Page 17 of The Inheritance At Bourton

So, maybe it was all working out the way it was supposed to.

The woman came back with the copy in a stiff envelope, stamped and signed. Leah paid the small fee and thanked her.

The rain had softened to a mist. The churchyard stretched down the hill, with wet headstones and dripping yews. One day she would come back to explore. But she had time for that later.

They walked down the path toward the truck. Leah held the envelope against her chest with both arms. She felt like she was floating about three inches above the pavement.

They were almost to the truck when Rowan stopped walking.

She turned to ask what was wrong, and he was standing there, looking at her, rain beading in his hair. Then he crossed the two steps between them and kissed her.

There was nothing tentative about it this time. No asking. His hand came up to the side of her face. She dropped one arm from the envelope and fisted her hand in the front of his coat and kissed him back, not caring even a little bit who saw.

Let them talk. Let them say horrible things about the daughter of the American.

When they finally broke apart, she was laughing. She couldn't help it. It just came out of her.

"What," he said, smiling.

"Nothing. Everything." She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand.

She called Whitfield from the truck. She blurted out what they found. There was a short silence on the line.

"Well," Whitfield said. "That's that, then."

"That's that?"

"Miss Ellsworth, that’s all we needed. There is no challenge. There never was, but now there isn't even the shadow of one." She heard the scratch of a pen. "I'll obtain the official certificate, and I'll write to Mrs. Hargrove's solicitors today. I expect we will hear nothing further.”

"Your father did well. For both of you. I'm glad you found it."

She thanked him and ended the call.

And then, finally, it hit her.

The tears came up out of nowhere, hot and sudden. She pressed both hands over her face and cried. They weren't sad tears. They weren't even entirely happy tears. They were the kind that came when you'd been holding a weight so long you'd stopped feeling it. And when that weight was gone, your body didn't know what to do with the absence.

Rowan didn't say anything. He reached into the glovebox, pulled out a stack of bakery napkins, and put them in her lap. He rested his hand on the back of her neck, offering comfort without needing to speak.

"I'm okay," she said finally, into a napkin.

She blew her nose and laughed at herself, wet and ugly. "I keep waiting for the bad thing. That's all. I've been waiting my whole life for the bad thing, and this is the good thing. I don't actually know what to do with the good thing."

"You'll learn," he said.

As they approached Bourton, Rowan asked, "Tea?"

She’d been avoiding town because of the gossip.

Not anymore.

“Yes, please.”

There were a handful of people inside, and Dorothy and Pat were at their usual table by the window, with a teapot between them, heads together over something that was almost certainly gossip.

Meg was behind the counter. She looked up when they walked in. Her eyes went straight to Leah's face, and whatever she saw there made her reach for the teapot before Leah had even taken her coat off.

"Sit down," Meg said. “If this is about Madeline, I’m sorry. That’s all I can say.”