Page 42 of Canvas of Lies (Spruce Hill #3)

Chapter Thirty-Three

Kat

M y father’s attorney was not at all what I expected.

The lawyers I’d been forced to smile at and make polite small talk with during events throughout my childhood had been very much like my father—slick and suave, with blinding smiles and perfectly tailored suits. If you’d seen one, you’d seen them all.

Wallace Compton, on the other hand, looked about as grandfatherly as I could imagine, with thin white hair and twinkling green eyes. He wore a tweed suit that looked a size too small for his robust frame and tiny gold-framed glasses that would’ve been perfect on Santa Claus.

“Ah, my dear,” he said, rising to his feet as Beardsley led us into the library. “I’m so very sorry for your loss. ”

“Thank you,” I replied, hoping the words didn’t sound as wooden as they felt.

The sympathy in the butler’s eyes when we first arrived had nearly brought me to tears, but I mustered a tight smile as I shook Compton’s hand.

It was easier to keep things simple. Surely my father’s own estate lawyer knew that I’d been practically estranged from the man.

He didn’t need a rundown of the sordid details.

“If it’s acceptable to you, Katherine, the police have requested to be present during the reading of the will. They should be here any minute, along with your mother.”

My head snapped up in surprise. “My mother?”

Compton had the grace to look slightly abashed. “I’m afraid so. She is mentioned in the will, so I had to contact her, you see.”

Nico took my hand and gave it a light, reassuring squeeze. I’d hoped to avoid any real contact with my mother, but very little had gone according to plan lately, so I tamped down the urge to stomp my foot in frustration.

“Of course,” I said quietly.

Detective Hanson and Officer Ford were the next to arrive. Nico rose from his seat and spoke to them quietly, gesturing to the bookshelf where he’d placed the painting in its wooden crate. They nodded but remained standing at the side of the room when he returned to my side.

“I’ll show it to them after the will is read,” he murmured.

I opened my mouth to reply, but the shrill sound of my mother’s voice in the hall prompted me to shut it with an audible snap.

For a solid three seconds, I held Nico’s gaze, summoning the strength to face the woman who’d abandoned me.

When the new arrivals swept into the room, Nico and I both stood to greet them.

“Katie, my darling girl!” my mother cooed, yanking me straight into a cloud of expensive perfume. No one else had ever called me Katie, at my own request, and I tried not to grind my teeth.

Ferdinand Chesterfield stood behind her like a smarmy bodyguard, smiling in a way I was sure the man thought would appear paternal.

If he so much as touched me, I was afraid I might scream.

Based on the way Nico glared at the man, it seemed like screaming would be the least of our worries should Chesterfield lay a finger on me.

“Mother,” I bit out. I drew stiffly away and nodded to Chesterfield before waving a hand toward Nico. “You must remember Nicolas Beaumont?”

Nico held out a hand to my mother but was pulled into a similarly dramatic embrace. I smothered a laugh as he tried not to choke on the cloying scent of her perfume, then he scowled at the way Chesterfield leered at me.

Nico met Hanson’s curious gaze over my mother’s head. Whatever the woman babbled into his ear, I was sure he didn’t process a single word of it.

Fortunately, Compton came to the rescue.

He cleared his throat and gestured to the chairs placed around the table in front of him.

“If you’d all take a seat, we can get started.

This shouldn’t take up much of your afternoon.

Mr. and Mrs. Chesterfield, my name is Wallace Compton.

We spoke on the phone. I served as Mr. Willoughby’s estate lawyer.

His will was updated rather recently, though the changes were only minimal. ”

Hanson and Ford had repositioned themselves so they could see the faces of those in attendance.

Both of them studied the Chesterfields with an intensity that surprised me.

When my mother angled a glance toward Nico, all of us caught her curled lip, but Nico only lifted a brow before turning his attention back to the lawyer.

I stifled a snort. Thank god he was here with me for this.

“Now, this is all fairly straightforward,” Compton said, smiling kindly at me, “so I’ll start with the most recent additions.

Mrs. Chesterfield, as per the divorce decree, is not entitled to any part of the estate.

However, Mr. Willoughby requested that she receive the painting you see on the wall here. ”

When he gestured to the false “family treasure” that my dad had revealed in the second interview, my mother let out an ear-splitting shriek. I almost choked, suppressing a laugh. Nico squeezed my hand and I pressed my face into his shoulder to hide my amusement.

“How dare he! That stupid son of a bitch thinks he can foist that ugly piece of shit on me and give away my millions to this French bastard?”

Humor fled as I jerked in my seat, ready to fly into a fury on his behalf, but Nico laid a restraining hand on my knee.

I saw Hanson watching with interest and forced myself to sit back.

We all waited for Chesterfield to quiet my mother down again so the lawyer could continue.

Once she finally descended into sullen silence, Compton cleared his throat once more.

“Right, then. Let’s continue, shall we? As the Clément painting was recently proven to have belonged to the Beaumont family long before Pierre Beaumont came into Mr. Willoughby’s employ, that artwork rightfully belongs to Nicolas Beaumont and is not included in the will.

The rest of the estate, in its entirety, is left to Miss Katherine Willoughby as Aidan’s only child.

There is, however, a rather unorthodox stipulation. ”

This was not what I’d expected, stipulation notwithstanding. My father had barely spoken to me for the past decade. Why on earth would he leave this all to me? Was it another move made just to piss off my mother?

“His entire estate? Surely he left money to other relatives or charities or something?” I said, blinking at Compton in confusion as my mother let out another wail.

The old man smiled gently. “No, it’s all spelled out here, Miss Willoughby.

However, he also specified that the inheritance requires you to take up residence here at the house, effective immediately upon the reading of his last will and testament.

You’re to remain in residence for a period of six months from the date of his death, after which the property and all of the items within are yours to keep or sell as you please. ”

I stared at him as he paused and shuffled the papers in front of him. “Six months,” I repeated, stunned .

“I’ve been instructed only to divulge the alternative upon your refusal to accept these terms. Should you agree, there’s a letter that he requested you read in private. Here are the estimated values of your inheritance.”

While I looked over the figures with a growing sense of utter disbelief, my mother’s caterwauling suddenly ceased, cloaking the room in anticipatory silence. The quiet felt suffocating, but Nico’s hand folded around mine and I blew out a breath as I met his eyes.

The question in mine must have been clear, because he said very simply, “It’s up to you. Whatever you decide, we’ll figure it all out.”

I thought about my sweet little apartment, my morning walks to work, the life I’d built without a single cent from my father.

Then I considered all the people who worked in this house, all the good I could do with those funds in exchange for half a year of my life.

It would be well worth six months of commuting back and forth to work to ensure the money went to good causes and not into the greedy hands of my mother or Ferdinand Chesterfield.

There was no telling what my father’s secret alternative might be, but if past experience was any indication, it would be nothing good. He’d never been the benevolent sort.

“Okay, then. I guess I accept the terms,” I said, earning a broad smile from Compton even as uncertainty lingered in my gut .

“Excellent. I believe that will be all, then. Miss Willoughby, please don’t hesitate to reach out if you have any questions.” He handed me a business card along with a sealed envelope with my name scrawled in my father’s handwriting before turning to gather up his papers.

Chesterfield jumped to his feet before the older man could leave the room.

“You can't possibly expect us to let this stand,” he growled. “We’ll have you in court so fast your head will spin!”

My mother fluttered at his elbow, but Nico’s attention shifted to the police officers behind them, drawing my gaze as well. Hanson looked even more stone-faced than usual, while Ford’s expression vacillated between fascinated and appalled.

Though the threat was clearly directed at Compton, I smiled serenely. “Would you like the painting shipped to St. Croix, Mother?”

A raucous new wave of wailing sprung up from their direction and I fought the urge to cover my ears, choosing instead to press my forehead against Nico’s chest while everyone else dealt with my mother.

By the time Beardsley and Compton managed to usher the furious Chesterfields from the house with the worthless painting in hand, I had a pounding headache.

I dropped into an armchair by the fireplace and closed my eyes while Nico withdrew the forgery to show the police.

“You said Mr. Willoughby had you sign a contract, do you happen to have that with you?” Hanson asked .

Nico drew the folded contract from his pocket and handed it to the detective, who let out a whistle as she skimmed the agreement.

“Seems a little overboard, don’t you think?”

“My father was nothing if not thorough,” I muttered, “and almost certainly paranoid. That contract was probably standard practice for him.”

As she handed back the papers, Hanson asked, “What will you do with it, now that you finally have it back?”

A small smile tugged at Nico’s lips. “I grew up hearing stories about Céleste Bicardeau and eating meals in view of that painting. For the time being, I look forward to seeing it hung in a place of honor again, and in the future? Hopefully I’ll be sharing those stories with my own children.”

My heart stuttered, then warmth flooded my chest when he met my gaze from across the room.

Whatever happened, we were in this together.

No matter how overwhelming it would be to deal with this house, to live with every knick knack and every memory, it would be easier because I’d have Nico by my side.

To my surprise, Hanson and Ford didn’t linger or ask any other questions.

They shook my hand, repeated their condolences, and left.

Beardsley, bless him, brought in a tray of tea and shortbread cookies as soon as we were alone.

The sentiment was much appreciated by both of us, though it made me feel all of four years old again .

“So,” Nico mumbled after downing his first cookie. “The Castle has a new queen. Do I need to ask if you want company here, oh esteemed Mistress of the Willoughby Estate?”

“If you leave me here in this mausoleum alone, I’ll end up setting it all on fire,” I replied, tossing him another cookie. “I guess we’ll need to go grab some clothes before tonight. I don’t think I have it in me to start packing up anything else from my apartment just yet.”

“What about the letter?”

My nose wrinkled as I glanced down at the envelope on my lap. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that, either.”

He stroked a hand over my hair, smiling when I leaned into his touch. “No need to rush. I seem to remember an impressive whirlpool tub upstairs—why don’t you go soak while I run back to my place to pack up what we need for the next few days? Everything else can wait.”

Though I felt guilty sending him off alone, the prospect of a bath was too good to pass up.

“Fine,” I agreed, leaning over to kiss him, “but only because that tub is probably the one thing I ever missed about this house.”