Your Gold Digger is Actually A True Heiress by Vera Fiore

Chapter 37

“Miss Winters… little Thalia?” Mrs. Wilson emerged from the country house, her weathered face brightening with recognition. “Is it really you?”

“You know me?” Thalia asked, taken aback.

“Good heavens, look at you.” Mrs. Wilson’s eyes misted over. “The spitting image of your mother.”

Seeing Thalia’s bewilderment, Asher explained softly, “Mrs. Wilson was your mother’s cook at the Winters estate. Your mother learned all her signature dishes from her.”

“Those eyes,” Mrs. Wilson’s voice wavered with emotion. “Just like Lady Rosalind’s. I used to hold you as a baby, you know. Such a precious little thing you were.”

At the mention of her mother, Thalia felt the familiar ache in her chest, tears threatening. “I… I’m so pleased to meet you properly.”

They settled in Mrs. Wilson’s warm kitchen, where stories of Rosalind’s youth flowed freely over tea. Thalia learned how her mother – a privileged young woman who’d never set foot in a kitchen – had determinedly learned to cook to win her father’s heart.

The revelation shifted something in Thalia’s understanding of her parents‘ love story. She remembered how deeply in love they’d seemed during her childhood, how her father had fallen into depression after her mother’s death. The question that had haunted her for years surfaced again: if he’d loved her mother

so deeply, why remarry Victoria just two years later?

“Mrs. Wilson,” Thalia ventured carefully, “did you know Victoria Darwin?”

friend from Cambridge? Oh yes, dear. They were inseparable back then. Victoria was always visiting, though she lived in

a child – she’d always brought pretty dresses and treats. But

father. Though Victoria had been even more

stepmother than she’d been as an “aunt,” Thalia had never been able

my stepmother now,”

words. “Near the end… Victoria visited your mother frequently at the hospital. I overheard something one day,

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Actually A True s

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Chapter 37

urged softly. “I need

terrified of leaving you

your care.”

these years of resentment, and it

struck her like a

hers under the table, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her palm. The simple gesture anchored her as her world tilted on

Wilson prepared lunch – each dish a perfect mirror of Thalia’s childhood memories. Pushing aside

know,” Mrs. Wilson said warmly as they ate, “Mr. Blackwood here spent ages learning these recipes.

cook.”

do that?” Thalia asked, turning to Asher with