Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Madeline Hargrove's solicitors’ letter was three sentences long.
Whitfield read it to her over the phone on a Thursday morning, his voice as dry as ever.
Based on the documentation provided, their client did not intend to pursue the matter further.
The query was considered resolved. No further correspondence would be necessary.
Polite, bloodless language. Like someone was saying, “Oops, my bad.”
"That's it?" Leah asked with frustration.
She expected more. She didn’t necessarily want more, but she hoped she could rub it in Madeline’s face just a little.
"That's it."
"No conditions? No threats? No reserving of rights?"
"None. It's a withdrawal, Miss Ellsworth. A complete one." She heard his chair creak. "I told you there was never a case. Once the register entry was produced, there was nothing left to argue about. I'll send you a copy for your records. Keep it with the certificate."
She thanked him, hung up, and stood in the kitchen with the phone in her hand.
That was it.
She'd been tense for weeks. She played out the whole fight in her head.
Madeline sitting across a shiny conference table, looking at her like she was nothing.
She had stayed awake at two in the morning, picturing packed bags, eviction notices, and starting over with nothing again.
But in the end, it was over in three sentences and a phone call before her tea even cooled.
No apology. No confrontation. Madeline Hargrove had simply stopped, the way powerful people did when they'd overestimated their leverage. Quietly. As if none of it had ever happened at all.
It was rude.
Now, she would have to see the woman and pretend nothing happened. Because getting angry only gave Madeline what she wanted. That’s what bullies did. They poked and poked and poked until they got a reaction.
Would Madeline go after someone else? Or would she come up with another excuse to go after Leah?
Unfortunately, Leah was certain Madeline would find another irritation to take offense at. It would be best to head it off by confronting her and warning her.
But what did Leah have to threaten her with? Nothing. Her reputation? Everyone already knew she was rude. Obnoxious. Haughty.
She walked into the village an hour later because she needed to move. She ended up in the tearoom with a pot of tea she hadn't planned on. Meg took one look at her face and sat down across from her.
"Well?"
"It's over. She withdrew."
Meg exhaled slowly, then smiled. "You won't hear anything more about it. She's gone to her sister's in Devon." She said it with enormous satisfaction. "For her health, apparently. Dorothy heard it from her cleaning woman."
"Her health," Leah repeated.
"Mm. Forty years of meddling must be very taxing." Meg patted her hand and got up to serve someone else. Leah sat there with her tea and realized she’d slayed the dragon. Madeline left town.
She'd been carrying the threat for weeks, braced against it and organized around it. Now there was nothing to brace against.
She didn't know what to do with her hands.
Back at the house, she didn't go straight in. She stood in the hallway for a moment, and then, instead of heading for the kitchen like always, she started walking.
The sitting room first. The fireplace Rowan had laid a hundred fires in. The sofa where Gerald had sat and told her his version of the truth. The afternoon light came through the window and lay across the rug, and she stood in it and thought, “Mine.”
She walked to the library and stood inside.
The console table and the uncomfortable chair were back in front of the panel.
The secret room was hidden again, though she knew the latch now.
She'd moved the box with her name on it back into the room. She hadn’t opened the birthday cards.
She would. She just wasn't ready yet, and for the first time in her life, she had time.
There was no hurry. Nobody was coming to take any of it away.
She headed upstairs, pausing at the landing window and looking out over the walled garden. The whole place needed work she couldn't even fully imagine yet.
It was hers. It had always been hers, but now it felt real. It felt permanent.
She went downstairs and picked up the notebook with the list she and Rowan had started. Some things needed to be done sooner rather than later. He assured her the house would hold up through winter. She wasn’t going to freeze to death, but it would be drafty.
She was still writing when Rowan knocked and let himself in, carrying a paper bag that smelled like the bakery. He’d had to drive into the city to get some things to help winterize the house.
“Whitfield called,” Leah blurted out.
He stopped. “And?”
“It’s over,” she said. “Withdrawn. Done.”
He smirked. “She’ll say she changed her mind or spin it that she was being magnanimous.”
"She went to Devon for her health, apparently.”
He scoffed. “I’m not surprised. What about Gerald?”
“I don’t know.”
He hung his coat on the back of the chair and looked at her for a moment. "How do you feel?"
"Weird," she said honestly. "I was ready for a fight. I have been thinking about all the things she might say or do. I fancied myself a prize fighter, gearing up to go in the ring against some title holder. And then it was just over.”
He smiled at that and came around the table and kissed the top of her head, like he'd been doing it for years. Then he picked up the notebook.
She watched him read. His eyebrows went up somewhere around the gutters and stayed up through the bulbs. He turned the page over, read the back, and set it down on the table between them.
"What is on this list is ambitious," he said.
"You said the garden wouldn't take as much work as I thought."
"The garden, perhaps, but you appear to have listed the entire estate."
"I'm staying," she said. "I'm staying, so all of it gets fixed. Not tomorrow, but that’s the wish list."
"We're going to have a very busy winter," he said.
"I'm looking forward to it," she said. “I don’t want to sit around in this big house and think.”
“You’ve got a lot to think about,” he said gently.
She sighed. “I think the best thing to do is not think. I can’t change the past. I can’t change all the bad decisions others made.
It happened. I’ll carry the scars of their poor choices for the rest of my days.
But I don’t have to let it bring me down.
The last few months have taken me to my knees, but here I am—still standing. ”
He smiled. “Yes, you are.”
“Thank you for sticking by me,” she said. “I swear I’m not a crier. I think I got it all out of my system.”
“You’ve had a lot to cry about,” he said. “I don’t think anyone would blame you.”
“Thank you. But I’m done. I can’t dwell. I’ve got an estate to restore. And a business to start.”
He smiled. “I can’t wait to help you. I have always dreamed of witnessing this place regain its former glory. It’s been a long time coming.”