which the estate went into a serious decline.”
“As did the fortunes and the lifestyle of the Wickhams,” Damon supplied.
“How sad.” Carol felt echoes of their pain. “At least my great-grandfather saved the estate.”
“Legend has it he paid the Wickhams beyond the asking price.”
“That’s good to hear. How did you find out?”
He shot her an amused glance. “Fairly common knowledge, Carol, at least in the legal world.” God, how she delighted his eye! No getting away from it. If she were a few years older, and not Selwyn Chancellor’s granddaughter and his client, he would make it his business to get to know her much better.
She was wearing a very pretty dress, very feminine—an upmarket sundress, wide straps over her shoulders, tiny bodice, full skirt, with white sandals on her feet. I didn’t want to wear anything black. In her pink flower-sprigged white dress she was springtime. Her whole aura reflected the flower world. She had pulled her glowing mane back into a Grecian knot showing off her delicately carved features and the length of her slender neck. He hadn’t forgotten what she had told him about her cousin, Troy. He could well imagine Troy Chancellor lusting after her, cousin or not.
“Well, I didn’t know,” she was saying. “But then there’s lots I don’t know. My great-grandfather hired the finest architect of the day to restore the house. He made extensive additions in the form of the two wings to either side.”
He nodded. “It gave the original house rather regal dimensions.”
“I knew my way around it,” she said proudly, remembering the little girl she’d been. She was finding it so easy to talk to him, when she rarely if ever confided family matters to others. “It was supposed to be a happy house in my great-grandfather’s day, a happy house in the early years of my grandfather’s tenure. Then happiness seemed to have fallen away. Even as a child I was aware my gentle grandmother, Elaine, had issues. I was never able to plumb the depth of them, but as an adult I’ve interpreted some of those issues as extreme shyness. She could even have been mildly autistic. There’s an avenue I will have to look into as a charity, now that I’m in a position to do so.”
He knew she meant it and found it admirable. “Not the most helpful characteristics for the wife of a highly successful man destined to go higher,” he observed gently.
Carol gave a sigh. “My grandmother always lived at Beaumont. She shunned the city except on those special occasions when Poppy talked her into it. The coup de grâce, the final blow, came with the death of my father. My grandmother retreated from life. She retreated from everyone including me. Finally she chose to end it. Maybe my family is cursed.” She turned her head so she could register his response.
“Not many families escape tragedy, Carol,” he said, looking straight ahead at the sun-dappled road. “You’re not cursed. You have a very bright future. You’re going to study hard in your final year. You’ll gain a first-class degree. I have it on good authority you will, if you work. You’re going to need a legal background in the years ahead. Increasingly you’ll be in a position of power.”
“You already are,” she pointed out rather dryly. “You have power over me.”
* * *
Massive black wrought-iron gates soared to some ten feet. They were closed. She gave a wry laugh. “Looks like they don’t want us to come in. Never mind—I’ll open the gates.” She had one hand on the door of the car.
“Carol, no need.” He stopped her. “I’ll call through to the house.”
“Hey, that’s new,” she said, sighting for the first time the impressive-looking button-entry intercom panel. It was set into a stone pillar, with a stone pineapple on top.
Damon lowered his window and punched in a five-digit code. Afterwards he told Carol the code.
“I got it the first time,” she said. She was very good with numbers.
“You’re sharp.”
“Indeed I am, Damon Hunter, so remember.” Her glance was blue flame.
“There should be a lot more security on the house,” he said seriously. “There are places anyone could—”
He broke off as a woman’s flatish voice came through the speaker. “Who is this, please?”
“Identify yourself, Damon,” Carol joked sternly.
He threw her a half smile. It made really sexy little brackets to frame his mouth. “Damon Hunter with my client, Carol Emmett. I rang ahead.”
There was no reply, but the huge gates started to open inwards.
“Good to know