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?”

Victoria was always visiting, though she lived in Surrey so the visits weren’t

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

her father.

“aunt,” Thalia had never been able to

my stepmother now,” Thalia

end… Victoria visited your mother frequently at the hospital. I overheard

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Chapter 37

“I need

remarried, it would only be to Victoria. She was terrified of leaving you without a

your care.”

Thalia’s face drained of color. All these years of resentment, and

her like a

circles on her palm. The simple gesture anchored her as her world tilted

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

they ate, “Mr. Blackwood here spent ages learning these recipes. Wouldn’t take no for an answer, he wouldn’t. Came by so often, always insisting on watching

cook.”

Thalia asked, turning