margaret Way

know there will be a blaze of publicity when it’s known Carol is her grandfather’s principal beneficiary.”
    Damon moved. With his height, he was towering over Dallas who stood looking up at him, her cheeks jiggling with wrath. “We don’t need any lectures from you, young man.”
    “Correction—Ms Chancellor’s solicitor and financial adviser,” he said blandly. “Bradfield Douglass will want to keep the family’s business. The fortune remains in the family, only there has been a redistribution.”
    “Revenge!” Dallas shook a raised fist. She was in a highly emotional state. “That’s what it’s all about.” She let her long-suffering resentment rip. “There’s still a possibility we can fight this...this... warped will.”
    “Frankly, Mrs Chancellor,” Damon said, “You don’t stand a chance. Many thanks for afternoon tea. Time for us to be getting back to town. If you have any further questions in the days ahead, I’ll be happy to answer them. Interment is on Friday afternoon at 2:00 p.m. A few close friends and colleagues of Mr Chancellor will attend. They’ve been advised—all are coming. A memorial service will be held in St Mary’s Cathedral in Sydney Wednesday of next week, as you know. A caterer has been appointed to take charge of the small reception after the interment. They’ll arrive before midday from Sydney. At this sad time, my client wanted to take that small burden off the family.”
    Dallas’s steely eyes flashed. “Don’t you just love her? She’s all heart. ” Her voice was so harsh she might have had a scouring pad stuck in her throat.
    “You would be wise to be grateful, Mrs Chancellor,” Damon said in clipped professional tones.
    “I’ll see you out,” Maurice Chancellor announced, waving an arm in the general direction of the front door. Obviously he intended continuing on in the role of legitimate master of Beaumont.
    “Thank you, Uncle Maurice,” Carol said.

CHAPTER THREE
    T HE INTERMENT WAS a harrowing experience. Everyone was glad when it was over, but mercifully a brilliant sun shone down on them. There was a point when Carol thought she just might cave in on herself. Scenes from the past began to invade her mind: the happy times with her grandfather; picking him flowers before he left for the city; the occasional but delightful walks she had enjoyed with her gentle little grandmother who had not been cut out for the life she had married into.
    Damon had given her a photograph of herself as a schoolgirl. It had been taken outside the front gates of her school. Who else but her grandfather would have taken it, or caused it to be taken? It was the photograph Damon had retrieved after it had fallen out of a book that first day at Beaumont. He had guessed correctly she would want to have it. Perhaps there were lots of other photographs. She knew she would go in search of them; such mementoes were very important to her now.
    Know that I loved you, Poppy. Know that I loved you, Nona. Know that I love you, Daddy.
    The memories were tumbling freely. She felt a tremendous weight of regret. But she was in a different time now, a different space. There was only today.
    Her grandfather had been much taken by the fact Franklin Delano Roosevelt, the great American President, had been buried in his mother’s rose garden at Springwood, the Roosevelt family estate. That set a precedent for Selwyn. He and his Elaine lay side by side, finding a closeness that had eluded them in life. Her mother, who had a hide any rhinoceros might covet, actually turned up with her husband, Jeff, who did the driving. Roxanne delighted in throwing the cat among the pigeons.
    Jeff looking very sleek and prosperous gave Carol a wry smile and a too-intimate hug, near crushing her body to him. One had to wonder what secret feelings were lurking beneath Jeff’s affable exterior.
    “Let go, Jeff,” she said briefly, wanting to kick him.
    “Sweetheart, I’m just so pleased to see you. You