Free A Groom wirh a View by Jill Churchill

think he might have been one of them. But Iva never married.“
    “Why is that?“ Shelley asked from the backseat of the station wagon as they turned onto the main road.
    “I don’t think she found one rich enough,“ Eden said. “That’s just a guess though. She anticipated being very wealthy in her own right someday when their father, Oliver Wendell Thatcher, popped off. And she had Marguerite as a bad example.“
    “Bad example of what?“ Jane asked.
    “Getting taken to the cleaners by a man. Marguerite fell head over heels for an Englishman my dad always said reminded him of Bertie Wooster without the money. Rowe, his name was. Percival? Lancelot? Tristram? Something classic and silly. He claimed, in a convincingly bumbling way, to be the scion of an ancient British family. Very posh stuff for a snob like Marguerite. So she married him without checking this out thoroughly enough.“
    “How many of us do that!“ Shelley said with a laugh.
    “Marguerite should have. It turned out that he was the great-great nephew or second cousin three times removed of an ‘honorable,’ which I think is the lowest rank of the aristocracy, and that his line of the family had been fishmongers. Or maybe it was eel fishers. Something to do with slimy water creatures. By the time Marguerite figured out why he kept dawdling about taking her to see the ‘family estate’ back in Merry Olde England, he’d spent nearly all her money. Marguerite went to O. W. for more and he said he’d only give her enough to get a divorce. Which she did.“
    “And she never remarried?“ Shelley asked.
    “Nope. Once was plenty. Turn right at the next corner, Jane. And Iva has never let poor old Marguerite forget her mistake.“
    “You said she expected to be rich when O. W. died,“ Jane said. “She wasn’t?“
    “Oh, yes. All three of them, Iva, Marguerite, and Jack, inherited a lot. Well, a lot by most people’s standards,“ Eden said. “Take the right-hand fork at the bottom of the hill. But they’d all expected it to be much more. Jack got the company, of course. Iva and Marguerite got some stocks and a couple of pieces of good commercial property in downtown Chicago that’s given them both generous incomes. But they were expecting something along the lines of what the Sultan of Brunei might leave. They had an extremely exaggerated idea of what their old daddy was worth.“
    “Oh! The treasure story!“ Jane exclaimed. “I wanted to ask you about it.“
    “Treasure? Oh, the secret treasure! I’d almost forgotten that,“ Eden said. “Where did you hear about it?“
    “Larkspur. The florist. He mentioned having heard about a treasure at the lodge.”
    Eden waved this fantasy away. “There was talk of hidden riches years ago when O. W. died.
    Mainly put about by Iva and Marguerite to explain why they weren’t fabulously wealthy, I think. Jack never bought the theory, though. He told my dad he’d expected there to be more, too, but thought O. W. had spent all the rest of the money on women. He was quite the old roué. Nearly eighty when he died, I think, and still had two mistresses.“
    “You’re kidding!“ Shelley exclaimed.
    “Well, they probably weren’t technically mistresses anymore,“ Eden said with a laugh. “One was in her fifties, the other sixty-something. But O. W. had supported them both for decades and Jack, to his credit, continued to pay for their apartments and give them an allowance.“
    “Does he still?“ Jane asked.
    Eden shrugged. “I have no idea. I never thought to ask my dad if Jack kept it up. They may not still be living. O. W. died about fifteen years ago and they weren’t spring chickens. Anyway, that’s probably where the rest of the fortune went. There might have been any number of other women as well who benefitted from old O. W.’s hormonal largesse.“
    “So there’s no treasure?“ Shelley asked.
    “Oh, I guess there could be,“ Eden said. “But if there had been, surely